could think about my decision—or that I was mentally referring to the once-hateful mellophone as “my instrument”—my hand shot to the sky. AJ gave me a big smile.
“Sweet. We’re on at eight thirty. Be in uniform by seven fifteen. Dismissed.”
17
The next couple of hours flew by. Jake pulled a Frisbee out of his bag and pulled together a game of Ultimate. When he came over to me, expression hopeful, I shook my head.
“Too much work,” I explained. It bummed me out to say no to him for the zillionth time, but what else could I do? I was swamped. Hector, Sarah, Steve, and the others all joined the game, of course, leaving me alone by the buses.
I managed to read some of Emma (why does that girl feel the need to mess with everyone else’s love life?) , answered a couple of history questions, and even jotted some halfhearted notes for bio. The one thing I wanted to do? Practice for Shining Birches. But my French horn was at home—and even if I did have it, my mouth was still buzzy-feeling from the morning’s parade, and I had to save my chops for the field show competition.
A little before seven, just as the sky was starting to turn pink, Sarah and I grabbed our uniform bags from the bus and got dressed again. She seemed much happier—maybe all that running around during Ultimate Frisbee helped her out?
The band assembled in front of the buses, and we lined up in parade formation again. We had to march from the parking lot to the outside of the community college stadium across the street. My parents would be in the stands. They’d skipped the morning’s parade because my dad was subbing for a friend on Wicked ’s matinee. I wondered if they knew about the collapse.
We marched over to just drum ticks, no cadence. Everyone’s faces were set and solemn. There was none of the excitement or anxiety that came before the parade competition that morning. Instead, the overwhelming feeling was of determination. In spite of what happened, standing next to Steve and Punk made me feel strong.
The sun had almost totally gone down, and the lower half of the sky was a deep navy blue; above it was indigo. We stopped and did a low, slow warm-up, then got back in formation and waited to be introduced. Out of respect for the Minutemen, AJ didn’t call out any of the Hellcats’ pre-performance goofy chants or cheers, which only added to the strange, surreal feeling I had. It was like being part of a different group.
“From Auburnville, Massachusetts, we are proud to present the Screaming Hellcats of Henry Herbert High. They will be performing their field show, music from West Side Story . Welcome, Hellcats!” Applause poured from the crowd.
We marched in during the introduction, and were now set in our positions to take the field. I took a second to glance around the stadium.
It was packed.
From my perspective, it looked like every seat was filled. Smaller bands who had already marched and were still dressed in uniform sat on one set of bleachers, but the rest of the stands were stuffed with spectators. Parents, kids, band staff, community members—there had to have been over a thousand people up there. This was, by far, the largest audience I’d ever played in front of.
My respectful mood disappeared, replaced by excitement and a thrill of fear. AJ counted off and we took our spots on the field. On his podium, his white uniform contrasting with our black ones, he looked militarysharp.
“One! Two! One-two-three!” he shouted, and we played.
The sound filled me like it had on the first day of band camp, its power taking me by surprise. I almost forgot to step off.
I marched across the field, playing my part, moving smoothly to my first spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that my line was perfectly straight. We stepped off into the next set as a unit. The flags spun and floated past us, every girl in color guard making her spins and working in perfect unison. Sarah would be psyched. I stopped
“Sweet. We’re on at eight thirty. Be in uniform by seven fifteen. Dismissed.”
17
The next couple of hours flew by. Jake pulled a Frisbee out of his bag and pulled together a game of Ultimate. When he came over to me, expression hopeful, I shook my head.
“Too much work,” I explained. It bummed me out to say no to him for the zillionth time, but what else could I do? I was swamped. Hector, Sarah, Steve, and the others all joined the game, of course, leaving me alone by the buses.
I managed to read some of Emma (why does that girl feel the need to mess with everyone else’s love life?) , answered a couple of history questions, and even jotted some halfhearted notes for bio. The one thing I wanted to do? Practice for Shining Birches. But my French horn was at home—and even if I did have it, my mouth was still buzzy-feeling from the morning’s parade, and I had to save my chops for the field show competition.
A little before seven, just as the sky was starting to turn pink, Sarah and I grabbed our uniform bags from the bus and got dressed again. She seemed much happier—maybe all that running around during Ultimate Frisbee helped her out?
The band assembled in front of the buses, and we lined up in parade formation again. We had to march from the parking lot to the outside of the community college stadium across the street. My parents would be in the stands. They’d skipped the morning’s parade because my dad was subbing for a friend on Wicked ’s matinee. I wondered if they knew about the collapse.
We marched over to just drum ticks, no cadence. Everyone’s faces were set and solemn. There was none of the excitement or anxiety that came before the parade competition that morning. Instead, the overwhelming feeling was of determination. In spite of what happened, standing next to Steve and Punk made me feel strong.
The sun had almost totally gone down, and the lower half of the sky was a deep navy blue; above it was indigo. We stopped and did a low, slow warm-up, then got back in formation and waited to be introduced. Out of respect for the Minutemen, AJ didn’t call out any of the Hellcats’ pre-performance goofy chants or cheers, which only added to the strange, surreal feeling I had. It was like being part of a different group.
“From Auburnville, Massachusetts, we are proud to present the Screaming Hellcats of Henry Herbert High. They will be performing their field show, music from West Side Story . Welcome, Hellcats!” Applause poured from the crowd.
We marched in during the introduction, and were now set in our positions to take the field. I took a second to glance around the stadium.
It was packed.
From my perspective, it looked like every seat was filled. Smaller bands who had already marched and were still dressed in uniform sat on one set of bleachers, but the rest of the stands were stuffed with spectators. Parents, kids, band staff, community members—there had to have been over a thousand people up there. This was, by far, the largest audience I’d ever played in front of.
My respectful mood disappeared, replaced by excitement and a thrill of fear. AJ counted off and we took our spots on the field. On his podium, his white uniform contrasting with our black ones, he looked militarysharp.
“One! Two! One-two-three!” he shouted, and we played.
The sound filled me like it had on the first day of band camp, its power taking me by surprise. I almost forgot to step off.
I marched across the field, playing my part, moving smoothly to my first spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that my line was perfectly straight. We stepped off into the next set as a unit. The flags spun and floated past us, every girl in color guard making her spins and working in perfect unison. Sarah would be psyched. I stopped
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