Confessions of a Teenage Band Geek

by Brandt, Courtney

  As my pulse quickens, a relaxed Greg says, “We’ve been working on this one all summer and well, you ready, Julia?”

  I nod, too terrified to hear the sound of my own voice. I haven’t done any sort of vocal warm ups, and just have to trust this won’t end horribly.

  Greg starts with the familiar chords and I try and put everything out of my head. Suddenly, it’s my turn to sing and I do. The song is a modified romantic ballad and, when done acoustically, doesn’t really sound like the usual Beans and Cornbread. Halfway through the tune, I risk a look out into the audience and make quick eye contact with Denny. He flashes me a quick smile and I suddenly feel a lot better about everything. The last chord sounds and loud applause breaks out. It may sound totally clichéd, but the sound of the crowd lifts my heart. Greg shares a smile with me. I think we’ve even surprised ourselves.

  “Thank you, Westlake. Now we’re going to end the festivities with a little rock song we like to call Box Top Surprise.”

  I curtsy to the audience and go to step behind my set. Clicking my drum sticks together loudly and confidently, I count off the song and we launch into the music.

  After we finish, rather than admit I am too shy to actually see what people really thought of my performance, I stay and help supervise the loading of all our equipment. Laurel finds her way backstage. She gives me a very uncharacteristic hug and says, “You were awesome!”

  Looking at the rest of the band, she adds, “So were the rest of you!”

  Uh-oh. Laurel is starting to exhibit all the traits of band groupie-itis. I’ve seen it before, but I’ve never seen a case come on this quickly. Her attitude is especially weird considering she was at Battle of the Bands and had no such reaction. Hmm, maybe it’s because now she really does know someone in the band. Or likes someone in the band?

  Greg pulls out his digital camera and asks politely, “Would you mind getting a picture of us?”

  She nods, and, cheeks flushed, says, “I snapped a bunch of pictures during your performance.”

  “Really?”

  She twists the strap on her camera and says shyly, “Yeah, it’s kind of a hobby.”

  “That’s awesome. You know, maybe I should get your information, so I can get a look at the pictures.”

  Wow, Greg is a smooth operator. Of course, given their instant connection, I’m a little sad I didn’t figure out this potential chemistry sooner. As much as I want Denny and Laurel to get together, I should have recognized it was never going to happen.

  Jasper, Tyler and I all share a smile and finish loading the car.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TEN: Another Kind of Punishment

  I wake up the next morning even more sore than the day before. Looking at the clock, I mumble and roll over deciding that an extra 45 minutes of sleep is preferable to perfect hair and make up. After all, I’m just going to sweat it all off anyway. Laurel’s alarm goes off about an hour later and, with obvious practice, she quickly yanks the device out of the wall and throws it at the door. We both pass out again. The sound that finally wakes us is the loud beating of drums. Oh frick. Not even bothering to wait for Laurel, I haul ass down the hall, resplendent in my Victoria’s secret Pink striped boxer shorts and matching pink cami (with built in bra – thank goodness!), sprint to get Quincy and join the warm up pretending like I have been present the entire time. Never mind my fuzzy slippers. I look straight ahead as the band members come out and give me funny looks, but play on and keep the best perfect attention I can. I know there will be hell to pay for my tardiness. I know it reflects badly on Denny.

  We march to breakfast. Going through the cadence, I put my mind on autopilot and think how weird it is being in this section. Like, last night, I was the hero of the Line. I showed everyone my mad drum set chops and now, not even ten hours later, it is all forgotten. While Mr. Mickelson goes through morning announcements, and I wait for my punishment to be handed down, my mind continues to wander. The thing is, I’m not so much a strong gal. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I totally believe in G.I. Jane and doing everything the guys are doing, but literally my body was just not made to do fifty pushups. I can admit that. It’s enough holding up Quincy all day. So, as sore as I already am, I am terrified at what I’m going to have to do to make up for being late.

  As we’re all dismissed to breakfast, Wade claps a hand on my shoulder. Now, in the real world (a la, outside of band camp) I would be totally digging this attention. Today, however, I am terrified.

  “McCoy?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Were you sick this morning?”

  “No, sir.” What? I can’t come up with a lie? What is wrong with me?

  “Then you were late?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know what the punishment is for being tardy to a warm up or practice?”

  “No, sir.”

  He proceeds to list off a series of physical challenges that I think even an Army Ranger would have a difficult time completing. My eyes widen and suddenly I’m picturing myself in a hospital for the beginning of my junior year and missing out on the marching season entirely.

  “…but I don’t think that’s fair to you.”

  “You don’t?” I ask incredulously.

  “No, I don’t. So, instead, I’m going to reenact an old tradition from when I was in high school.”

  The tone in my Instructor’s voice implies that this tradition cannot be a good thing. Wade walks away towards breakfast and motions me to follow him, “You’ll want to eat up this morning, J – you’re going to need your strength today.”

  In the cafeteria, I slip into a seat next to Laurel. Her brown eyes are wide and full of concern. She asks hesitantly, “What did he say? Is it bad?”

  I push around eggs on my plate and mumble, “Well, apparently my punishment is going to be extra special.”

