Confessions of a Teenage Band Geek

by Brandt, Courtney

  An announcement comes over the loudspeaker: “Teachers, please release those students involved with the Pep Rally from class at this time. You have received a list of students approved for this activity.”

  In our classroom Tags and I gather our belongings and walk out of class. He holds the door with fake gallantry for me, saying haughtily, “My lady.”

  I respond in an equally fake British accent, “Thank you.”

  In the hall, we continue being dorks together, making fun of everyone who has to stay behind. We turn the corner, Quint Girl and Wide Receiver, and practically run into Denny and Liberty. Of course, Liberty looks unbelievably hot in her tiny little cheerleading outfit and I feel totally overdressed and the definition of a band geek in my jeans and marching shirt.

  Liberty steps away from Denny and says, “So, I’ll look for you later, okay, cutie?”

  Denny actually nods at this request. I try not to barf.

  “Thanks! I totally owe you one!” She turns around, short skirt twirling, two pairs of male eyes staring, and flounces down the hall. Grumbling to myself, I realize this little scene answers any question I might have had about Liberty Jensen. I kind of wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and not believe she was as bad as everyone said. However, no one calls my boyfriend a cutie – except me. I look at Denny incredulously (he doesn’t see the look, but Tags does, and has to stifle a laugh) and head in the direction of the band room. Denny catches up to me as we clear the corner. He asks, like he’s trying not to care, “What were you doing with Tartaglia?”

  What was I doing with Tags? More like, what the hell were you doing with Liberty? And why are you going to see her later? And how does she think she can get away with calling you cutie? I’m so stunned that I actually find it difficult to find my voice. Finally, after a sip from the water fountain, I try and answer in a normal tone, “He’s in my class – I told you that earlier this week. We were just walking together. What about you and Liberty? What was she talking about?”

  “Just some pep rally thing she needs help with.”

  “And let me guess, only you can help?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  Can he not see through her ruse? Okay, deep breaths. Calming thoughts. I grit my teeth and say brightly, “Sounds like fun.”

  Even though I’m not sure he believes me, Denny smiles at me and slings his arm casually around my shoulders.

  We reach the band room and get swept up in all the noise and drama. Once we have our instruments on, McDaniel calls out, “Clams Casino!” and we bust into one of a Westlake favorite cadences as we enter the fully packed gym. Because there are so many students, they’ve broken up attendance by class so we’re currently catering to the upperclassmen. After some fun pep tunes, Kimberly brings her hands down and gives us the cue to sit down.

  Like a cat ready to pounce, Liberty strolls up and purrs, “Denny? I need you now.”

  Reaching over to squeeze my hand tightly, Denny shrugs and walks away.

  Showing some amount of manners, Stan and Max at least have the decency not to leer. Unsure what she is planning, I have to hand it to Liberty that at least she is a worthy opponent. As Coach Lewis goes on and on about how we’re going to beat the Tigers, I decide to do a little investigation as to where Liberty has taken my boyfriend. Creeping into the hallway, I hear voices.

  Denny says, “Liberty, look, this whole thing is uncomfortable.”

  “Quit whining! Now, don’t you think he looks good, girls?” Liberty asks in a voice that just begs someone to disagree. Of course, she’s surrounded herself with a bunch of “yes women” so all I hear are positive responses.

  Denny’s voice grumbles, “Look, I’m not a football player and I don’t feel like pretending to be one. This is ridiculous.”

  “But you could be. Coach would be glad to—”

  “We’ve had this discussion a million times, Liberty, I’m perfectly happy on the drumline.”

  Normally, I’m a fairly rational girl, but Liberty’s blatant disregard for Denny’s opinion, well, something inside me snaps. I step out of the shadows and narrow my eyes. Placing a hand on my hip, I challenge, “I’ve got a skit for you, Liberty.”

  The entire cheerleading squad looks at me as if I’ve grown a third head. She purses her perfect lips and says, “It’s too late.”

  “Obviously, it’s not too late – you’re adding something with Denny right now.”

  “It’s different, he—”

  “Well, whatever he was going to do, I’ve got something new for you.”

  “But…”

  “It’s called improv, just go with it,” I challenge.

  Suddenly, the lights in the gymnasium dim and the announcer’s voice breaks up our conversation, “And now, a routine from your Westlake Warriors Cheerleaders!”

  Whoo. I can hardly wait. The girls look at each other before pasting identical smiles on their faces and bound through the door all bouncy and peppy. They do a routine to Gwen Stefani’s Wind It Up. Yawn. I fail to see how my classmates’ choreographed routines will help anyone win or play better. At least when we play music it gets everyone involved. As they finish, I get ready for my entrance – knowing I have to time my crazy idea perfectly. I know Liberty isn’t going to give me any chance to mess with her precious program. I have no idea if it will work or not, but it’s worth a shot. Without putting too much further thought into things, I take a deep breath and walk out on the basketball court. I swiftly grab the microphone Liberty is about to use, and shout, “Hey Westlake!”

