Author’s Note: I just wanted to apologize for the quality of the last chapter; quite frankly, it sucked. I rushed it way too much, and I’m thinking of re-writing it. You know, just polishing it up a bit. Anyway, yeah, this chapter is kind of bizarre... in a good way, hopefully. And very shortly - probably the next chapter - they will finally be leaving on tour. Which means one Allistair Buchanan will be introduced!

Finally, I just wanted to thank all you guys for reading and reviewing this! You’re so wonderful, all of you! :D

agnes - ahh! I’m not worthy! I practically worship “Cat’s Eye”! i’ve read it about, oh, 5 BILLION TIMES!

Bitter Berry - I love your review, for some reason... I guess because you really described why you liked ‘the guys’! They’re taking on personalities of their own, I swear to god.

Tin Whistle - Aw! You’re so sweet, thanks! I love your reviews, they make me feel guilty for being lazy, thus forcing me to write! :D

O! Chan eil uiseag 's na speuraibh àrd,
No ian anns an doire d'am b'eòl mo ghràdh
Nach eil nis ri tuireadh a dh' oidhche 's a là.
O'n chualas gu'n ghlacadh mo chailin air làmh.

No lark is there in the meadows nigh
Nor bird in the forest that hears my sigh
But mourns now with me, both night and day
Since I and my true-love are parted, for aye.

- - - - - - - -

As a piper, I feel as though I should make something clear: my mind is built musically, and my language is gracenotes, and 4/4 time, and quarter note rests. It is, under no conditions whatsoever, built for the understanding of trigonometry, polynomials, and rational variable expressions. Nevertheless, the faculty at the Royal Glasgow School of Piping found this to be a load of bollocks, and MADE me take maths anyway.

I had every right to be angry, because as it stood, I was at the bottom of the class mathematically. I just didn’t understand, not like SOME people: namely, Gowan, who was near the top of the class. He’d never made fun of me about my math stupidity before - just some harmless teasing here and there - but in the end I always made him help me. A sort of tutor, if you will. So the sudden lack of Gowan’s friendship also left some gaping holes in my math work. Suddenly I felt as though I were floundering at the bottom of a veritable cesspool of numbers and equations, with nobody to pull me out. And there was absolutely no way in the seven layers of hell that Gowan would help me out again, let alone talk to me. I suppose it was childish of us to be behaving in such a fashion - ignoring each other, and whatnot - but old traits die hard, and junior school was honestly only a few years behind us. Okay, more than a few years, but that’s beside the point. It also didn’t help that Steve’s drummer friend Kitty fancied herself a math whiz, and always tried to assist me at meals. Unfortunately, Kitty wasn’t much better off than myself.

“Kitty,” I finally said in exasperation, “Can you honestly, truly solve a rational variable expression? HONESTLY?”

“I think he wants you to be honest, Kit.” Benji said with an amused grin, as he beat out a rather complicated drum score on his knee. Ouch.

“Weeell...” Kitty pulled back slightly from my notebook, twisting her mouth into a little frown. She picked up her fork and shoved a few carrot remnants about on her plate, before finally looking up at me. “Not really.”

I snatched my notebook from in front of her and slapped it down beside my tray. “Argh!” I exclaimed, furrowing my brow in anxiety. “There’s no way I’ll pass the unit test this Friday!”

“Kitty, you tosser, you could’ve said something earlier!” Steve said with a grin, glancing up momentarily from a heated discussion with Kenneth about which pipe band would win the champion supreme title at The World‘s.

“Oh, don’t bash her! At least she doesn’t think Field Marshall Montgomery are gonna win this year!” Kenneth said defensively. It had already become clear to me that Kitty and Kenneth were rather close - almost like brother and sister - though they were absolute polar opposites.

“Well they MIGHT!” Steve replied rather loudly, savagely digging into his orange Jello. “I mean, they bloody won last year, why not this year? They’re really, really damn good!”

“No, it’s all about Simon Fraser this year.” Kitty argued. “They‘re fab, just spot on! Always!”

“Yeah, it’ll be SFU this year, I can just feel it in my bones.” Kenneth agreed. “Their drum corps is brilliant.”

“’Cos they poach all their drummers from other bands!” Steve ranted.

