Confessions of a Teenage Band Geek

by Brandt, Courtney

  Checking my phone – still no text from Denny, I decide to call a quick meeting of Beans and Cornbread at the local Taco Bell. Having not talked to them since my little temper tantrum on Saturday morning, I hope they have done the normal guy thing and promptly forgotten all about my ridiculous outburst. Digging into my burrito, I wipe my mouth and announce, “So, I’ve got some news.”

  They look hesitantly at each other. Mouth full of nachos, Greg asks, “Yes?”

  “I didn’t tell you guys on Friday night, but I actually have a major marching competition on Saturday with the band.”

  Their response? To nod silently. No, ‘Oh wow, Julia, you were going to give up drumline for us?!’ or ‘Your commitment to Beans and Cornbread is unbelievable.’

  I continue, “So, today, I went to the Foundry, and got the club’s manager to switch our dates…”

  I pause dramatically, waiting for any sort of reaction, however, my band continues eating their various Tex Mex products as if I’ve just told them something mundane, like how I did on my Physics test.

  “Did you hear what I said, guys? We’re performing Friday instead of Saturday!”

  While this is big news to me, my band mates seem to be wholly unaffected. Maybe they already got out their initial excitement of our gig out of their systems and I’m just playing catch up. Greg, after a gulp of Mountain Dew, asks, “So, that’s why you were flipping out at practice?”

  Deep breaths. Think nice thoughts. Could it be these guys don’t really get it? Is it worth the fight to make them understand what I was willing to sacrifice to be with them? I look around at Beans and Cornbread, who are happily eating like any normal teenage guys would. Was my response on Saturday motivated by my frustration from Denny? Or rather, my band’s inability to recognize what I was giving up? How were they supposed to know my schedule? Perhaps I had overreacted.

  It’s Jasper who surprises me, and maybe everyone by interrupting the silence at the table by saying, “You know we would be completely lost without you, right, Julia?”

  I smile as the others nod in agreement. I love these guys.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Beautiful Disaster

  Leaving Taco Bell, I am determined as I drive to Denny’s. Interestingly, as I pull into his driveway, there is a car I don’t recognize parked in front of me. Walking up to the door, I still wasn’t sure how to phrase what I wanted to say, but I knew once I saw Denny, it would probably all work itself out. Plus, hello, hot streak? Everything was pointing towards optimism: Lucy moving our show, Wade not getting mad at the whole Caitlin thing, Beans and Cornbread being cool with the date change. I summon my courage and beat out a familiar tenor lick loudly on the door.

  A rumpled, in-his-flannel-pajama-pants-totally-adorable, Denny answers.

  “I’m totally going to be at the competition!” I blurt out, forgetting entirely that he’s sick and I should probably at least wish him well.

  My section leader stands for a moment, which feels like an eternity. As much as I want his lips to curl into a familiar smile – it isn’t happening. Then I hear a voice call out from behind him, a voice that I have heard entirely too many times yelling out obnoxious cheers and chants, and my heart plummets.

  “Who is it?”

  Liberty comes up from behind Denny, smiles petulantly, and says, “Hi, Julia. Denny was just telling me how excited he is to play football again.”

  She looks so incredibly smug, I want to jump across the threshold and wipe the smile off her face permanently. What in the heck is she doing here? And what in the hell is she talking about? Why didn’t Denny feel like he could confide in me? All of these questions combine to basically feel like I have been punched in the stomach.

  Not wanting to see Liberty’s obvious gloating, I lock eyes on Denny, but since he is sick, all I get is kind of a glazed over look. Furthermore, he isn’t providing any answers about his ex-girlfriend’s appearance or what his new jock status would mean to the section. Did she have some sort of tracking device that could tell when I wasn’t in the area so she could swoop in and make her move?

  Wordlessly, I stumble back to my car. It seems like all of the amazing things that had gone on during the day didn’t matter anymore, now that Denny…now that Denny what? I didn’t want to know the answer to that question.

  For the next few days, rather than be mature individuals about whatever is going on between us, Denny and I lapse into a weird silent treatment. I have pride, and seeing Liberty pushed me too far. When he continues to offer no explanation for what she was doing at his house, I begin to lose confidence he ever had real feelings for me. After all, I walked in to the middle of a complicated relationship – Liberty and Denny have a lot more history than he and I do. Eventually, our rift starts affecting the entire section. We aren’t yelling and screaming at each other, in fact, we are coldly polite. We play all of our notes and march in step, but both Wade and McDaniel are utterly confused how the strongest section in the Battery now has zero chemistry. I think they both knew how to deal with dropped mallets and missed visuals, but maybe this situation is why dating in your section can’t be a good idea. Stan tries to get me to open up about things a few times, but I don’t feel like talking to him about whatever ‘it’ was.

  After a particularly depressing sectional, I call Kat, who thankfully answers on the second ring, “Hey, girl.”

  “Remind me why I haven’t moved back to Cali?”

  “Things still bad with the Denster?”

  “How can they be bad if they don’t exist?”

  “One of you is going to have to give in.”

