~I'll take this time to mention some legal stuff- this story is MINE. You
take it, and, well, ever heard of karma? You'll get yours. Enjoy!~
Chapter Two: A-Marching We Will Go
Grace got to school early that day. She walking down the hall to her first class when she saw Becca, violently kicking her locker with her three-inch- heeled boots.
"Having problems?" Grace grinned.
"Not funny," Becca growled at her friend as her locker finally opened.
"Well someone's just a little ray of sunshine this morning." Grace knew she was treading in dangerous waters. Becca was not one to meddle with when she was in a bad mood, but Grace frankly didn't care.
"Yes, yes I am," Becca grumbled. She threw her math book roughly into her orange locker. "Did you know that it's effing freezing outside?"
"No, really?" Grace loved sarcasm.
Normally Becca would have made a face, but today she just ranted on. "I mean honestly, snow in October? Some winter god is hearing from my lawyer!"
"You have a lawyer?"
"Forget it." Becca gathered her binder and music and slammed her locker viciously, silently praying that none of her magnetic knick-knacks fell down inside. She and Grace then turned and headed toward the band room. Grace pulled out her necklace, her curly black hair bouncing humorously and perfectly representing her joking nature.
"Look, isn't it great?" she said proudly.
Becca raised an eyebrow at the tiny golden crucifix and silver Star of David that dangled from the chain that hung around Grace's neck. "You're going to confuse people like that," she said.
"I know. That's the point." Becca shook her head. Grace loved to confuse people. Sometimes it seemed to Becca that she did it on purpose, but the truth was that Grace couldn't be normal if she tried. She was confusing by nature. Her brown eyes seemed to always be lit by a silent smile.
The two friends had reached the band room. It was empty, except a few tired souls desperately trying to finish their homework before the school day truly started. Becca walked to the sunken center of the room and put her stuff on her, the first clarinet's, chair. She looked at the white board. "A-marching we will go!" it read, in sloppy blue letters.
"The parade's next Saturday, isn't it? Marching band," Becca spat, "Je deteste ça!"
"Not the French," groaned Grace from the flute section across the room.
"Sorry, but it is a Wednesday," said Becca, smiling for the first time that morning. Becca took French classes on Tuesday afternoons and got up early on Wednesday mornings to watch to PBS French series. Leila, another of Becca's friends and a former French student, thought Becca insane because of this. Leila hated the very language and held grudges against those who had tried to teach it to her.
Becca climbed up the levels of the terraced band room floor to where the instruments were kept. She reached deep into the slot where Roxanne lived and pulled the clarinet from its lair. "Damn it all, why do we have to go outside today," Rebecca moaned. "It's too cold! All of the instruments are gonna be a zillion steps flat."
"You think Sounds-Like-Egg is gonna care?" asked Grace.
"'Course not, he's a drummer and drums don't go flat."
"Tympanis do."
"Have you ever heard of a marching tympani?"
"No."
"Exactly," said Becca, sitting down and opening Roxanne's case.
"Hey, you didn't get Lizzie for me!" Grace tried to sound indignant, but it didn't work very well.
"Oh, get your own flute," Becca replied through the reed she was soaking in her mouth. She finished assembling Roxanne and fastened the reed to the mouthpiece. She played a few testing notes as a somewhat short, somewhat chubby, very bald man walked into the room.
"Good morning girls," he said with his best fake smile.
"Good morning Mr. Crague," said Becca with an even more convincing look of innocence which quickly changed to an expression of exasperation and disgust as her band teacher stepped into his office. Becca and Mr. Crague were not on what one might call "good terms". He though she was a know-it- all with an "attitude". She thought he was an imbecile and a bastard. He was a drummer, after all. A composition degree from even the most prestigious music school was not going to change what Becca thought about that.
"I can't believe I'm taking this stupid class," she muttered under her breath. Becca may have loved music, but she hated school band. The only reason she was in it was so she could be in all the extracurricular classical music groups she liked. Besides, as bad as Mr. Crague was, Becca had never let people like that keep her from doing the things she loved. As long as she got her Youth Symphony and Honor Orchestra, the rest of the world could collapse around her for all she cared. Becca could be very apathetic at times.
The five-minute bell rang and students began piling in. The band room took the feel of an anthill as students scurried to find their instruments and seats before Mr. Crague came out. The kids feared him not because he was actually scary, intimidating, or strict, but because he always seemed to have a lecture ready in case the slightest disturbance arose. These were the types of lectures that never really taught the listeners anything. Mr. Crague's lectures were the type that only succeeded in boring the students to tears.