I felt somewhat left out as I watched the three friends banter on. Keri, sitting at the far corner of the long table, remained as closed as a book, and Benji - a pacifist - refused to get in the argument, whatever his thoughts were. But at least they were all friends, and understood each other. Pathetic, I thought. Even after sitting with these guys for three days I feel all alone.

I picked quietly away at my broccoli, missing the fellowship and fun of sitting with my old friends, particularly Gowan. They were probably arguing about the World’s now, too, and were I with them, I’d be loudly proclaiming ScottishPower to be the future champions. Gowan would scoff and say no way, he thought it was all about the 78th Frasers. He was always a loyal fan to them. Then we’d all launch into a discussion about the world’s best pipers, and who would lead who into victory, etc. Here, with Steve and his friends, the talk was of Jim Kilpatrick, Gordon Brown, Hugh Cameron. Names I vaguely knew, but all drummers. I could add no comments.

“Hey,” A quiet voice said. I glanced up at Benji, where he sat across the table from me. “Hey,” He repeated, “Feel free to join into their debate.” He gestured his head towards Kitty, Kenneth, and Steve; the three were deep into their argument, arms waving, voices raised.

“That would be a death wish.” I replied with a small grin. “I think I’ll just stick to math for now, thanks.”

“Maths a killer,” Benji said after a moment, with a knowing look. “I failed out of it earlier this year. I’ll repeat it next year, maybe.”

“You gonna be here next year?” I queried. Benji was my age - 17 - and the maximum age you could stay at the School was 19.

He shrugged. “I guess so. I’m gonna try out for the band for sure. I want to secure a part-time career in drumming. Then, well, who knows. Go to university or something. Get a degree in god-knows-what.”

“But not math.” I said with a chuckle.

“Definitely not math.” Benji smiled at me, a small dimple going in his right cheek, and for some reason I thought of Gowan, and how much I wished he were smiling at me then.

Gowan. Stupid, stupid me. How could I have fucked things up so badly? I had to admit it to myself: I cared about Gowan. I truly fancied him. Everything about him made me happy and carefree, and oh how I missed him. Missed his presence in the room, missed his jokes at breakfast, missed his stupid remarks during classes... missed his warm touch, and hell, even that kiss he gave me. He was intoxicating, like a drink, addictive, like a drug, and so... perfect and wonderful in every way. That old saying is true: you never know how much you care about someone until you’re split apart.

All I knew was that I couldn’t stand to be apart from my best mate any longer. It was killing me inside, slowly but surely. And, late last night, I’d had an epiphany. I was attracted to Gowan, whether I wanted it or not (which I did), and there was no way around it. I liked a guy. And if that made me gay, well, colour me purple.

Alas, at the moment, my bigger problem was math, though.

“Benji,” I suddenly said. He was currently in the process of untangling his headphones, so he could listen to his Green Day CD. At least, I was pretty sure it was Green Day: that’s all he ever listened to. He glanced up at me, shaking some of his thick, shaggy hair from his eyes.

“I live to serve.”

“Ha ha. Okay, come off it. Look, I need you to do me a favour.”

“Depends what it is, mate. I don’t go around just handing out favours on silver platters. You have to be someone really special.” Benji gave me a small wink.

Keri, for the first time during the whole meal, spoke up. “God, Benji, why don’t you just walk around with a ’QUEER’ sticker on your forehead? Must you make it so alarmingly obvious? I don‘t NEED to remind you what happened last time.”

Benji’s lips suddenly became rather tight as he looked down at his plate. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “I‘m bi, Keri. You know that well enough, I should think. The door swings both ways.”

Keri’s pale cheeks went slightly pink, but she kept her gaze on Benji. The words SEXUAL PROMISCUITY flashed brightly in my mind, so I quickly bit my lip before I blurted out anything stupid.

“And last time won’t happen again.” Benji added. “And if it does, then it will be your fault for goddamn TELLING everyone, Keri.”

I realised they also meant me. “Why would I tell anybody that you’re bi?” I said anxiously. “And besides, who would I tell, it’s not like I have any friends to speak of.”

Benji gave me a sort of sad ‘i’m-sorry-about-the-shit-you’re-going-through-right-now’ smile, and shrugged his shoulders. “Ah, well. Be strong, mate. And I trust you.”

“Benji went through a similar experience as you, Max.” Keri said quietly. “Some people found out about his, er, sexual preferences, and he was pretty much shunned by all his friends. That was when he was, what, 15?” Benji nodded. “So anyway, Benji just found some new friends - us - and that’s that. People forget about shit like this. Things change, they always do.”