  “Not me – I can stay this way until he graduates if I have to.”

  “Jules, seriously, I get the whole pride thing, but why not just talk to him. From everything you previously told me about him, he seems like a pretty decent guy.”

  “I’d rather stuff a pom pom down Liberty’s throat.”

  “Well, that’s not very constructive, is it?”

  “Why do you have to be so smart?”

  “No reason – it’s just common sense. Hey, I’ve still got to go to last period, do you need me to call you back?”

  “Not unless you’ve got any better ideas.”

  “Just talk to him.”

  “Bye, Kat.”

  “Later, J.”

  As proud as Denny and I both are, the stalemate goes into its second week. I keep busy practicing like crazy for the upcoming gig, indulging my feelings of extreme nervousness for my first real band competition (basically, a recurring dream where I am consistently out of step and run over a judge with Quincy), all while trying to keep my mind off of Denny. Unfortunately, he seems to be everywhere and I can’t escape the Denny Napoleon mania that has taken over Westlake. With the starting quarterback out for at least three games and Denny’s decision to officially take the position, all anyone can talk about is the football program and where my boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) fits into things. Not that I have a chance to actually speak to him about his choices. Denny somehow works out a deal with Wade and the Coach to split his afternoons practicing with both the Line and the team. He leaves us early and the football team practices late, so there is no time to catch up with him.

  Even if I wanted to, he isn’t alone that often. While I didn’t see Liberty at his side all of the time, she is around Denny more often than not. The disheartening thing is, as much as I didn’t want to admit the truth, they look like they kind of belong together.

  Also not helping matters any? The question of Homecoming court. Not that I really care, but in a case of perfectly awesome timing, ballots go out in Homeroom on Thursday and I can already picture Denny in his football uniform and Liberty in her cheerleader ensemble and me, watching from the sidelines, lugging Quincy around. I wonder if I can take my instrument as my date.

  “So why don’t you just ask him what’s going on? I still don’t understand what’s so hard about that.” Laurel interrupts my thoughts as we walk (in step,
of course) down the bustling hall to class.

  Even something as simple as walking through Westlake makes me think about Denny. The cheerleaders have been busy placing a myriad of posters supporting the team (especially its most recent addition) all over the school.

  I can’t verbalize the answer to Laurel’s question. Rather than tell her the truth – I’m afraid of what Denny will say – I wuss out and promptly change the subject, “I still wish you could come to the show tomorrow night.”

  “You know I would totally be there for both you and Greg, but isn’t it my job to cover your ass in front of Wade and Mr. Mickelson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re sure you don’t want to talk to the Mick about it? I bet he would understand. I mean, after all, it’s a real gig.”

  As much as I want our band director to be cool with my performance, I decide I can’t risk telling him. So far, Beans and Cornbread have let people know about our show mainly through social media and have tried to keep knowledge of the gig away from any friends I have in the marching band. Hopeful my band director wasn’t monitoring our lives online, I have been careful to let the guys do most of the marketing.

  Even with these concerns, on my top priorities was figuring out what happened with Denny? I keep replaying our last conversation over in my head, but come up empty. The optimist in me sees that as much as Liberty and Denny are together, he doesn’t look at her like he looked at me and he hasn’t asked her to Homecoming. The glass-half-empty side sees it has been two weeks and nothing has happened between us. The realist part of my brain tells me to just get over myself and talk to him – what was the harm in that? Conveniently, I ignore all three.

  Things come together when we run through the show trying to get everything awesome for Saturday’s competition. Denny leaves about halfway through practice, and after his departure, my rehearsal goes completely downhill. I drop my mallets during a super basic maneuver at least three times. I come into breaks early, then late, then not at all. I can tell I have basically worn out everyone’s patience, and there is nothing I can do about it – my brain refuses to concentrate. No amount of punishment seems to break the mental block I’m in.

  After I scrape like a fiend on the tenor break, Wade abruptly pulls me out of formation and says, “You’re done for today, Julia. See you tomorrow.”

  We both know there is still a full half hour left in practice. I look at my Instructor like he is crazy, then shake my head and move in place next to Stan.

  Wade blocks me says in a warning tone, “Don’t do this, McCoy.”

  “But—”

  Staring off at the rest of the Battery, he says, “Come back when you’re ready to concentrate on what’s on the field. Whatever is going on off the field is slowing you down, and I don’t have room for that kind of shit on my Line.”

  He leaves me standing open mouthed – tears gathering in my eyes. Deciding I don’t really have an option, I turn and walk back to the band room, utterly defeated. I try to reason through things, but there was no way around what Wade has said.

  Ironically, my rehearsal that night with the guys is slamming. I put all my many frustrations into my drum set, and surprisingly, I feel better than I have in a very long time. The guys must feel it too, because as the crash cymbal finishes ringing on one of our newest songs, Catfight, we all look at each other and Greg says, “Let’s pack it up.”

  We expertly load everything in the ‘Burbanator for tomorrow night. Once finished, Jasper and Tyler head back into the house, and I am surprised when Greg, after lighting a cigarette, stops me and asks, “So, Julia, what’s the deal?”