  On the sidelines, I see the teachers kind of freaking out about this change in schedule. Determined not to give them an opening, I keep talking, “So, my name is Julia and I’m new here. Obviously – or I wouldn’t be doing this!”

  I get some giggles and continue, “Anyway, I met my new friend Liberty here, and she and I got to talking about what we were involved in. I told her well, quite honestly, what she did looked easy, and she said what I did looked easy, anyway, one thing led to another and we decided to test our theory in front of you!”

  I can see an approving smirk from Denny in the background.

  Liberty, not a fan of being made a public idiot, clenches her teeth, grabs the microphone roughly back and responds, “Listen, friend, you’re not wearing the right clothes for cheering, so maybe another time.”

  “I think I’ll be okay.” I look to the audience for support, “What do you guys think?”

  I think they think this is way better than the usual Pep Rally, and I’m right – the mass of apathetic teenagers actually start responding.

  Liberty crosses her arms, and answers, “Fine, let’s try something basic and see if you can keep up.”

  Her tone obviously suggests that I can’t. I study her as she does the basic Go! Fight! Win! Cheer with limited choreography. Inwardly, I laugh, because she has totally underestimated me. I love dancing. I see dance as an expression of music and since rhythm is practically my reason for waking up every morning, I have been known to bust a move. Watching the basic mechanics of the cheer, I determine the moves are easy enough for me to follow. Seriously, if I can memorize ten minutes of complicated drill plus music, I’m pretty sure I can master thirty seconds of cheering.

  Trying to keep the confidence out of my voice, I say, “Let me try.”

  In the style of the Eliza Dushku’s audition for the cheerleaders from Bring It On, I bust out a fairly perfect (but sarcastic) imitation of the cheer Liberty has just challenged me with. Much to her chagrin, the crowd responds appropriately and positively to my performance.

  “Thanks guys, now, let’s see if Liberty can play my tenors.”

  Denny is already one step ahead of me and comes over wearing his quints, and carrying Quincy. I put my tenors on and stand proudly. I decide on a cool sounding groove from one of our cadences. It’s involved enough to use all the drums, but doesn’t include any difficult sticking or rudiments. The look on Liberty’s face as I play is hilarious. Finishing, I
smile sweetly and say, “Your turn.”

  There is utter silence in the gym as Denny places his tenors on her shoulders and she almost falls over. I should feel bad, because that’s precisely what happened to me the first time, but Liberty’s kind of brought this situation on herself. I pass her my mallets and say, “Good luck.”

  The sound she produces is nothing like mine (and I cringe at the amount of times she grinds the mallets against the rims). In fact, she kind of gives up halfway through. Lucky for her, the bell rings, mercifully ending the Pep Rally and our little competition.

  As students stream past us, she hisses at me, “This isn’t over.”

  I smirk back and ask, “You want to try again for the underclassmen? I can play an easier part if you’d like.”

  As a response, she glares at me and rejoins her fellow cheerleaders. I walk into the hallway to prepare to make our spectacular entrance for the next Pep Rally. In the crowded hall, people come up to me and tell me what a good job I did.

  In the background, Denny is trying (and failing miserably) to keep a grin off of his face.

  “And just what is so funny?” I ask, once the Westlake student population has finally cleared and left us alone.

  “You.”

  I do not like it my boyfriend finds me amusing. Of course, his smug grin is kind of sexy, so it’s hard to stay even fake being mad at him for too long.

  Unhooking Quincy, I ask, “What about me?”

  Taking my hand in his, he says, “Without meaning to, you’ve become one of the most well known girls in the school.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you, Julia McCoy.”

  “How exactly did I do that?”

  “You just made the most popular girl at Westlake look like an idiot. Believe me, people here have been waiting for her to come down off her throne for a long time.”

  “That’s not what I meant to do! Well, maybe a little…” I admit “But seriously, who does she think she is?”

  Stan, who had kind of been lurking around near his own quints, butts in, “Now Julia, I’m not sure how things worked in sunny California, but here, the fact that you not only took our Queen Bee down a notch, but that you also did so without looking like you were really trying, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if you were nominated for Homecoming Queen or something.”

  “Homecoming Queen!!!” I burst.

  Max joins us, “I was kind of thinking the same thing.”

  “You guys are all mental,” is the only thing I can think to say.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Firsts

  Although rumors circulate around Westlake during the rest of the day, I manage to make it through classes without any further incident. The stories of the first pep rally fly fast and furious down the halls and in classes where I’ve formerly not known a single person, suddenly I am trending like a topic on Twitter. When I woke up this morning, I so did not plan on all this happening today. Wouldn’t I have worn something a little different than my 3rd favorite pair of jeans and my band t-shirt if I was?

  Denny picks me up a few hours later and we head over to my first official game as a Westlake marching Warrior. En route, I’m still trying to get over the embarrassment my parents put us through. They actually made Denny and I pose in our uniforms for pictures. Although not too terrible, the polyester uniforms really only hold their magic when you are actually marching or holding an instrument. Standing in our front yard, it’s kind of silly. But Denny is a trooper and takes my mom’s requests with a smile on his face.

