Game Time

a - s t o r y - b y - m a d f o r f i g s - ( 2 0 0 8 - 6 - 1 2)

He was the one who was chucking pigskin around the field as he got the wind knocked out of him. I was the one who was marching on the field beating a piece of plastic after he and his cronies kicked up as much dust as possible. Perfect, isn't it?

--

o1. The Legacy of Toledo High School

Sports were our strongest point; every school in our division held us in the highest regards every time they faced us. They were scared of us; they knew they couldn't win. It seemed as if though we were unstoppable. Ever since my grade had entered the school, our athletic abilities couldn't be topped.

Of course, except the cheerleading squad.

Football was our best, I must admit. And for the best, they must possess a support system that actually had some talent. And our cheerleading squad definitely lacked talent. Toledo gave us a tremendous amount of respect; we won competitions all over the state and even went out to the middle of Pennsylvania for a competition between a minimum of six different states.

And yes, we won first place.

Being my fourth year of marching, the past three years of the sport had been full of shocks and surprises. Losses that weren't expected due to my slip-ups, people losing confidence in themselves and forgetting their dots; they were all common errors. But Toledo High was invincible; we weren't supposed to make common errors. We were a school of perfection.

At least in the athletic department. When it comes back to the academics, our overpowering senior class of 2007 is possibly the most idiotic in the state.

But being a senior in the marching band wasn't exactly a good thing. Our director, Mrs. Iffland, would push us to our breaking points. She expected us to be the leaders of the group; she expected us to demonstrate the proper manners of the marching band. But because I was also the section leader of the entire drum line, she expected so much more from me than the others.

Iffland's main problem wasn't hard to put a finger on; it was basically how sexist she was, but not against females. Was it that she was sick of the maltreatment women had experienced for centuries? If it was, she gave the girls every opportunity to succeed. The boys were left in the dust to eat what we had left over.

In a way, it made me feel real good to have beaten Rhys Morris, another senior playing snare, for the position of section leader. But it still made me feel some guilt; Rhys and I had originally came up with the idea to be dual section leaders and split up the responsibility. But in response, Iffland sat us down for ten minutes discussing how responsibility could not be shared. Responsibility could only be fully successful if each individual strived for their best without having to compete with the opinions of another.

Did it make sense to us? No. But did we have to listen? Unfortunately so.

From my spot close to the back of the coming on the field block, I could see the cheerleaders doing their so called dance routine for the pre-game show. Well, technically, we were the pre-game show. The cheerleaders were getting the crowd prepped up for our appearance; they weren't quite at the level of respect that allowed them to be seen close to the football team.

"Hey, Bubble Boy." I called out, directing my words at the lone freshman on the drum line. I saw his flushed face peer out from the right side of his bass drum. I frowned, noting how he was already beginning to sweat. It was the damned pre-game for crying out loud! It was only quarter after one; and he was already dying of heat. Imagine if we were to play during halftime, what would happen to him then?

"Yeah?" he shouted back, taking off his hat and wiping his helmet.

"Can you get Wesley's attention?" Bubble Boy nodded and tapped the drum major's shoulders. I saw Wesley turn towards me, a big grin on his face.

"You called?" he asked, coming up besides me.

"Yeah, I did." I sighed, stretching my back a little, ignoring the soreness of my shoulders and back as the harness dug into my skin. "Make sure Bubble Boy doesn't collapse. If he does, get him off the field. I won't have him playing after he collapses from a heat stroke, got it?"

Wesley laughed gently, shaking his head. "Always the optimist, Sarah. I envy you for it. But you have my word. And why do you call him Bubble Boy?"

I grinned at his question. Why was he Bubble Boy? It was a long story, a story that took place over the six days spent during band camp. Of course, it was an event so complicated, no words could recreate the situation. But what I can say is that it involved gum, a needle, a bar of soap, and Bengay.

"Not today, Wes. Not today."

Wesley merely shrugged and walked back towards the front of the block. I could hear their commands as the group went to parade rest. Then set. My heart started pounding as the drum minor began yelling out the commands for marking time. This was my first game that I was the leader, it was me that the group was relying on. It was an amazing feeling to know that it was the group I was leading that held the rhythm together.

As the drum line director Connors had said, the drum majors couldn't always be seen. Anything could block their view, the sun, a tuba, a tree, another person or anything. But us, the drum line, we could always be heard. We were the ones that were always supposed to keep the beat, we were the heart of the band.