  “Did he mention my name?”

  I shake my head, “No.”

  She lets out a long sigh and I notice how pale she is. I ask, “Why?”

  Laurel drops her voice, “Wade can hand out the hardest punishments ever. Last year, Denny couldn’t get this lick and Wade made him do so many sit-ups that Denny threw up.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “And you couldn’t tell me before? I should’ve faked an injury or sickness instead of actually going out and joining the warm up.”

  “You were already running down the hall! I couldn’t stop you.”

  I sneak back from breakfast and after a quick shower, decide the pajama party look is probably not my best bet and don actual clothing. Dreading what’s ahead of me, I walk outside to join my section. The disappointed look on Denny’s face is almost more than I can take. McDaniel looks like he has something to tell me, but sees Wade walk up and looks away. Our Instructor announces, “Side parking lot. Get warmed up on your own.”

  Denny leads us through some very un-warm up quint grooves – maybe he’s trying to help take my mind off of what’s about to happen, I don’t know. We see Wade motioning for us to come back and join the rest of the Battery. Still on my best behavior, I walk solemnly over with Stan. Suddenly, Wade pulls me in front of everyone. Even though it’s a sweltering eighty degrees, I actually have to concentrate on not shaking.

  “Well, Westlake drumline, I’d like to introduce you to someone today.” Having everyone’s undivided attention, Wade continues, “You may know her as Julia, but today she’s going to be your servant. Because Julia chose to arrive to required warm ups late this morning, for the rest of the day, she is at the beck and call of you, the Battery members. She will refer to all as Mister. Now, please remember no task is too small for her.”

  Embarrassed I may be, I let out an inward sigh of relief. I mean, in comparison to going to the hospital, what’s the worst that can happen?

  Wade leans over and whispers to me as I rejoin the quints, “If you do not take this assignment today completel
y seriously, you do not want to know what else I can come up with.”

  I mumble quietly, “Yes, Mr. Robertson.”

  The Battery (minus the gentlemen in my section) take to Wade’s proclamation like little ducklings to water and I don’t entirely get out of doing physical punishment. For example, when one of the cymbal players – a freshman – marches out of step for an entire song and has to do push-ups, it’s of course, me that ends up doing them. While the morning isn’t so bad, I spend all of lunch running around getting food for everyone and have to say things like, “Would you like anything else, Mr. McDaniel?”

  It’s not so bad for the section leaders, but fetching Kool Aid for underclassmen feels utterly ridiculous. I risk a look at the quints and am grateful that they’ve decided not to make me suffer. Also, in a surprise move, Laurel stands up and joins me and my insane attempt to pass out enough tater tots to the entire section. We get weird looks from a lot of people in the cafeteria and I overhear some strange comments:

  “…is this the 1950’s? Why are the girls in drumline serving their guys?”

  “The girls in the trumpet section could learn a thing or two – ouch!”

  During the afternoon break period, I quickly retire to my room, step out of my flip flops, turn on my Jack Johnson ultimate chill mix, and stretch out on my bed. Was this what I thought I’d be getting into when I signed up for marching band? Hardly. I thought it would be like…well, the past two days were a lot of hard work, but they were also a lot of fun. Today? What if the rest of the season is like this morning? I haven’t made a lot of mistakes so far, but when I committed to the section I didn’t think it was going to be quite so hard core. So what if I’m a few minutes late? Does that mean we’re going to lose our competition in October? Seriously. And then, if I’m already questioning my commitment now, do I honestly have what it takes to make it through the season? But then, are the guys just giving me a hard time because I’m the ‘new guy’? I think back over the morning and everything I had to do does seem like it was all in good fun. Well, except with McDaniel.

  Laurel comes in and collapses on her bed.

  I ask her, “What was up with McDaniel this morning?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was it just me, or did he seems to get a perverse kick in watching me suffer?”

  Laurel is quiet a moment.

  “Well?”

  “Sorry, I fell asleep for a moment. Honestly, I think he doesn’t like girl drummers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His reaction is a result of a competition we had last year.”

  “What?” I say sarcastically, “Poor McDaniel couldn’t take it because a girl beat him?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup, last year, we were at a national percussion thing and she won the individual snare competition.”

  “Wow, this girl really must’ve done a number on him.”

  Laurel nods and answers, “She was a pretty amazing drummer.”

  I close my eyes and try and picture McDaniel losing to a girl. His future boyfriend status was kind of put on hold after how he acted this morning. If Denny, Max, and Stan didn’t treat me like a servant, I’m not sure why McDaniel would feel it was necessary for me to fetch him mustard, ketchup, and mayo separately. Maybe he’ll make it up to me this afternoon by taking all of my punishments for me.

  The afternoon isn’t quite so bad, well, it’s not so bad until we get to the first set of the third song. Today somehow seems even hotter than all the other days combined. There is zero motivation on the field and Mr. Mickelson is getting more and more frustrated with us. Even the Instructors, who are usually super happy and peppy have turned grumpy and frustrated.