  In the hallways of Westlake, Denny asks, “Are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  “This.”

  I cautiously walk towards the band room, praying and hoping everyone has already forgotten about my craziness from earlier today. Pausing at the entrance to the room, it occurs to me that I’ve never seen a scene quite like this. Everyone in uniform (or parts thereof) is kind of a legendary sight.

  “Wait ‘til we get out on the field,” Denny comes up behind me.

  Hearing the smile in his voice, I ask, “So, this is why you didn’t go back to the football team?”

  I turn around and see a slight blush on his cheeks. He scratches his head and answers, “Well, yeah, but if you tell anyone…”

  “Your secret is safe with me – don’t worry.”

  Any further sharing of emotions is interrupted as McDaniel shouts out, “Alright Battery, let’s go!”

  That’s us! With instruments on (but conquistador hats off), we walk out to the parking lot and begin our warm up.

  Marching down to the field is another rush. We play a number of cadences on the way and our beats get a lot of people smiling and moving.

  In a game I actually find myself caring about, the Westlake Warriors lose their home opener, which, when people care this much about the outcome, is kind of sad. Stan already explained to me – the more the team wins, the longer our season gets to go, so I’m kind of bummed as well. After I’ve tucked Quincy in for the night and decide to forgo hanging out with the rest of the Line, it’s an awkward ride home with a strangely quiet Denny. It’s weird to see him down, because he’s always the first to have a smile on his face, the first to pick everyone up after Wade yells at us, and the first to pat us on the back if we’ve done a particularly good lick. Maybe it’s because he’s a senior. I can’t even imagine being in band for four years and actually starting your last season.

  I decide to open with the obvious question, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’ve been around enough guys to know when “yeah” means “yes” and when it means “no.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Just drop it.”

  Not the answer I was expecting. Where did this attitude come from? I think back over the evening and suddenly it hits me. The football team was winning for most of the night, but then there was an interception and the other team ran it back for a touchdown, causing them to win the game. It occurs to me I miss my ‘friend’ Denny – the one from the summer who told me everything.

  “Fine.”

  Denny arrives at my house and unhappily I pull all of my stuff out of the car. Like I said, I’ve been around enough guys to know sometimes they just need to go get over themselves.

  “See you.”

  As he drives away, I realize this is definitely not how I pictured my first game going. And what sucks worse is my weekend is completely booked with band practice and lessons, so I’m not going to see him again until Monday morning.

  I don’t get out of a funk until I head over to Beans and Cornbread practice the following day. By some magic of the scheduling gods, I have at least one class with each of my band mates, so that’s a win, but school versions of Greg, Tyler, and Jasper are a little different than our jam sessions. After a solid hour, we decide it’s time for a break, grab a drink, and crash on the couch.

  Out of nowhere, Greg asks, “So, guys, we’re doing all we can, right?”

  Jasper, Tyler, and I all nod, looking at each other and trying not to make eye contact with Greg. Greg’s question doesn’t really surprise me, because he is basically on a six week rotation where he gets all moody and depressed we haven’t signed with anyone or we’re not doing every single thing we can (i.e. dropping out of school and touring constantly) to make Beans and Cornbread a nationally known name with a label and record contract. He looks exasperated, throws up his hands and exclaims, “I just feel like there’s something more we could do.”

  I shrug and suggest, “The pictures we have are kind of outdated.”

  I wasn’t lying. Basically, when we first formed the band, we pasted together a bunch of different pictures for our hastily made and completely unprofessional website. A lot of the pictures of me were from my time with Jared in Shorts. Of course, we wanted to be judged on the fact our music was what attracted people, but in today’s world, you had to have the whole package, and sometimes marketing could make the differe
nce.

  Jasper asks, “Isn’t Laurel a photographer or something?”

  And then Greg blushes and answers, “She is.”

  Tyler questions innocently, “How did her pictures turn out from band camp?”

  The blush deepens and I have to hide a laugh with my cough. I’ve seen some of the pictures and they are a wee bit Greg specific. Like, every tenth one might be of me, but mostly they are of Greg.

  “They are good – she really knows how to do post-production,” Greg replies diplomatically.

  Oblivious, Tyler says, “Well, why don’t we all get together next weekend and have Laurel take some pictures, instead of practicing?”

  I think our lead singer/guitarist is slightly angry he didn’t think of this great idea first and replies, “I guess, you know I’ll have to check things with her and everything, but sure.”

  I interject, “Since it’s been decided, please understand I am going to talk to each of you during the week about which clothes are acceptable.”

  They all look at me as if I’ve grown a third head.

  I roll my eyes and continue, “I know like, we can’t wear any logos and stuff. Furthermore, I can coordinate with Laurel about appropriate places for the shoot.”

  “You know, my grandparents own a farm about forty minutes from here,” Tyler offers.

  Jasper chimes in, “We could take all of our equipment out there.”