Beans and Cornbread share a look before Jasper announces, “It’s on like Donkey Kong!”
Stan smiles and asks, “That’s great, and we’ll totally help, but what’s after that? I hate to be a buzzkill, but I’m not sure one concert is enough to turn around the entire school.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll help you think of stuff.” Greg looks super pumped at the prospect of playing a renegade concert at the school.
Max looks across at me and says, “Don’t forget the rest of the marching band. I mean, sure Liberty may have some of the upperclassmen vote locked up, but what about the rest of the school?”
Denny nods and adds, “Maybe you should say something at practice tomorrow. As far as I can remember, every once in awhile one of the Guard girls gets nominated, but you’re definitely the first band girl to receive the honor. I’m sure if you ask nicely, the Mick will let you say something.”
“Definitely. Thanks, guys.”
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: School House Rocks
At dinner that night, I decide it might be time to mention to my parents I have been nominated for the Homecoming court. In the excitement of this weekend, I kind of neglected to pass along this information. As I’m passing the carrots, I say simply, “I’ve been nominated for Homecoming Queen.”
My parents look across the table and smile, before my mom announces, “Honey, that’s wonderful!”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Do you need to go shopping for anything?” My mom asks. “I know when I was in high school, the girls all dressed up when they were on the field. And I think nowadays, there’s usually some sort of pep rally or something.”
“Actually, I think I’m going to be in my uniform or my band shirt for most of Friday.”
My mom reaches over and feels my forehead, teasing me, “Are you sure you’re okay, Julia? You’ve turned down shopping and are planning to appear in public in your band uniform.”
“Yeah, Mom, I’m okay with that.”
And honestly, I was. If I was going to win this thing, it was going to take the help of all of the band members. So, if that meant prancing down the 50-yard line wearing my black suspender pants, band shirt, and a pair of Drillmasters, then that’s the way it was going to go. At least I knew my escort was going to be wearing the same thing.
In the principal’s office during first period the next morning, Beans and Cornbread sit patiently – a small, but expected price to pay for our actions. The impromptu concert before school was a complete and total success. If people didn’t stop and listen to at least one song, then they certainly noticed my fake plastic tiara. Additionally, most of the Line showed up to jam with us.
As the door opens and the principal enters, I hiss, “Let me handle this.”
Mrs. Connelly calmly sits down, opens her notebook, and asks, “So, would one of you like to tell me why exactly you selected the Westlake parking lot as a venue for your little rock show this morning?”
Trying to keep the smile off my face, I answer seriously, “For Spirit Week, of course.”
The week of the Westlake Homecoming game is marked by all sorts of crazy events and demonstrations to raise school spirit. Today, in fact, is Pajama Day. So, the fact we are sitting in our principal’s office wearing basically what we rolled out of bed in this morning makes the whole scene a little surreal. All the same, a girl could get used to wearing leopard print fuzzy slippers to school every day.
“Spirit Week?” she challenges.
Three sets of eyes flick back to me, and I repeat myself, “Yes, Spirit Week.”
From behind her glasses she holds my gaze and says calmly, “I’m not sure how it was at your old school, Miss McCoy, but we here at Westlake do not tolerate unsanctioned Spirit Week events.”
“Don’t worry – it won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t, Miss McCoy, or I will be forced to reevaluate your bid for Homecoming Queen. See my secretary for passes to your next class.”
We walk out, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I totally bluffed my way through, hoping Mrs. Connelly wouldn’t put us in detention for the rest of the semester. Still, as we collect our things and head into the deserted hallway, it is Greg who speaks up, “So, while you were covering our asses in there, I had a legendary idea to top today’s stunt!”
I manage to avoid contact with Liberty and make it through to afternoon practice, which is admittedly, kind of fun. After weeks of intense, painstaking set by set perfectionism, learning the Homecoming drill is a cakewalk. Since we’ll be busy on the field, Denny and I bequeath our quints to underclassmen for the show. We have entirely too much fun being the “practice couple” while the rest of the band goes through the Homecoming song over and over again, until I think we’re all going to be hearing Michael Buble in our dreams.
Although Mr. Mickelson is less than thrilled with the drumline’s involvement at our “show” that morning, in the spirit of Spirit Week, he agrees to my having a few minutes to talk to the band. I’ve been given the prime slot – right after our long water break.
Climbing up on the drum major podium, I look around at the band. I haven’t really prepared any formal sort of speech, so I just start talking, “Umm…hey, everyone. So, you may know that I’ve been nominated for the Homecoming Court here at Westlake.”
Cue some miscellaneous noodling from my section.
Smiling, and now with more confidence, I continue, “Anyway, here’s the thing, if I’m going to win, it’s going to be with your help. Actually, I don’t think I would’ve even been nominated if it hadn’t been for you, all of you. You guys all basically accepted me immediately. I don’t think a new girl has ever been so lucky. If it wasn’t for the band, I wouldn’t have met Denny and all the cool guys and girls in my section. If it wasn’t for the band, I would have no idea what discipline was. And if it wasn’t for Wade, well, I wouldn’t have these guns!”
