Young Writers Society

Instead of escaping the crowd, this time, I was just drawn in the middle. I was jostled around by freshman, all deranged hungry maniacs. When I finally made it to the lunch line, my hair was frizzy, and I'm pretty sure a kid had bit my arm. Halfway through the lunch line, I remembered something...'My money,' I thought. 'I left my money in my locker!' I looked at the long line, sighing. I walked out of the line and back into the hallway. Grabbing my money out of my locker, I headed back. 'I'll have to eat extra fast,' I thought as I found my place in the back of the line. Hadn't Danny said something about Mr. Connor being here at lunch period? I'd have to have at least fifteen minutes to talk to him. We were given a thirty minute lunch break, so I'd be fine - but definitely pushing it.

When my end of the line reached the kitchen, my stomach was throwing a tantrum inside of me. Picking up a tray of green beans, mashed potatoes, a corn dog and milk, I headed to the cashier. Handing her my ten dollar bill, I looked up at the clock. I had roughly five to seven minutes to eat my meal, and then rush down to the band room to see if he was there. I sat down at the edge of a table, digging in. The school lunch wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I washed it down with a gulp of chocolate milk, and walked over to go empty my tray and throw away my trash.

When I reached the trash can, I threw my milk carton away, and without looking, turned to empty my tray. I ran right into Jersey Boy, nearly dumping my tray onto him. He backed up, disgusted, throwing his own trash away.

"Watch where you're going, band geek," he sneered. My face turned beet red as I muttered a quick apology and emptied my tray. I walked as fast as I could out of the cafeteria - afraid everyone else would see my face. I wasn't going to cry, I wouldn't cry... I made my way past my classrooms to the band room.

'What was his problem,' I thought to myself. 'It's not like I meant to throw mashed potatoes on his precious jersey.' I pulled the door to the band room open, still angry. A confused face looked up from a music score at the front of the room. It was the band director, Mr. Connor. 'Oops...I forgot I came in here to talk to him. Now I have no idea what I'm going to say!'

"Hello, can I help you?" Mr. Connor stood up from the podium, searching my face for any questions.

"Oh, um, yeah..." I stammered, trying to figure out what I was going to say. I walked towards him. "I'm new here," I started, feeling lame. All freshman were to new to the high school... "Actually, I'm new to Wellsdon. My name's Alexandra Bates."

Mr. Connor nodded as if he were expecting me. "Right, and you play trumpet, correct?" He began walking off the podium to meet me.

"Yes." I stopped as he met me in the middle of the band room. "I was hoping I could talk to you about, well, band. Marching band and things."

He nodded understandably. "Right, are you interested in playing trumpet in marching band this year?" I nodded, hopeful. "You do realize we started in July, right?" Again, I nodded a little discouraged. I knew where this was heading...

"Have you ever marched before?" I nodded, getting my hopes up again. He stroked his beard, thoughtful. "Well, we do need more trumpets... Tell you what. We have practice every day after school this week till 4:30, try and come to one and we'll see what we can do. But I'm not promising anything, okay?" He winked, walking back to his podium.

"Thank you," I grinned as the bell rang, hurrying out the door. I might actually be able to play in marching band! Feeling good, I went back to Mr. Topper's room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rest of my classes were a blur. No homework besides a bunch of paperwork and a few 'get-to-know-you' worksheets. By sixth period, English, I was nearly bouncing in my seat. I couldn't wait for band. Most likely, they'd be practicing show music during band class, which means I'd be able to take a look at it! I wasn't really good at sight-reading, but I wasn't terrible either.

I settled down in a seat, in the middle to the left as I had done in all other classes. Apparently, English was taught by a Mrs. Heffers. None of the teachers had been particularly cranky, though my Spanish teacher had looked really tired and strained. Hopefully it would be the same with Mrs. Heffers - though I knew from experience, there had to be at least one 'bad teacher'. One that always gave out extra homework, or always had something to say about "gum chewing" or "policy breaking". The one teacher that had been there for a hundred years, and was kind of 'still in the past' but no one wanted to fire because she "got the job done" as they say. But I kind of liked it that way anyhow - my teachers at a variety.