“Yeah, but you don’t understand... it’s not a simple thing, really... it’s quite complicated...” I floundered, my face flushed. “And I KNOW my mates won’t accept me back. I just know it.”

“Out of interest,” Benji broke in, “Is that what the favour you were asking me about had to do with? Your friends?”

“Not really,” I responded gloomily, “I was just hoping you could find someone to help me out with math, since Gowan won’t. Ever. He was my tutor, before.”

“Ah.” Was the careful response. “Right-o, I’ll put my feelers out. Not to worry, you’ll get a new tutor.”

- - - - -

As I trudged into math class after lunch, my stomach lurched slightly. Gowan was already there, which was odd, because he was pretty much always late. And the other strange thing was that he was sitting in the desk beside my usual one... my heart rose. Had he finally forgiven me? Did he want to talk to me again? I walked hopefully towards my spot, and was about to sit down when--

“--That seat is saved.”

My head jerk up in the direction of Gowan, who was doodling boredly on a piece of paper.

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“It’s saved... -BRENDON! Hey, Brendon, over here, I saved you a seat.” Gowan called over to the boy who’d just entered - Brendon Shaw - and grinned. As Brendon approached the desk, he gave me a small, apologetic smile.

“This is Max’s seat, Gowan.”

“Who’s?”

Brendon’s smile faltered, and I could see he was hurt on my behalf. That was nothing to how I felt. Without another word I turned and walked over to a desk near the front, on the other side of the room. It was empty, of course, because Emma Ferguson was sitting in the one beside it. I slumped down in the seat, feeling filled to the brim with loneliness and remorse and anger.

Gowan’s words echoed in my mind, unable to be let go.

I felt as though I were in some cheap Godfather movie, with really thick Italian accents.

“Max? Max?! Hello-o, are you listening to me?” Emma said loudly, waving her hand in front of my face. I looked up, irritated.

“What do you want?”

“Okay, so, what’s up with you and Gowan? There’s a lot of talk going around. About how the Two Stooges have gone their separate ways and aren’t even roomies anymore.”

I would have given anything in the world to, at that moment, say no, it was a load of shit, and that Gowan and I had never been better. If only.

“It’s true.” I answered quietly, trying to look nonchalant and too cool to care. And maybe Emma bought it, but just then the teacher - Mr. Pellar - was rapping his desk for attention.

“Alright,” The tall, forty-something man said. His graying hair was swept to the back today, a little like Elvis, I thought with a small smirk. If things were like before, I would have leaned over to Gowan and whispered, “See?! I always KNEW Elvis wasn’t dead!” I didn’t dare whisper it to Emma, though. She probably would tell Mr. Pellar afterwards.

“Now,” Mr. Pellar went on, “We’re going to do a quick rationals review today for the test on Friday. I’ve written some equations on the board. Here we have a very basic, simple one - this is just a warm up, I know you guys can do this in your head in about two seconds - and next a somewhat harder one, and so on. The last one is pretty advanced, but I have confidence in this class. So. Who wants to do the warm-up?”

A chuckle spread around the class about how easy it was, so pretty much everyone raised their hand. I tried to become invisible. God, that question looked hard.

“Let‘s have...” Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, please GOD don‘t pick me. “Mr. Mackay!” Pause. “Anytime, Max.”

I gritted my teeth, feeling the eyes of the class burning holes into the back of my yellow Red Hot Chilli Peppers t-shirt. The short walk to the blackboard seemed a thousand miles long as I dragged my feet over the creaky wooden floor, praying that some miracle would happen.

God, Bhudda, anyone?

I picked up the short piece of white chalk, and the question swam in front of my eyes. Numbers... letters...

Maybe I could pretend I was allergic to chalk?

“NOW, Max. It isn’t hard, get to it.” Mr. Pellar prodded impatiently.

I placed the chalk against the board, and started writing. It was all scribbles, I had no idea what I was doing. Maybe I added these numbers? And what about this x, here, maybe I could divide it by this y-squared...

Two minutes later, I’d accomplished a weird mass of numbers with no end in sight. Shaking my head in frustration, I turned around, my ears red.