I mischievously flex one of my biceps, which gets some laughs. Coming to a conclusion, I say, “So, if you could continue being the generous and supportive people you’ve all been, I would ask you to ask one other person to vote for me on Friday. And then, maybe that person will tell someone, until, you know, I get a lot of votes and we show the rest of the school what we’re all about. Who’s with me?”
The cheers let me know that Westlake doesn’t know what they’re in for.
I am nervous as I prepare for school the next day. It’s already Wednesday, and I know this is going to be an important day in my campaign. Greg texted me last night to assure me his plan has gone well, but his assurances can’t control the nerves I feel. Denny notices when he picks me up and asks, “Everything alright?”
“Yup,” I nod, unsure if I should tell him what to expect at school, but figure he’ll understand when he sees it. Sure enough, when we pull up, there is a large crowd gathered at the main entrance of Westlake.
Deadpan, Denny parks the car, then looks over at me and says, “Golly, I wonder what that could be about?”
“Gee, I have no idea.”
He looks at me, eyebrows raised, trying to break my poker face, and says, “I hope it was worth it.”
As we get closer, it seems the crowd has grown even larger and I have to admit I am surprised by my band’s handiwork as we get close. Right under the flagpole is a statue. And not just any statue. In front of us is none other than the mascot of the school we’re going to play in Friday’s big Homecoming game: the Huntsville Hound Dog. The sight is made even more glorious by the fact that one of my band mates has tied a balloon bouquet of our school’s colors and affixed a picture of Liberty’s face to the head of the dog – even given her a little phrase coming out of her ‘mouth’ that says, “Vote for Julia, or you’ll be in the doghouse!”
Could a girl ask for anything more than a band that is willing to commit petty vandalism and larceny on her behalf?
Immediately, I start to feel eyes on me, so I begin to act, exclaiming, “Who did
this?!”
Someone near me asks, “You mean, you didn’t?”
I answer loudly, “Of course I didn’t – I had practice late last night, and then had tons of homework to catch up on. Plus, there’s no way I could lift that thing.”
“Well, if you didn’t, then who did?” another random classmate asks.
“Yes, Miss McCoy, if you didn’t, then who is responsible for vandalizing county property?”
Surprise, surprise, I am in Mrs. Connelly’s office again. She doesn’t want to accept my version of the story, that I had no idea who the ‘vandals’ were and I had nothing to do with the appearance of Harry the Hound Dog on Westlake property.
I answer clearly, “Listen, you can call my parents, or talk to Mr. Mickelson. Last night I was either at band practice, or at home studying. Also, I remember what you said earlier – I don’t want to get taken off the Homecoming court. Why would I do something to risk that? I honestly did not move that statue.”
I should note that today’s trip to the office feels weird because for Spirit Week, it is Retro/Vintage day and I am wearing a poodle skirt and saddle shoes, complete with a kicky scarf around my neck – tres cute.
She looks at me for another moment, then crosses her arms and says, “Fine. Get a pass from my secretary.” Then, half to herself, she continues, “Although, I have to admit that this is one of the most unique campaigns I’ve ever seen a potential Homecoming Queen take.”
“Thank you?” I ask cheekily.
“You’re dismissed, Miss McCoy.”
When I finally make it to first period, I am relieved to see we have a substitute teacher and immediately start talking to Tags. He’s been my eyes and ears as to how my campaign is affecting the rest of the school.
Pretending to concentrate on my notebook, I ask, “So, what do the fine folk of Westlake have to say about my attempts at attention this morning?”
“I’m surprised Connelly let you off so quickly.”
“Thanks, and why? I didn’t move that statue. She had nothing to hold me with.”
“Right and I’m sure you had no clue who was behind the prank. Either way, you should be thanking whoever moved that statue on your behalf.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“The junior class is now totally on your side – you’ve definitely got their vote. The Class of 2012 is pissed they didn’t think of it for a senior class prank!”
Yay! Of course, Tags hasn’t mentioned the one person’s reaction I want to hear more than anyone’s. I ask, “And Liberty?”
“Actually, I haven’t heard anything.”
Admittedly, putting another girl’s face on a dog is totally immature and not very much in the way of female empowerment, still, to my defense, Liberty’s campaign covers practically every available surface in the school. I have to admire the sheer amount of money she must be spending at the local Kinko’s. From the moment a student walks into Westlake, there are glitter posters and junior varsity cheerleaders passing out candy with “Vote for Liberty” pasted to them. Thus far, she is keeping up a steady, but traditional bid for Homecoming Queen. Try as they might, I think the other nominees have recognized this is a two party race.
Playing with my scarf, I say, “Maybe I should apologize. The dog thing was pretty mean.”
Tags looks at me like I’m crazy and answers, “No way. You can’t show weakness. She may still retaliate and then where will you be?”
Glancing at the front of the classroom, I see the substitute is still paying little to no attention to us. Looking back at my drum set student, I ask, “So, we haven’t got the chance to talk about Denny’s decision to quit the team.”
