At the end, you'll (hopefully) find the plot start to unfold. It will last much longer, though. This entire year was a disaster for my section, and this story will (hopefully [again]) portray that.
Enjoy! ^^; *scared*
Chapter 1
It was the first Thursday night practice of the season, and I was excited to see all my friends again. I was practically skipping to the band room, my flute case bouncing against my leg. Other familiar faces made their way to the door as well, talking to their friends whom they haven’t seen in a couple weeks. My friends, I knew, were waiting inside. Amanda was always early to band practices.
My sweaty hand started to shake as I grabbed the door handle and opened it to the familiar loud band crowd. I smiled excitedly as I saw the seniors I knew only too well, my fellow juniors who made this band more enjoyable for me, the sophomores whom I got along well with, and new young faces I couldn’t wait to meet.
I spotted Amanda immediately. She waved excitedly, her bright brown eyes filled with as much excitement as mine. This was her second year of band, but she still knew how fun it was to be here and couldn’t wait for the year to start. I walked up to her and we started laughing.
“Oh my gosh, I forgot how short I feel when I’m around you!” she exclaimed. Our two friends who played clarinet also laughed and nodded their heads.
“And I forgot how tall I feel when I’m around you!” I replied with another laugh. It was few minutes before our laughter died down and I asked Amanda, “Did you see any flute freshmen yet?”
“Um…” Amanda stood on her tiptoes and looked around the room. “I think I saw one…I saw her carrying a small case that might be a flute—I didn’t see the whole thing.”
Amanda looked back at me when I didn’t reply. She followed my excited gaze to the door. “Lauren!” Amanda shouted, waving her over.
“Hey, Lauren!” I said excitedly as Lauren arrived next to us.
“Hey, guys,” Lauren said with a friendly wave. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back, but her bangs still set in her eye and she brushed it aside. “How’s your summer been?”
“ ’S been alright,” I said. “Just hung around on the computer all day. Nothing exciting really.”
“I went to Mizzou!” Amanda put in, and I was glad for it. I had nothing to tell and wished I didn’t say anything. “I stayed there for three weeks.”
“Oh my gosh, was that fun?” Lauren asked, her blue eyes brightened and locked onto Amanda. “I visited that college. It’s amazing.”
“I love it!” Amanda said, and she explained how her classes went and the friends she met. She had so much fun, I could tell, and I wished I had been there. Of course, I was not as smart as she was and couldn’t pull off such a high test score to earn such a privilege. Lauren soon cut her off, though.
“Did you guys see any flute freshmen?” Lauren asked, looking around the room, but did not make as much of an effort as Amanda did.
“I think I saw one,” Amanda replied. “I’m not sure, though.”
“Are the others here yet?” I asked, easily looking above the crowd. “I don’t see any of them.”
“They might come later,” Lauren said with a shrug. “It’s only a Thursday practice. I wonder who the section leaders are this year.”
Amanda and I exchanged shocked glances before turning to Lauren again. Lauren’s face fell, then her eyes brightened. “You know who they are?”
“We’ve known the entire second semester,” Amanda said, laughing.
“You and Jenna,” I said.
“Me? Ohh,” Lauren moaned, rolling her eyes. “That’s ridiculous, I can’t play at all. You should’ve been section leader, Angie.”
“Seniority wins,” I said with a shrug. “Besides, you’ll be fine. And Jenna’s a good player. You’ll both be fine. We’re gonna have a blast this year.”
Lauren only nodded before leaving for her friends in the back of the room by the instrument lockers. It wasn’t long before the band began to quiet down. I craned my neck and saw the assistant director of the marching band, Mr. Hamilton, holding a hallow red block and a drumstick, wait impatiently for attention. When it was quiet enough, he spoke evenly.
“Woodwinds in the choir room—” he pointed the drumstick behind him toward the choir room next door, “—brass in here, percussion in the auditorium.”
The noise erupted immediately. Amanda picked up her flute, binder, and purse before walking across the room for the hallway. Amanda took a stand from the rack before following me. The hallway was deserted, and it seemed darker with the walls now painted in gold. We discussed the new finish, and Amanda summed up the conversation in simple words, “It’s a puke color.”
We entered the choir room. We slowed down at the sight of the bare white walls and gray carpeted floor. Only when someone behind us said, “Mrs. Grooms was promoted, remember?” did I remember that we had a new choir teacher. Of course, I didn’t take choir, so it didn’t really matter to me.
Amanda and I got walked to the other side of the room in front of the side door and set our cases atop the piano. I opened my new flute and breathed in the familiar smell of the four-year-old instrument. I was disgusted at how filthy it looked. It needed a rub-down badly, so I made a mental note to tell my mom and maybe give it the annual check-up while I played my old flute this season. Even the gold mouth piece was no pretty thing to look at.
Eventually, no more woodwinds entered the choir room and the noise was, again, buzzing with enthusiasm. We were all in such a good mood and wanted desperately to talk the entire evening. I was one of those people. Of course, our flute section was good enough for me. Amanda and I were deeply disappointed, though, with the turnout of our section. There were only four of us: me, Amanda, Lauren, and a freshman girl who dressed in black, her skin a heavy tan.
Amanda looked at me, hoping I would do something other than stand here quietly like she was. I sighed and walked over to her with a friendly smile on me face. “Hello, I’m Angie. What’s your name?”
“Jenni,” she replied, her charcoal eyes on me.
“I’m Amanda,” Amanda put in, happy that she was not the one who started the conversation. However, I already knew this would be a tough discussion to hold. Jenni was not very talkative. “What school did you come from?”
“Hollenbeck,” Jenni replied.
“Ah, we came from Barnwell,” I said. Seeing she wasn’t going to reply, I quickly said, “So you had Ms. B?”
Jenni nodded and looked away to the alto saxophones. I looked over at the greater number of freshmen they had. I easily assumed Jenni had friends over there.
To my greatest relief, Ms. B arrived and said a hearty hello. I smiled and jumped on the chance to leave the conversation between them. “Hi, Ms. B! How are you?”
“I’m doing great! How are you?” she replied, setting a whole pile of music on the piano next to us.
“I’m wonderful, thank you,” I replied. “Is this our warm-ups and music?”
“Yes, you can get some for your section right away.” She walked to the middle of the room and repeated her words. Lauren grabbed some music for Jenni. Amanda and I set the warm-ups on the stand and immediately looked at the packet of music. We had three movements this year. The first one looked easy enough to sight-read for me. The second one, however, set my heart racing.
“A flute solo?” I said with a mix of shock and fear. My hands began to sweat again and my legs shook.
“Oh my gosh, really?” Amanda said, turning to the same movement I was looking at. “You will so get it, I know you will! You’re amazing!”
“I won’t get it,” I stated hollowly, staring at the solo portion of the song. “Jenna has seniority, and you know, as well as I, that she will tryout.” Deep down, I knew as well as anyone else that I should try. I could already see my mom giving me a whole spiel on why I should tryout, even if I didn’t get it, which I knew I wouldn’t.
I groaned at the thought of tryouts. I had to play in front of three directors. I finally got used to one after two years of high school. Ms. B would certainly be kind and not frightening to play for. Mr. Hamilton, however…
“Way for our section leader to not show up on the first practice,” I said coolly before pushing the thoughts aside and enjoying the rest of the evening as best as I could.
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I would like to continue. Let me know if this makes a good story, though. I'm kind of afraid I'm throwing all my emotions onto the document and getting nothing across. Should I continue this? Or is it a worthless attempt?