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

“Well, THAT’S obvious.” Gowan’s voice, loud and sarcastic, came from the back of the room. A split second later the entire class was laughing, including Mr. Pellar. My face burned in shame as I helplessly stood there, my eyes wide. Humiliation.

“Alright, alright, settle down, everyone. Max, you evidently need to review quite a lot. Please take your seat, someone else can answer it...”

The rest of the class was a blur to me. I sat in my seat, hunched over my notebook, feeling more stupid than I ever had before in my life. Why would Gowan do such a thing? He knew - he KNEW - how embarrassed I was about math. He must really hate me, I realised, staring at the toes of my scuffed blue and white no-name trainers.

When the bell finally rang, I gathered my books as quickly as possible, and was about to leave, when--

“Ah, and don’t forget everyone, this Saturday is Parents Day! They can come and see what you’ve been doing this past semester...” Mr. Pellar said with a broad grin. “Now, off you go!”

I didn’t need to be told twice. The narrow hallway was crowded as I pushed my way into it, getting swept along with the small crowd of students.

“Max, hey! MAX!” A voice called out. Seconds later, Keri emerged at my elbow. “Hey, what class do you have now?”

“Individual practice.” I muttered, “I’ve got to go bag me a practice room.”

Keri nodded, “Okay, I’ll come with you. I have Geography now, but fuck it.”

I shrugged in response. We walked along in silence for a while, till I headed up to the dorms so I could pick up my pipe case. Then we went back downstairs and fought through the main hallway, eventually locating a side corridor that was a lot less busy. Doors lined the hall, only several feet apart, with small signs on the front that said VACANT or IN USE. I picked a vacant one, and opened the door. Keri walked in, and before I closed it, I flipped the sign around so others would know the room was taken.

The practice room was, in fact, quite small; about 6 feet long, and 5 feet wide. There was a desk pushed against the far wall, with a chair, and a few coat hooks behind the door. The one window - just above the desk - was always open, so the sound could escape and not just reverberate around the small space.

Keri sat down on the peeling lino floor, stretching her legs out. She flipped her long, dyed-black hair over one shoulder, and regarded me with heavily made-up eyes. “So? What’s wrong.”

“What? Oh... well.” I sat down on the chair, setting my pipe case carefully on the floor beside me. “Parents Day.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well... I’ve never met my dad, so he doesn’t matter... but my mum.” I played absently with the black leather band around my wrist, staring at my hand unseeingly. “I haven’t talked to her since the day I came here, in order to apply... almost a year ago, now. And no phone calls, letters, or anything. Of course she’ll get the invitation to Parents Day, but she won’t come. I know it. And part of me is glad... but a tiny, tiny part of me wishes she cared. Even a little.”

There was a quiet rustling as Keri got up, and shuffled over to where I sat. She knelt down on the floor, placed her hands on my knees, and gazed up at me.

“Forget about her, Max. I’m not gonna spew sentimental bullshit at you about how your mother DOES care, because from the sounds of it, she obviously doesn’t. Which makes her an ungrateful bitch, because I’m sure any other mother would be writing you every weekend and love you to death. So once again, forget about her. Your friends are your family, and piping is your future. Your mother is your past. Let go of the past, Max, pretend it doesn’t exist.” She paused, thinking for a moment, then continued at a slower pace. “I know how you feel, I think, but it’s not quite the same... my parents sent me here because they wanted me to learn an instrument, but I know it was because they wanted to keep me out of trouble, and get me off their hands - at least for a little while. Well, fuck them, I think. I hate it here, but I hated it at home more. So whatever. I’ve forgotten about them, and now they’re dead to me. I’m my own person, free. Alone. Just like you can be, Max.”

I took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. I could forget about my mum... I had too. I had to let go. I had to release that hopeful little piece of me that kept clinging on.

“Alright. I’ll try. But no promises.”

Keri smiled warmly, a rare expression for her. “That’s good enough for me. Now get those pipes out and start practicing! And for chrissakes, forget about your mum and Gowan! Just for a little while, at least.”

So I did.

- - - - -

A/N: Geez, so many gay people in this fic now... trust me, it’s not like everyone in pipe bands are gay... it’s just the way the story is turning out. Anyway, yes, next chapter is Parents Day, and they WILL leave on the tour, I promise! ;) Aaaand... OMG... there will be an angsty!crying!Max and a soakingwet!Gowan. What could be better.