A cheer ripples through the crowds as the section leaders make their way onto the field, and I start to feel very nervous. If this judge has been carrying some sort of grudge against Westlake, I probably have done nothing to make amends. If he was slimy enough to take things out on Mr. Mickelson for some sort of event years ago, what will he do now that I have run him down?
As I fret about this particular question, the announcer goes through each of the bands and gives out scores and other important information. I stand in fear, wondering if it’s possible for an entire band to be disqualified. I know what Denny told me, that I have nothing to worry about, but, what if he’s wrong? Suddenly, Stan nudges me it’s our category! How is this possible?
This is my first band competition – maybe my last, by the way things are going – and I’m missing out on everything!
Denny did a bit of explaining on the way up to the event. First, all the bands get their scores – Excellent, Superiors, and some sort of other adjectives I wasn’t really paying attention to. Then, they go through and pass out category or “caption” awards. This is where individual sections stand out and are recognized. It is, of course, a Very Big Deal. And last, Sweepstakes awards are given – this is for overall highest scores of the day. I know without asking that Westlake is usually at the top.
We wait while the various other section awards were given – with Westlake being well represented. It is a very proud moment to know our band has some of the best talent around.
Finally, it is time the High Percussion Ensemble placements.
As we wait with our collective breaths held, the announcer goes through the placements.
Our drumline is not in the top three.
I don’t know how this is possible. From what I can tell, we have one of the most difficult books, play the most notes, have insane drill and definitely one of the cleanest shows. Sneaking a look around, I see the underclassmen openly taking our exclusion the worst, while the upperclassmen manage to keep straight faces, every inch the disciplined drummers they have been molded into over the years. I have never been more proud of them. Nor, have I ever been more disappointed in myself.
This entire situation is my fault. I should have listened to the Mick and Wade.
How am I going to live with myself?
We continue to listen halfheartedly, as the announcer reveals the Sweepstakes winners. This is the award that stands for everything – the combined overall effort of the band. As the announcer starts with tenth place and works his way up, I am certain we are going to go home empty handed – which is something I couldn’t even imagine a few hours ago. Just when I had lost all hope that I would ever hear our school’s name…
“…in second place overall, Westlake High School.”
Although a big part of me is totally relieved we get the recognition we deserve, I still have to wonder if we would be in first place if it weren’t for my screw up. Then, a funny thing happens. The entire band reacts by cheering, shouting, and hollering, like we are the champions of the world. In this moment, I realize I am seriously lucky to be part of such a classy organization.
Leaving the band to celebrate, I quietly start to slink back to the buses, when I hear chanting coming from the stands. At first it is soft, but then it becomes much clearer. Before I realize it, suddenly, the entire crowd starts shouting out: “West-LAKE, West-LAKE!”
Judging from everyone’s reaction, this reaction has to be a first. I watch everyone go out on the field, but remain behind, not feeling I have completely earned a spot in the festivities. Moodily, I sit down on the track, when raised voices catch my attention.
“Don’t think you can get away with this, Donkersloot!”
“You can’t prove anything,” a whiny voice responds.
Turning my head, I can just glimpse Mr. Mickelson talking to the judge I last running into me. They are partially blocked by some risers, so I don’t think they can see me. I edge closer, while my band director continues, “You know, I wouldn’t have any problem with this whole situation if you were just blaming me, but what you’re doing, Glenn, is affecting my students who have worked hard all season!”
“I guess you’ll have to take it up with the authorities.”
“I guess I will.”
Glenn Donkersloot (unfortunate name, that one) seems to sense Mr. Mickelson’s threat is not an idle one and replies, “You’re lucky I don’t charge that tenor player of yours with assault.”
Yikes! As terrified as I am of being a convicted high school felon, the threat doesn’t even seem to phase the Mick, who responds, “Glenn, everyone here knows all of the judges sign waivers before they step on the field. You know this is part of the job.”
“She deliberately hit me!”
Mr. Mickelson leans in close, so I can barely hear his response, “I think you’re just mad because a high school girl knocked you down.”
Glenn Donkersloot is so outraged that apparently, he can’t even talk. Meanwhile, go Mick! Who knew he had such loyalty?
The Mick walks away, heading in my direction and I have to turn around quickly so he won’t see me. As a parting remark, Mr. Mickelson says, “Look out there on the field, Glenn, the crowd knows it, the other judges know it, everyone out here tonight knows we deserved to win tonight. I can’t believe you would let a grudge go or the fact that you couldn’t read the drill get in the way of what’s really important here. Think of my seniors, this is one of their last memories, and for my drumline members, you’ve gone and wrecked years of legacy and tradition. I want an apology. Now, more than ever, kids need to learn that when adults mess up they own up to their mistakes.”
“You want me to apologize? That girl knocked me down! She’s lucky she didn’t break anything.”
“She only did what the drill called for. If you don’t talk to my group tonight, I’ll have no choice to go to the Judges Consortium and inform them about you behavior a few seasons back.”
After a few moments of consideration, Mr. Donkersloot finally says, “Fine.”
“Meet us on the buses in half and hour. And Glenn?”
“Yes?”