Why do you think I stayed in this band for three years, onto my fourth year? Why do you think I stayed if I hated Iffland so much? I had no respect whatsoever for Connors either; I would drop out in a second if I had the chance to. But there were so many chances in the past years, and not once did I take it.

As soon as all ninety-seven members of the Toledo High School Marching Band were situated in the opening set, the crowd burst into applause, causing a spark of fire to ignite within me. It was because of marching band that pushed me to my highest limits, it was the adrenaline that I ran on for the rest of the day. It was this appreciation and high regards we were held in by the rest of the state. The Toledo High School Marching Band was a major part of the Legacy of Toledo High.

And I wanted to be a part of it.

I was all jittery as I sat down in the bleachers, as the spectators were still applauding our performance. This always happened to me after every performance, a certain high would run through my veins and propel me through the rest of the game. And it also helped that our football team was so amazing that my day remained so great. Looking to my left, I saw a bunch of freshmen sitting there. Great.

I've never been fond of underclassmen. Most of the time, they thought they were better than everyone even if they weren't. And just by the looks of these freshmen, I could tell they thought they were some serious hot shit.

But obviously, they weren't.

"Don't be hatin' the freshmen already." Rhys whispered in my ear, causing me to jump a couple inches. "They haven't done anything to you yet; give it time. After they do something stupid, that's when you can hate them."

"They already exist." I snapped back. "It's a valid reason for me."

Rhys let out a laugh, un-strapping his marching band hat. His blonde hair fell messily into his eyes as he hit me with his uniform part. "You're too cool for words."

"I know." I smiled, standing up as the National Anthem played over the loudspeakers.

Let the games begin.

--

"Whoo." I sighed, leaning back against my best friend in the flute section. The temperatures were finally starting to hit at the beginning of the fourth quarter. Unfortunately, the other school's band decided not to show up so the cheerleaders had done another routing to keep the crowd entertained.

Entertained would be an understatement.

Our football team was absolutely destroying the other team so badly, I almost felt bad for them. Almost. The score was now thirty-one to six and Toledo had already long switched in their alternates. After all our star quarterback, Quinn Marshall, scored four touchdowns within the first half before the Coach Hurley decided to go easy and switch to our Junior Varsity quarterback, Paul McGuire.

Speaking of Quinn, he was sitting on the cool steel bench, running plays with Paul as the running backs and wide receivers stood behind them. His light brown hair was cut close to his head to keep out of his eyes further into the season. Pity, he looked better that way.

"Yo. Marsh!" Rhys cried out at his best friend. Yes, that is correct. Rhys Morris and Quinn Marshall were best friends, despite vastly different hobbies. Rhys threw himself into music, while Quinn was on the road to Ohio State University at the rate he was going.

Quinn perked up, most likely recognizing the voice of his favorite person. He smirked, seeing Rhys pointing a drum stick in his direction. "Keep it alive, man." Quinn shouted back.

His eyes then traveled to me, a small smile graced on his lips. He lifted a hand in my general area, tilting his chin up to acknowledge my presence. I waved back, unfortunately, forgetting the drum stick in my grasp. The stick flew from my fingers, hitting Wes in the side of the head, who just happened to be blocking the stick's destined path.

"Sarah Morse, what the hell are you doing?" Wes yelled, picking up my drum stick. I blushed again, apologizing profusely as I rubbed my hand against the back of my neck. Luckily, Mrs. Iffland was nowhere around to chastise me about the proper behavior of section leaders. Seriously, I would be screwed if she was around this vicinity.

I glanced back up at Quinn again as Wes handed back my belongings. Unfortunately, Quinn was shaking his head, laughing at the scene that had just developed before his eyes. Though he wasn't looking at me, I could tell the smile on his face was directed towards me. Quinn was explaining a certain move to Paul, who was nodding at his words.

See, our friendship was odd. I was best friends with Rhys, and Quinn was his best friend as well. Transitive property states that in this case, Quinn and I should be best friends as well, but we weren't. Sure we hung out and all, but it was never just the two of us chilling as I could with Rhys, Lynn Chang or Max Noonan.

It could lead back to the fact that I had liked Quinn ever since sophomore year. I wasn't going to deny it and prance around in oblivion like most other people in society decided to do. I had accepted that fact long ago, and I was more than happy to embrace it. I knew nothing would ever happen between Quinn and I because we were simply not compatible. We were polar opposites, but not the polar opposites that everyone claimed would become attracted to each other.