When she first walked into the classroom - I could tell she was going to be that 'one' teacher. With short grey hair, dull grey eyes, and a large nose that protruded out the front of her face, she walked in with a sheaf of papers. What looked too well like homework papers. I didn't like the idea of actual homework on the first day, but nothing could bring my happy-band-mood down now.

"Alright class," her actual voice made my teeth chatter "we're not going to stutter through the first week like a bunch of pigeons - we're going to get right to work. This first week will be on story elements, should be a quick review before we get into poetry, and memoirs and such..." She made a little "suction" sound with her teeth, and I shuddered. "Today we'll be focusing on setting and characters." She drew the two words up on the whiteboard. "Raise your hand if you can tell me what setting is." One hand shot up in the air. Mrs. Heffers sighed slowly. "Name?"

The girl that raised her hand smiled. "I'm Beatrice Anne. Setting is the time and place the story is." With that, she gave a look of triumph to her classmates and turned back to the teacher. Mrs. Heffers gave what slightly resembled a grin.

"Wonderful Miss Beatrice! Yes, setting is the time and place," she said as she began to write it up on the board. I groaned inwardly. I had a feeling this "Beatrice girl" wasn't going to be a friend of mine. I didn't really like people who were smart, and cocky. Horrible thing really, when you get to thinking about it. Like slapping somebody in the face because they don't have the same color hair as you. It doesn't make sense.

"I know, at least hope, all of you remember what characters in a story are, so I'm not going to talk about that much." She walked over to the sheaf of papers, and handed a few out to each student. "Here is your homework. Read the excerpts from the stories, and tell me what the settings and characters are for each one." After she finished handing them out, the bell rang right on time. "Class dismissed," she said and I hopped up from my desk, heading straight for the band room.

The band room was nearly deserted when I got there. A few students, about three or four, had just arrived, getting instruments or talking to each other. Mr. Connor wasn't in the room yet - and I still had about five minutes. No one else noticing me yet, I grabbed my trumpet case, and headed for an empty chair in the second chair, this time sitting on the right end by habit. It's where I had always sit in my old school's band room.

Quietly unloading my trumpet, I took in a better view of the people coming in. They looked mostly older, like juniors or seniors, though I think I recognized some of them from the hallways before, or at lunch. 'There', I thought to myself while putting my trumpet together. 'I remember that kid from church, Johnny, no it was Jackson.' He was talking to another kid his age. 'And there's Danny - from church and the bus. What instrument did he play? Oh yeah, baritone,' I remembered as I saw his short body struggling with the case. Noticing me, he smiled, and sat down in a chair directly behind me. Actually, I didn't mind. It was nice to see a kind of familiar face. Him and Lillith were the ones I remembered the most.

"So you survived until band," he commented, flipping his case open. I chuckled softly.

"Yep, I guess so. How was your first day?" For some reason, my 'first day jitters' had left me ever since I entered the band room.

Once his baritone was put together, he sat his case on the floor and stared at me. "Actually, not too swell. Turns out that you can't just dump random chemicals into a beaker without following 'direct procedures'." He used air quotations on the last two words, and grinned. "Other than that, it was okay though." I laughed, turning around more. He blew some warm notes into his baritone, and then flipped open a folder. "So," he said, setting his folder on the stand. "You any good?"

"...what do you mean?"

He looked up. "I mean are you good at trumpet? We only have two, you know."

"Well, I can play loud, but there's a fine line between loud and good," I said, blushing a little. Truth was, I thought I was pretty good. Normally got first chair when it came to concert band in my old school, but it depended on how good the other trumpets were. He laughed, and Mr. Connor jumped onto the podium. I looked around and realized the band room had nearly filled up. A kid with a trumpet sat down to the left of me, looking up at Mr. Connor.