“It had better be genuine.”
Wow, I’ll never underestimate the Mick again. Of course, my band director chooses to end his conversation by joining me in my obviously lame hiding spot.
“A word, Julia?”
I have no choice but to follow my band director.
“I don’t have to ask if you were listening.”
I shake my head.
There’s a moment of silence. As spectators, we watch the rest of the band celebrate on the field. The rest of my section have picked up their instruments and started a groovy beat in the middle of the field. The whole scene is kind of surreal, like we’re watching something from a movie.
“Why did you ask me to audition that day?” I ask, because all of the sudden, I’m kind of thinking his life would’ve been a lot easier without yours truly in the picture.
Mr. Mickelson is quiet a moment before responding, “The thing is, Julia, I think the drumline, especially our Line, needed you on the Battery, just as you needed to march.”
“Really?”
“You represent something a lot of drummers don’t realize.”
“What’s that?”
“The future.”
“I don’t follow.”
He crosses his arms, still looking ahead and continues, “I’ve been teaching for over fifteen years, so I’ve seen plenty of talented drummers come and go. For so many, they march in drumline and that’s it. They don’t take their skills anywhere. And for you, no offense, but most set players don’t have the discipline and rudimental background that you get by marching in a drumline. What you get from marching, you would never get in a rock band.”
I never really looked at my situation that way. Sure, one day in the future, I’ll eventually go to college, and hopefully one day my band will get signed. I’m suddenly touched that Mr. Mickelson is looking out for us in the
long term. I know he’s a teacher and all, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a teacher care as much about his students longer than a semester. Band is different. Unlike a history teacher, Mr. Mickelson saw us grow for four years. His investment of time and energy in his students is completely different.
“So, if the guys see me successful as a set player, then maybe they’ll continue playing after high school?”
“I know it’s too much to think all of my band members will pursue a career as professional musicians or in music education, but I can try and do a few things that might push people in those directions.”
I have to give him credit, Mr. M is a smart dude. After a moment, I decide to push my luck and ask, “So, what happens next?”
“Well, Miss McCoy, I don’t think I can keep you away from marching and I don’t think anyone would understand my reasons if I did. I’m sure it’s a tough balance with all you have going on, and I have to admit, it was a little suspicious how I received the newspaper article.”
Trying to keep the emotion out of my voice, I swallow and say, “Thank you, Mr. Mickelson, and if you ever want a complimentary drum set lesson from Julia’s McCoy’s Percussion Workshop, it’ll be on the house.”
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Back to School
In the end, Glenn gives everyone (well, except me, of course) a complete surprise (and mostly genuine) apology. The drumline bus has never been so quiet. As soon as he exits, immediate conversation and commentary erupts, including a very accurate slow motion portrayal of my knocking down Mr. Donskersloot by McDaniel and Laurel in the aisle of the bus. In laughter, the bus driver turns off the lights, and everyone quiets down as we make our way back to Westlake.
“What a night,” I say, leaning back in my seat, suddenly drained from the events of the day.
“You’re telling me,” Denny answers.
“Still glad you’ve committed to this madness and not football?”
“I wouldn’t trade this for anything. I like playing football, and I don’t think that will ever change, but there’s a feeling I get on the field when I’m drumming that I don’t get when I’m throwing a ball.”
“I think I understand.” With that, I put Denny’s hands on my shoulders, hoping he’ll get the idea, “Don’t rub too hard, I think my carrier permanently imprinted itself on me when I knocked into Mr. Donkersloot.”
Denny laughs and like a good boyfriend, begins rubbing my shoulders.
“You ready to do this?” I ask Denny, as we near the entrance of Westlake on Monday.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Although the marching band is well aware of my boyfriend’s intentions to no longer be quarterback, the rest of the school has no idea. Denny places a gentle kiss on my lips and heads off in the opposite direction of the band room. He says, “I’ve got to talk to Coach Lewis – I’m hoping I can catch him before his first class of the day.”
“Good luck.” I watch as he walks away, and I head to the Commons area with a little mission of my own. This weekend has given me more confidence than I ever thought possible. I mean, I knocked over a grown man! Gathering my confidence, I walk over to the ‘popular’ table, calmly tap Liberty on the shoulder and ask politely, “A moment, please?”
Liberty’s blue eyes widen, but she coolly gets up and walks away with me.
Finding a reasonably quiet and secluded spot in the hallway, I begin, “Just so we’re clear – what you did, correction, have been doing is completely unacceptable. Now, I don’t how it was before I got here, but the shit you keep trying to pull doesn’t work for me. I don’t know how to tell you this, Liberty, but Denny likes me. He has liked me ever since we met. He will continue to like and date me, and there’s nothing you can do about that. Denny is taking me to Homecoming and he is dropping out of football. At this point, you’re just wasting energy.”
She doesn’t do anything more than blink. For a moment, I think maybe she’s finally learned her lesson and will back off, thus making my life a lot easier.
Unfortunately, apparently what she heard was, ‘I challenge you, Liberty Jensen!’ because she comes back with this crazy response: “Whoever is elected Homecoming Queen gets to be with Denny.”