“He did what was right for him, Jules, there’s not much room for argument.”
“What if he hadn’t been hurt?”
“He’s already done more than anyone expected him to.”
“Is that how you really feel?”
Tags doodles on his notebook for a moment before he answers, “Don’t let this go to your head, but since I’ve started lessons with you, I can kind of see where Denny’s coming from.”
“That might be the best compliment anyone’s ever given me.”
“Which reminds me,” Tags continues, “I think we need to talk about me getting ready for auditioning for the indoor season.”
My eyes light up and I say, “You and me both! Don’t worry, once this Homecoming chaos dies down – we’ll get focused!”
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: A Pair of Queens
Although I feel like I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, I manage to make it through the rest of Wednesday and even into Thursday before I see Liberty, and that’s mostly because I have to see her. Apparently, today, the candidates for Homecoming Queen all have to do some sort of Miss America type question and answer session during each of the lunches. While it seems kind of lame, it does get me out of Physics, so I am on board, even if I don’t understand how answering random formulaic questions is going to help people decide who to vote for. I guess I’ll just have to chalk it up to important face time with the student body, and a way to show just how different I am from the other girls.
At the end of 4th period, I head towards the counselors office. Gathering with the other candidates, it seems I missed the memo about how to dress today. Apparently, Hawaiian Shirt Day equals (short and strapless) tropical print dress. I am definitely the only one who’s worn an actual festive themed shirt, but not to worry, because displaying my assets in front of the whole school really isn’t my style.
Mrs. Hernandez tells us quickly, “Okay girls, no profanity, and please try and keep your answers short so everyone can have a chance to answer. Don’t be nervous!”
She ushers us out of the room, and I can hear the din of the lunch room as we approach when Liberty announces, “Mrs. Hernandez, I’ve forgotten something in the room, can Julia come with me to get it?”
“I—” Of course, I immediately attempt to cancel this request.
“Just be quick, dear!” Mrs. H cuts me off.
I debate whether or not I should actually completely ignore what Liberty has said, and just go ahead with everyone else, or if I should hear what Liberty inevitably has to say to me. Deciding I might be avoiding public humiliation, I opt to deal with Liberty alone.
“So, Liberty, we should probably talk about…” I start as we enter the room, ready to clear this week up and hopefully, finally make peace with the crazy cheerleader.
However, the words are no sooner out of my mouth, when Liberty spins around, quickly walks out of the door and locks it behind her, a smug smile on her face. I stare incredulously out of the window and try and fiddle with the door, which, surprise, does not seem like it’s going to opening any time soon.
“Why?” I ask her through the very small window.
“You’re smarter than that, Julia, but if you need to figure that out, you’ll have the next hour or so to consider the answer.”
“But how?”
Laughing, I hear her voice trail down the hall, “I’m Liberty Jensen, of course I have the master key to the school.”
Resigned to my situation, I sit, surrounded by motivational posters and college brochures. Getting comfortable, I wonder how I got into this mess and if there’s any way out of it. I picture myself climbing on a chair, popping open the air vent, crawling through, and making a grand entrance into the cafeteria. Then I remember the ceiling is like, obscenely high in there, and the caf is five halls away, so the reality of the situation is I would most likely get myself stuck in the vents. Not to mention, eww, who knows what’s up there?
Instead, I decide to spend my hour reading up on local colleges, surfing the internet, listening to radio stations back home, and flipping through a Cosmopolitan Mrs. Hernandez has stashed in her drawer. As I leisurely spend my hour, I hear the bells ring for all the respective lunches, but no one comes looking for me. I can only imagine what sort of lies Liberty has been telling them about where
I am.
Mrs. Hernandez has a strange look on her face when she finally comes back to her office and finds me, legs propped up, music blaring, and finishing an article on Expert Level Sex Positions. She immediately asks in a worried tone, “Julia?”
“Yup?” I place the magazine down and gather my stuff.
“Dear, how did you get yourself locked in here? Liberty said that you…”
“Liberty said that I what?” I interrupt.
“She said you got too nervous and didn’t want to join us.”
“Of course she did,” I respond flatly, and Mrs. Hernandez misses the sarcasm.
“Are you okay now?”
“Yes, I’m feeling much better.”
“Well….” I can see that she’s hesitating because she doesn’t know what to make of me. I’m supposed to be having a panic attack and instead, am making casual use of her office. She’s a counselor and wants to help, but she’s also probably been a teacher and knows something’s up. She takes a deep breath and continues, “I’m glad to hear that, Julia. Are you sure you will be ready for the Pep Rally tomorrow? We can always make up some excuse for you, if you want.”
While I’m struck by just how nice Mrs. Hernandez is, and how appropriate she is in her role as counselor, I’m also wondering what stunt Liberty will try to have me removed from tomorrow’s festivities. Today’s lesson was that I got too cocky. From now on, I will know better. More for the benefit of the school counselor, I say in a wavery tone, “I’ll be okay tomorrow. I’ll find the strength. Thanks for being there for me.”
Confessions of a Teenage Band Geek Page 20