The room began to calm down. Becca looked across the room and caught the attention of Gilbert, the bassoonist (who was actually playing bass drum during marching season). Rebecca grinned at him and mouthed "banana". Bert returned her smile with a glare and mouthed "mango". Naming fruits was an ongoing inside joke between Bert and Becca. They said it was from summer camp. No one bothered to ask more.
The kids in the room happily chatted through the announcements. Rebecca thought she heard something about an Honor Society meeting through the noise, but she couldn't be sure. It was no matter. She could ask Gwen or Sybil about it later.
At last the announcements were over and after a few quick words from Mr. Crague, the band students reluctantly headed outside. The got in formation on 14th street, the street that ran perpendicular to the band room, the street that would run straight through Rebecca's happy little junior high school if it had the chance. Becca didn't know why her band teacher made them march in the street. Last year during marching practice, a man with long, lank black hair had attacked them. He had been awoken by the noise and followed them several blocks in his truck. When he reached the band, he went straight for Mr. Crague and began shaking him, yelling over and over, "What the hell is this?!" The man had been wearing camo. Mr. Crague had wrestled him on the sidewalk while the cheerleaders ran for help. Becca could still see the man fall and hit the ground as her band teacher flipped him. Drummers were good for something after all.
The lines were formed. Mr. Crague took his place at the head of the band. He blew his whistle, signaling for the band to mark time. "Brrrrr-brp!" Forward march.
Becca paid attention at first, but after a few cycles of left-right-left- right-Grand Old Flag-Stars and Stripes-left-right-left-right, her mind wandered. Left-right-left-right. She was lost to the rhythm of it. Left- right-left-right. Like a soldier, she thought. Like a stupid, mindless soldier. No, she swore, not me, never, but nothing she could do could overcome the steady left-right-left-right. It was in her ears, in her head, in her heart. Left-right-left-right. It was too much. She stopped suddenly and the kid marching behind ran right into her. "Hey!" Becca's thoughts were dislodged. She found the beat and began to march again, left- right-left-right. She played her part the way she knew she should. Left- right-left-right. It went on in her head for the rest of the day.
~Ok, you've read it, now all you need to do is review!~
Chapter Two: A-Marching We Will Go
Grace got to school early that day. She walking down the hall to her first class when she saw Becca, violently kicking her locker with her three-inch- heeled boots.
"Having problems?" Grace grinned.
"Not funny," Becca growled at her friend as her locker finally opened.
"Well someone's just a little ray of sunshine this morning." Grace knew she was treading in dangerous waters. Becca was not one to meddle with when she was in a bad mood, but Grace frankly didn't care.
"Yes, yes I am," Becca grumbled. She threw her math book roughly into her orange locker. "Did you know that it's effing freezing outside?"
"No, really?" Grace loved sarcasm.
Normally Becca would have made a face, but today she just ranted on. "I mean honestly, snow in October? Some winter god is hearing from my lawyer!"
"You have a lawyer?"
"Forget it." Becca gathered her binder and music and slammed her locker viciously, silently praying that none of her magnetic knick-knacks fell down inside. She and Grace then turned and headed toward the band room. Grace pulled out her necklace, her curly black hair bouncing humorously and perfectly representing her joking nature.
"Look, isn't it great?" she said proudly.
Becca raised an eyebrow at the tiny golden crucifix and silver Star of David that dangled from the chain that hung around Grace's neck. "You're going to confuse people like that," she said.
"I know. That's the point." Becca shook her head. Grace loved to confuse people. Sometimes it seemed to Becca that she did it on purpose, but the truth was that Grace couldn't be normal if she tried. She was confusing by nature. Her brown eyes seemed to always be lit by a silent smile.
The two friends had reached the band room. It was empty, except a few tired souls desperately trying to finish their homework before the school day truly started. Becca walked to the sunken center of the room and put her stuff on her, the first clarinet's, chair. She looked at the white board. "A-marching we will go!" it read, in sloppy blue letters.
"The parade's next Saturday, isn't it? Marching band," Becca spat, "Je deteste ça!"
"Not the French," groaned Grace from the flute section across the room.
"Sorry, but it is a Wednesday," said Becca, smiling for the first time that morning. Becca took French classes on Tuesday afternoons and got up early on Wednesday mornings to watch to PBS French series. Leila, another of Becca's friends and a former French student, thought Becca insane because of this. Leila hated the very language and held grudges against those who had tried to teach it to her.