Seriously, this is her answer. How the hell am I supposed to respond to it? As crazy as her suggestion is, there is a small part of me that likes competition, and I think maybe if I am elected then Liberty will finally stop bothering Denny and I.
Surprising myself, I answer, “I’ll think about it, Liberty.”
“Fine. You think, and I’ll start collecting votes.”
Groaning aloud as she walks away, I make it to the percussion period completely forgetting we are going to listen to judges’ tapes. McDaniel sets up to play the first tape and explains, “Obviously there is going to be an interesting part in this show, but please concentrate on what the judges are saying. We need to learn something from the tapes, otherwise there is no point to listen to them in the first place.”
“Yes, McDaniel,” we all chorus like we’re children in Kindergarten.
I have never heard a tape from a show before and I’m excited to hear the comments. Suddenly, it’s like being transported back to the exact moment on the field. All the emotion and tension rush back into my system. I hear the crowd and all the things I missed while I was obsessing about the show on the back side line.
Everyone is silent as the tape begins, and then the unmistakable voice of Glenn Donkersloot fills the room. We all recognize it, because we last heard it apologizing to us in the bus. The show starts, and it sounds like Glenn is in the vicinity of the grand marimba (where Laurel starts the show). He notes the smallest problems, and during the drum solo seems to find a problem with some of our visuals – not really paying attention to our playing.
To the shouts and cheers of the appreciative audience from Saturday night, the drum solo comes to an end.
Ironically, I’m really glad Glenn was positioned where he was, I get to hear the end of the drum solo from my unique perspective – and I was playing great! I can hardly believe the licks coming over the sound system are from my tenors.
Knowing what will inevitably follow, everyone takes a breath of anticipation. I look determinedly at the floor.
There is no noise as everyone turns in the drill – so the next noise is, “Ooof! Oww!” followed by the tape recorder hitting a solid surface (the ground) and a stream of curses from the judge.
I turn completely red.
The band room explodes in laughter.
This section of the tape is replayed, in slow motion. Repeatedly. Then it is (again) acted out. Fortunately, McDaniel gets us back in order as we listen to the tapes from the booth, which do have specific things for us to work on. At the end of the period, McDaniel hands Donkersloot’s tape to me with the words, “You earned this.”
Denny escorts me to my next class and fills me in on his conversation with Coach Lewis, went. Although slightly difficult, Coach’s response was basically what Denny was expecting. I didn’t see what the big issue was, the old quarterback had recovered and was ready to play, so it’s not like Denny was leaving them without another option. Furthermore, there is nothing specifically Coach can do about Denny’s choice, and for that, I think Denny is grateful. From this morning, I can already tell a big difference in my boyfriend, which is a good thing. I am definitely going to need his help and dedication to help take on the disaster that is Liberty Jensen. Thus far, Denny has been in denial when I told him about his ex-girlfriend’s latest ploy to ‘win’ him back.
At my honors English classroom door, Denny asks, “In all honesty, what if I just talk to her and set things straight?”
“It won’t work.”
“You’re probably right.” He scratches his head and continues, “As dumb as it sounds, let’s talk about this during sectionals – maybe the guys will have an idea to help.”
His suggestion can’t hurt, I mean, we’re so in tune with each other that
we’re closer than any four people should be who aren’t related.
“Mind if I invite Beans and Cornbread to join our little brain trust?”
“Not at all.”
“So here’s the problem,” I say, once we’ve set up after school, “In addition to the fact that it will be the feather in her social cap to a perfect senior year, in a weird and desperate attempt to ‘win’ Denny, Liberty wants to beat me at Homecoming Queen.”
All six guys look confused as to why I have decided to include them in this particular problem in my life. As usual, it’s the loquacious Greg who responds first, “So, beat her. Get elected instead. What’s the big deal?”
“Maybe Westlake is finally ready for something, and someone, different than Liberty Jensen,” Jasper adds.
There are murmurs of agreement among the guys and I ask, “So you really think I have a chance?”
The guys all look at each other before Greg answers, “I think you have a shot. We just have to build your campaign correctly.”
Coming around to the idea I might have what it takes to be elected the next Homecoming Queen of Westlake, I smile sweetly and respond, “So, basically, we have four mornings left before the voting, right?”
“What are you thinking?” Denny asks.
“I think it’s all about phases,” I say, trying to relate what’s in my head. “The traditional way to become Queen is all posters and banners and popularity, so we need to do the opposite. In addition to facebook and the usual social media crap, let’s start with a free ‘concert’ tomorrow morning before school…with a little back up from the Westlake drumline. What do you think?”
The guys all look at each other for a moment, before Denny replies, “Aren’t you already in enough trouble with our band director, Julia?”
He’s probably right. However, my life has taught me time and time again that it is far easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. I shrug and answer, “What’s a little more trouble? I mean, I say we set up in the parking lot, play some original stuff and the fight song to help spread the word about my ‘candidacy’ for Homecoming Queen. The biggest thing we have against us right now is that, for better or worse, everyone in this school knows who Liberty is. I’m the new girl and they probably have no clue who I am, what my name is, or what I look like.”
Confessions of a Teenage Band Geek Page 19