  While the Brass Instructor and Mr. Mickelson work out a tricky part of the song for the low brass, we do our best to hold attention. This is made especially difficult because Wade has moved up to the front sidelines to check on the Pit. Furthermore, the guys’ attention has been drawn to the Majorettes who stand directly in front of us. The girls have no such rule to stand at attention and are goofing off with their batons and streamers. I look longingly at their little light pieces of equipment and wish for one second we could trade places. Isabelle, their section leader, practically demands we break attention. She walks over and zeroes in on none other than Stan, who is next to me.

  She gets right in his face and says in a sultry voice, “Hey, Stan.”

  Stan is, of course, at attention and cannot talk. And I know this is killing him. He is desperate to have any sort of contact with her, but if he breaks attention, even to look cool, then he risks the wrath of Wade, which could possibly include me since I’m the drumline servant.

  I whisper, “Go for it.”

  Stan flashes his super white teeth at Isabelle and turns up the charm, “Hey, gorgeous.”

  “I thought you couldn’t talk.”

  “I’m not supposed to, but some rules were meant to be broken.”

  On Stan’s other side, Denny is glaring at the couple. Isabelle giggles. From across the field I can see Wade approaching. No matter how cute Isabelle thinks Stan is, she beats a hasty retreat back to her section.

  “Stan?” Wade barks.

  “Yes?”

  “Push-ups. Fifty. Now.”

  I feel like I was the one who pushed Stan into breaking attention, so I hoist off Quincy (ow!) and step forward, “I’m the servant, I’ll do the push-ups.”

  Then Denny steps forward and takes off his quints and says, “I’ll take your place.”

  Not to be outdone, Max and Stan take off their own instruments. Max shrugs and says, “Well, if all of you are going to do it, then I don’t want to be left out.”

  Trying to lighten the situation I say, “You know, if we split this up, we’d only have to do like, twelve push ups each.”

  Max says seriously, “Actually, 12.25.”

  Stan asks, “Can you really do .25 push ups?”

  “Enough with the semantics!” Wade yells. “Who is going to do the push-ups?!”

  Stan gives me a look which I immediately interpret – the look says, ‘Don’t say anything because then Isabelle will think I’m some dork who allows a girl to do his push ups for him. I want to her to think I’m a stud, not a dud.’

  Okay, so maybe I made the last part up.

  I answer, “Stan will.”

  Stan drops down and with military precision quickly completes what would’ve taken me an hour to do. Isabelle looks charmingly on from her spot, as if Stan is somehow saving the world by doing the push-ups for her or something. Well, a happy Stan is a happy me, so everyone wins. Also, there is some small victory for the quint section. We stuck together and that has to count for something.

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Changing Partners

  Tonight, Wade lets me off for good behavior. Walking back to the dorms in the late summer twilight, I’m kind of amazed it’s suddenly, inexplicably, Thursday night. Sniff. We only have one more day of practice, then the dance, and then all the parents show up and we’re marching the show. And it’s over. How did that happen? I’m not ready for band camp to end.

  In the twilight, I’m joined by McDaniel, who bumps me playfully with his snare and says, “Hey, great job today.”

  It’s funny the small compliments I live for. I never thought I would need to hear I was doing a god job. We walk in silence to the large room that houses all the percussion equipment. I try and come up with any sort of flirty response, as this is the first time in the entire week I’ve been alone with my crush, but nothing comes to mind. But somehow that’s okay. Somehow, today is suddenly worth it. I’d already proven myself to the quints, but maybe all the running around and groveling today was worth it if the rest of the Line accepts me. As we enter the room, which is bursting at the seams with loud percussionists, McDaniel smiles at me and says with a wink, “Don’t be late tomorrow.”

  Be still, my heart.

  I�
�m not sure how exactly to describe how I fill the hours of my free night, but I will tell you the first un-official drumline poker night was in effect until the wee hours of the morning.

  As we take the field the following morning for practice, I realize we’re so close to finishing a ‘basic draft’ the halftime show. What started out a few days ago as a computer simulation, has suddenly become the beginnings of a performance that’s worth watching. I look up and lean backwards to stretch the aching muscles in my back. Kimberly, of Kimberly and McDaniel (McDimberly? KimDaniel?) is prancing around the field. The other drum major, Russell, is up on the podium conducting with the woodwinds. Kim and I have not interacted much during the week, which is fine by me. Sure, she has sat with our section during the night events, which I guess is understandable, because even though she’s not in our section per se, she’s kind of in every section, plus, she does have ‘drum’ in her title. I’ve tried my best to ignore the happy couple and for the most part, it’s been surprisingly easy. I guess there’s been a lot to distract me.

  Laurel assures me it’s a very good thing Kimberly and McDaniel have a strong relationship. Apparently, last season, they had a fight and the show went to hell for a practice. No one knows what would happen if they actually broke up. Stan sees me rolling my eyes, and his dark coffee colored eyes flick over to where I’m looking. He grins smugly, “Not a fan of Kim?”

  I smile, because we both know ‘it’s Kimberly, not Kim.’ I nod and respond, “Seriously, don’t you think the other sections get tired of it?”

  “Nah. They all know a happy Kim is a happy band.”

  I don’t really feel like talking about my crush’s girlfriend, so I change the subject, “So, how about you and Isabelle?”