Becca climbed up the levels of the terraced band room floor to where the instruments were kept. She reached deep into the slot where Roxanne lived and pulled the clarinet from its lair. "Damn it all, why do we have to go outside today," Rebecca moaned. "It's too cold! All of the instruments are gonna be a zillion steps flat."
"You think Sounds-Like-Egg is gonna care?" asked Grace.
"'Course not, he's a drummer and drums don't go flat."
"Tympanis do."
"Have you ever heard of a marching tympani?"
"No."
"Exactly," said Becca, sitting down and opening Roxanne's case.
"Hey, you didn't get Lizzie for me!" Grace tried to sound indignant, but it didn't work very well.
"Oh, get your own flute," Becca replied through the reed she was soaking in her mouth. She finished assembling Roxanne and fastened the reed to the mouthpiece. She played a few testing notes as a somewhat short, somewhat chubby, very bald man walked into the room.
"Good morning girls," he said with his best fake smile.
"Good morning Mr. Crague," said Becca with an even more convincing look of innocence which quickly changed to an expression of exasperation and disgust as her band teacher stepped into his office. Becca and Mr. Crague were not on what one might call "good terms". He though she was a know-it- all with an "attitude". She thought he was an imbecile and a bastard. He was a drummer, after all. A composition degree from even the most prestigious music school was not going to change what Becca thought about that.
"I can't believe I'm taking this stupid class," she muttered under her breath. Becca may have loved music, but she hated school band. The only reason she was in it was so she could be in all the extracurricular classical music groups she liked. Besides, as bad as Mr. Crague was, Becca had never let people like that keep her from doing the things she loved. As long as she got her Youth Symphony and Honor Orchestra, the rest of the world could collapse around her for all she cared. Becca could be very apathetic at times.
The five-minute bell rang and students began piling in. The band room took the feel of an anthill as students scurried to find their instruments and seats before Mr. Crague came out. The kids feared him not because he was actually scary, intimidating, or strict, but because he always seemed to have a lecture ready in case the slightest disturbance arose. These were the types of lectures that never really taught the listeners anything. Mr. Crague's lectures were the type that only succeeded in boring the students to tears.
The room began to calm down. Becca looked across the room and caught the attention of Gilbert, the bassoonist (who was actually playing bass drum during marching season). Rebecca grinned at him and mouthed "banana". Bert returned her smile with a glare and mouthed "mango". Naming fruits was an ongoing inside joke between Bert and Becca. They said it was from summer camp. No one bothered to ask more.
The kids in the room happily chatted through the announcements. Rebecca thought she heard something about an Honor Society meeting through the noise, but she couldn't be sure. It was no matter. She could ask Gwen or Sybil about it later.
At last the announcements were over and after a few quick words from Mr. Crague, the band students reluctantly headed outside. The got in formation on 14th street, the street that ran perpendicular to the band room, the street that would run straight through Rebecca's happy little junior high school if it had the chance. Becca didn't know why her band teacher made them march in the street. Last year during marching practice, a man with long, lank black hair had attacked them. He had been awoken by the noise and followed them several blocks in his truck. When he reached the band, he went straight for Mr. Crague and began shaking him, yelling over and over, "What the hell is this?!" The man had been wearing camo. Mr. Crague had wrestled him on the sidewalk while the cheerleaders ran for help. Becca could still see the man fall and hit the ground as her band teacher flipped him. Drummers were good for something after all.
The lines were formed. Mr. Crague took his place at the head of the band. He blew his whistle, signaling for the band to mark time. "Brrrrr-brp!" Forward march.
Becca paid attention at first, but after a few cycles of left-right-left- right-Grand Old Flag-Stars and Stripes-left-right-left-right, her mind wandered. Left-right-left-right. She was lost to the rhythm of it. Left- right-left-right. Like a soldier, she thought. Like a stupid, mindless soldier. No, she swore, not me, never, but nothing she could do could overcome the steady left-right-left-right. It was in her ears, in her head, in her heart. Left-right-left-right. It was too much. She stopped suddenly and the kid marching behind ran right into her. "Hey!" Becca's thoughts were dislodged. She found the beat and began to march again, left- right-left-right. She played her part the way she knew she should. Left- right-left-right. It went on in her head for the rest of the day.
~Ok, you've read it, now all you need to do is review!~