"Alright," he said. "First things first. Let's get these sections set up." He hopped down from the podium and walked in front of the first row. "Flutes over on the left, then clarinets fill in the rest of the row." There was a little bit of shuffling as Mr. Connor moved onto the next row. "Sax's, start behind the flutes," he paused, stroking his beard. "Don't hate me, but baritones, I want you next to sax's." There was a groan as two older kids stood and sat down in the second row. "Trumpets," my ears perked up at the word. "I want you two, I mean three, right next to baritones." I got up quickly, sitting down a couple of places to the left.

Mr. Connor eyed the rest of the band. "The rest of you look good. All right, we'll work on a bit of show music today," he glanced over at me. "Alexandra you can look at Mason's music." He nodded to the older boy next to me. He smiled a bit, moving his stand in the middle of us.

"Good," Mr. Connnor said, hopping back up on the podium. "Sebastian, you can direct as well." A strong jawed emerald eyed boy hopped up from his seat, a couple of chairs next to me and walked up next to the podium. Mr. Connor nodded approvingly. "We'll start with the opener." The boy, Mason, opened his folder up to a song entitled "City Lights". I quickly looked over it, written in the key of F, so only one sharp for the trumpets.

Mr. Connor turned a metronome on and everyone groaned, including me. Back at my old school, our director had nicknamed the metronome Jamie, and she always got on everyone's nerves. He clicked it off, much to everyone's' relief, and counted us off.

I played the first few lines pretty easily, taking the lower note of the divisi. There were no hard rhythms, or weird notes in it, so I was fine. I played a little quieter than normal, something I had never done in band. But I didn't want to blurt out the wrong notes on accident, or act like the "hero" of the song. Mr. Connor cut us off after about half-way through the song.

"No, no. I need more melody here, clarinets are fine - I can actually here them cutting over the trumpets in the melody." He looked back at me and the two other trumpets. "I'll probably regret saying this, but more trumpet please." With that he flipped around in his score. "Beginning. Play it again."

This time, I played a little above my usual - which equaled to be about forte plus. I think I even saw Mason in the corner of my eye jump back a bit in his chair, his eyes wide. I wanted to smile, but my trumpet up to my mouth didn't let me. Instead, my eyes brightened and I raised my eyebrows, all the while playing. About measure 45 I dropped out though, there were a few lip-twisting runs I'd have to check in on later. When I joined back in at the end - the sound we all created was amazing. I hated to admit it, but it might of been more powerful than my old band. About forty people beating the quality of sound that a group of seventy people had. It was kind of awesome.

Sebastian looked at the trumpet section after the song ended, his eyebrows raised. We were all still at attention, but sitting. "At stinkin' ease," Sebastian breathed quietly, lowering his hands. He looked up at Mr. Connor and nodded. Beep, beep, beep.

I looked up at the clock, frowning as the bell rang. Had forty minutes already passed that fast? "All right, see you on the field at 3:05, no later. With that he packed up his stuff and left. As I put my trumpet back in its case, Mason looked over at me. "That was some pretty good music," he commented, putting his own trumpet up.

I blushed, and smiled. "Thank you," I said, trying to think of something else to say. Before I could, he spoke again.

"You marching this year?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, maybe. I want to. Mr. Connor said to come to one of this week's rehearsals and see how it goes. It'll probably have to be tomorrow though," I added, glum.

He nodded slowly. "It's alright, I understand." He shook my hand, shaking his head. "I'm Mason Ode. Trumpet player, section leader, and senior. You a junior?"

"Freshman," I said, putting my case in my lap.

"Wow," he muttered and stood up. "Anyway, see you tomorrow," he rushed out the door to the field. Smiling to myself, I walked to my locker. Grabbing all my things, I headed out to the bus. Turns out the first day of school wasn't always the worst. Sure there was jersey boy, but he was a minor tear in a big fluffy sweater. 'Maybe I'll actually like it here,' the thought would've seemed wild and crazy a day or two ago, but now, it seemed like it might actually be true.