  Could it be my band mates really are observant? Have they picked up on the fact that my life has pretty much been turned upside down in the past two weeks? I respond by asking vaguely, “What do you mean?”

  Exhaling slowly, he replies, “I’m not going to fault you on any notes or anything, but up until tonight, you seemed to be missing your usual joie d’vive.”

  “It’s just some stuff.”

  “With Denny?”

  I haven’t mentioned anything to the band about my boy problems to the band, but strangely, it feels like Greg might be a good listener. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, and I have no doubt the other guys are Wii’ing it up inside. Leaning on my car, I ask, “What did Laurel tell you?”

  “The basics.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to do.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Okay, I do know what to do, but…”

  “But what, Julia? Either it’ll work out, or it won’t, but remember, this is just high school.”

  There’s really nothing I can say to respond, so I remain quiet.

  He continues, “Maybe I’m being a little selfish, but I’d like to think this band of ours is going to go on past some relationship with the local football star. Bring chops like yours tomorrow, and I think some people are really going to notice.”

  To punctuate his point, he steps on the spent cigarette and walks back into the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime

  Still sorting through my feelings after practice, I go to bed in a jumble of emotions.

  I am nervous because of our gig tomorrow night.

  I am nervous that the Julia who was at practice today might take over my body and ruin the competition for everyone on the drumline on Saturday. What if I’m not really cut out to be a tenor player? Have I been kidding myself this entire season?

  I am nervous that somehow the Mick will find out I am ditching the football game to perform and thus ban me from the competition.

  I am worried Liberty is going to try and steal Denny away from me while I’m not at the game.

  I am worried I forgot to pack some important piece of my kit.

  I am…tired and unable to sleep. As I roll over for the umpteenth time and see the green glow of the clock radio ahead of me reads 2:10AM.

  A few short hours later, on the way in to school – courtesy of Tyler (who lives in a nearby neighborhood, and has been driving me to school for the past two weeks), we stop at the local gas station. I purchase a four pack of Red Bull, because hey, I know I’m going to need something to keep me going until my naptime after school.

  In the gas station (which, of course, is all decked out in its Warriors pride – home game tonight!), who else should decide to walk in, but Liberty and some of the girls from her gorgeous entourage. I sigh aloud, because I seriously do not need this right now. They are the opposite of me. They are sparkly and colorful and energetic. Courtesy of my few hours of sleep, I look like Death warmed over.

  Tyler, naturally, being a straight male and preprogrammed to drool over all girls in cheerleading uniforms, makes a surprise move and walks deliberately in Liberty’s direction. Curious, I put on my headphones, drop my hoodie down and walk over, trying my best to look like I am not eavesdropping, and mostly like I’m completely fascinated by car air fresheners.

  “Hey, Liberty?” Tyler asks.

  Liberty’s confused face reflects my emotions exactly. Unsure who the guy in front or her is, or what he wants, she questions, “Yes?”

  Tyler rummages around in his messenger bag, pulls out a flyer for our gig, and shoves the smashed up paper in her general direction. Liberty receives the offer as if holding a piece of garbage and is about to throw it in the trash when something catches her eye. Fluttering her lashes, she asks, “Wait, isn’t Julia McCoy in your band?”

  Tyler, apparently oblivious to my ongoing altercation with the head cheerleader, nods his head, and answers, “Yup, she’s one bad ass set player.”

  Liberty smiles sweetly and asks innocently, “And you’re playing tonight?”

  Tyler, probably in shock that this cheerleader is actually speaking with him, responds, “Yeah, I know you’ve got the game and all, but maybe you could show up after. We’re probably not playing until after 10 or so.
”

  Liberty reaches out to caress Tyler’s arm and says, “I might just do that.”

  Tyler half stumbles away and we walk out to the car. Once inside the automobile, I carefully weigh bodily harming my band mate versus how much we need him tonight. Tyler breaks my internal struggle by asking, “Do you think she’ll actually show up?”

  The three hours of sleep I’ve managed to accumulate can’t contain themselves any longer, and I explode, “No, Tyler, I don’t think she will. Furthermore, now she knows exactly where I’m going to be and that I’m skipping tonight’s game, I’m just waiting to see what she does with this information to ruin my life. I wouldn’t put it past her to get me kicked out of marching band. So, thanks a lot, dude, I think that in a matter of twenty seconds you managed to wreck everything I’ve been trying to keep quiet for the past two weeks!”

  After a moment of comprehension, Tyler mumbles, “Sorry, Julia.”

  The thing is, Tyler is so obviously sorry, that I have to forgive him and reach over to cover his hand and squeeze gently, “I’m sorry, Tyler, it’s just kind of the last thing I wanted to have happen, you get that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Still, I can’t help but smile a little, and ask, “There’s one thing I have to know – what on earth possessed you to go up and talk to Liberty Jensen?”

  “I think it was just the confidence of some old fashioned rock and roll.”

  “Julia.”

  I don’t have to turn around to know whose voice is speaking to me. I finish tying my shoes after gym class in the empty locker room.