We didn't like anything the other person liked. Our interests, hobbies, favorites, desires and morals clashed to the point where it was hard not to get frustrated whenever the other spoke about something in depth. Example? He was Democratic, I was Republican. Conflict ensues. He was liberal, I was conservative. Again, cue the fight.

Lynn was the only one who knew how much I actually liked him. It was because we were such opposites and could fight about these topics that had originally attracted me to him. When he first shot down my argument for Roe vs. Wade, I knew he was different. I tried to keep my crush on the down low, exhibiting as little feelings towards him as possible, but sometimes it was hard.

It was the little things he did that made me feel otherwise. When he'd give up his sweatshirt, simple chivalrous acts that gave me some hope of the male race. Just when I thought it was all over.

Simply put, I could never have Quinn Marshall no matter how hard I tried. Following high school tradition, he was currently dating Jennifer Flores, this gorgeous girl who was absolutely amazing at sports. What a shocker that the two most athletic people in our grade ended up together…

"Yo, Sarah." I perked up, hearing Wes Sadoway call my name. His hands were up in the air, ready to conduct.

Shit.

"What song?" I hissed at Rhys, as our drum major began counting down.

"Living On A Prayer." He quickly replied, the riffs already started. I shut my eyes, allowing Rhys's part to flow through my system. Automatically, my arms began to follow the rhythm as I let my body succumb to the beat.

This… was true love.

--

I sighed, throwing my uniform bag over my shoulder. The walk to my car was hot, as the sun remained high in the sky. The blacktop parking lot did a great job absorbing the heat, seemingly making it twenty degrees hotter than the original eighty-five degrees.

From my right, I saw Quinn emerge from the field house, his duffel bag slung from his shoulder as well. "Morse." His strides fell into step besides mine as we walked down to our cars together. A comfortable silence fell over us as seconds passed. It was awkward seeing us, no doubt. The varsity quarterback walking side by side with the percussion section leader, a garment bag slung over her shoulders.

Socially awkward, yes!

"Good game, by the way." I said, unlocking my car as I approached it. The trunk popped open as I threw my garment bag in. "I'm sure you guys will have a good season this year."

"Thanks." Quinn grunted, throwing in his own duffel bag into the trunk of his Jeep Liberty. "I'm pretty happy with the lineup this year, so things should go well. We won't disappoint you this year." He gave me a haphazard grin over his shoulder as he slammed the door shut.

Last year, our team had gotten pretty far, to the semi-finals. If we were able to get to the finals, they would be played at Giants Stadium, as much of an honor for the marching band as it is for the football team. But in the semi-finals, we had lost by a single field goal, shattering everyone's dreams for the season.

After Quinn had gotten over the initial shock and disappointment of losing, all of us, as in Max, Lynn, Rhys and I, had taken the opportunity to rip on him until he looked ready to spontaneously combust.

That's right, combust.

"Good to hear. I'll keep you word." I replied. "Anyway, I have faith in you and the team. You have a good sense of leadership that makes your teammates want to follow you so I'm sure you'll be fine. We all believe in you."

Quinn stared at me from across the lot, fifteen feet away. His light blue eyes bore into mine as neither of us moved. His eyes were an endless pool of blue, ones that I would never get bored of looking into. His mouth suddenly opened, preparing himself to say something, before the moment was ruined.

"Quinn!" I tore my eyes away from his to see Jennifer Flores walking towards him. He looked quickly at me, as if apologizing for her sudden appearance. "That was an amazing game." She grinned, hugging him as I looked on. "Let's get out of here. Oh, hey Sarah!" Jen said, pretending to notice me for the first time. "You guys played well as always. I'll see you Monday!"

I rolled my eyes and stepped into my car. Slamming the door shut, I turned on the engine and checked my mirrors. As I got ready to reverse, I saw Quinn and Jen openly making out in the parking lot. My heart tore a little more as I shook my head. No matter how hard I tried to get him out of my mind, little episodes like that parking lot incident would occur, making me think otherwise.

Life. Sucks.

Author's Note

I don't even really know if I want to make this into a real story. I might just have it sit here and transform it into a one-shot about heartbreak. It depends on what you guys as an audience think and I'll put up a poll as well. I'd really honestly appreciate feed back for this one so I can decide the future of this. I need your opinions just so I can take the best actions possible.

And ugh. I hate being a girl especially around the time of month. The pain is near freaking unbearable.

MadForFigs