Yellow Flag by Robert Lipsyte

couldn’t tell if Todd was glad or sorry to see him in one piece.
    â€œI figured you’d find a way,” said Del.
    â€œWere you scared?” asked Nicole.
    â€œToo busy.” He remembered what he had said to the flight attendant Saturday night. “Afterward scared spitless.”
    Nicole honked, and Jesse clapped both fat hands. Even Todd grinned. A couple of the drama kids had wandered over to the band table, and even one of the football players, who said, “Dude, that was running for daylight.” He had seen highlights of the race on ESPN.
    â€œI had a great spotter.” When he noticed the blanklook on Nicole’s face, he said, “Spotter’s up on the grandstand roof, sees everything. Tells you on the radio who’s coming up on you, what’s ahead, when you’re clear. She talked me through the wreck.”
    â€œShe?” said Nicole.
    â€œRed Hoyt’s granddaughter,” said Kyle, nodding at Del, the only one who would know or care. “It was amazing.” He couldn’t stop himself. “We were dialed in. Her voice to my hands on the wheel.”
    â€œSaw that film,” said Jesse. “Holly Hunter and William Hurt in Broadcast News . She fed him information while he was on air. He said it was just like sex.”
    Jesse clapped for himself, but Nicole didn’t honk. She doesn’t like that, Kyle thought. I do.
    Â 
    Mr. G was energized, waving a sheet of paper overhead like a banner. “I’ve got mine—do you have yours?”
    Kyle looked at Del, who whispered, “Names for the quintet.”
    This isn’t going to work out, thought Kyle. I totally forgot. Didn’t think about it at all.
    Naturally Mr. G called on him first. “You must have had time to think up names while you were driving around in circles.”
    Nicole said, “We did it together.” She held a sheet of paper out to Kyle. “You want to read them?”
    â€œNo, you go ahead.”
    Jesse clapped his thumb and forefinger. Todd glared.
    â€œCouple of obvious ones,” said Nicole. Her hair was pulled back, making her little round face seem bigger. “The Goshen Brass, the Class Brass, Horn Dogs—”
    â€œHold it.” Mr. G rapped his baton on a music stand. “Kyle wasn’t involved, was he?” When she looked down, he said, “We have a problem here, people, and we need to address it.”
    â€œAnd mail it,” said Jesse.
    â€œMaybe you’re the one with the problem,” said Nicole.
    â€œOh?” Mr. G arched an eyebrow. “A little brass warfare?”
    â€œYou just want control,” she said. Her dark eyes looked fierce to Kyle. She was fighting for him. He felt thrilled and a little scared. For her.
    â€œSo it’s brass therapy,” said Mr. G. His smile was fake.
    â€œKyle is here,” she said. “He comes to practice. He missed one weekend event and one practice because his family needed him. What’s the big deal?”
    The smile was gone. “Anyone else?”
    Kyle checked them out from a corner of one eye. Del was chewing on his lip, not good for a trombone player, and Jesse was jiggling his tuba between big thighs. Todd was tilted back in his chair, smirking atthe window. Nicole was staring back at Mr. G.
    â€œMaybe I’m not finished yet,” she said.
    â€œIs Kyle finished? That’s the question. Is he part of the quintet or not?” Mr. G looked at Kyle. “We need to know if we can depend on you. Can we?”
    He felt close to telling Mr. G to sit on his baton, then standing up and walking out. It’s what Kris would do. It’s what Kris did in the ninth grade when the baseball coach wanted him to choose between being a starting pitcher and racing. He’d already quit football. Why am I comparing myself to Kris?
    Besides, Nicole had fought too hard to let her down like that. “I’ll do the best I