The Band Geek's Dictionary

Chapter 1: Attention

Bus rides are, in general, revolting.

I pull out my laptop, despite the fact that it's against the rules that Mr. Reese so firmly set down. I think after being separated by gender onto two different buses every guy deserves a bit of slack.

I log on to my school's band's Yahoo! group, searching for the band dictionary. There it is:

Bus ride: The worst way to watch a movie. Also a good way to get to know someone (hint hint, nudge nudge, wink wink).

I snort, opening up Youtube as my best friend Travis peers over my shoulder. There's no one on this bus I'd like to get to know. Not since everyone was getting to know each other much too well on our last tour...that charter bus bathroom came in way too handy. Plus it was a little disturbing- Travis always insists on sitting in the very back, right next to the bathroom. Right in the 'Moan Zone' as I call it. Yeah, I'm that lame.

It smells like crap back there, too, and I wonder why...

"Hey Cam, go to Charlie the Unicorn," Travis urges, his head right next to mine, so close that I can feel his breath on my ear. I shift uncomfortably. A little too close for my liking.

"Travis, you're sixteen, watching Charlie the Unicorn on repeat like you're my mother watching a soap opera. No Charlie, you fucker," I snap. Travis gives me spirit fingers.

"Shuuuuunnnnn the non-believer!" He laughs madly. I groan and search for a movie trailer.

Travis is still nearly on top of me as I stare at the screen, my eyes watering terribly because I'm squinting my eye juices out. It's making me a bit uneasy with Travis breathing down my neck, because it's almost pleasant but I'm getting all sweaty and it doesn't help that it's a million degrees outside and the only source of air conditioning is from the window vent and I'm conveniently in an aisle seat.


I ignore the poke in the shoulder.


"What do you want?" I cry, facing Travis so suddenly that our faces are mere centimeters away. He doesn't move, seemingly not phased, but I jerk back a good foot, nearly falling out of my seat but saved by an armrest.

"Look at Tony and Keith," he says in awe. I expect that they're doing some breakdancing in the aisle, but not the case. The two tuba...tuba-ists...? are making out.

"Sick. Do they have to be all over someone? It's not bad enough that they were both taking turns making out with Ashley during the trip to Anaheim last year, but now they're eating each others' faces."

I actually have no problem with gay people. But Travis always gives the air of being homophobic, so if I just shrugged off Tony and Keith, Travis would bombard me with embarrassing questions.

"Oh, so you're gay too, that's why you don't care? Normal behavior, right? Gross."


"Yeah. It wasn't bad enough with Ashley." Ashley is the common name for the only whore in band.

Wait. That's it? That's all he's going to say? Does that mean he suddenly tolerates gay people?

And why exactly am I so curious about whether or not he's bothered by anyone gay?

Why the hell has the old word for 'happy' become the term for a person who likes someone of the same sex?

"Cameron, are you okay? You look a little pale." Travis is peering at me, his sunglasses down low on his nose so that he looks like a grandma. Only this grandma doesn't have wrinkled skin and silver hair; Travis the grandma has light brown hair sticking to his sweaty forehead in the southern California heat. He licks a bead of sweat off of his upper lip and his tongue darts back into his mouth. I stare.


"Huh?" I say, jerking my gaze away from his mouth to meet his eyes. The dark blue draws me in, because it's so close...

"Dude. Snap out of it. Here, you want the window seat? There's at least a bit more air over here," he says, and before I know it, he's scrambling past me to settle into my seat.

"Huh? Oof!" I grunt when he loses his balance over a speed bump (on the highway?) and lands on my lap, breaking his fall with his arm against my shoulder.

"Get off of me," I snap, squirming away from under my friend and curling up in the corner of the window seat, despite the smell of gum and animal crackers and piss filling my nostrils as I glare at the truck driver next to us.

Travis leans over me again, waving at the truck driver who can't be more than twenty. He blows a kiss. The truck driver, not Travis. He would never do that. I stare, horrified. It's only an hour into the bus ride and I'm surrounded by gayness.

And that is not meant to sound insulting. It's just a little freakin' weird for a straight guy to be caught in a bus full of guys who all seem to be me.

"Cameron, seriously. You look like you're about to faint. And you can't faint. You play trumpet."

"...The fuck...?" I mumble, putting my forehead against the slimy window. I feel something by my leg, and I look around to see Travis reaching into my pants. What the hell? Is he going to rape me?

"Travis!" I shout, jumping away from him.

"What? I was getting your inhaler. Maybe you're having a bad allergy attack or asthma or something and that's why you look awful," Travis says, taking the inhaler out of my pocket. Oh. I giggle at myself and take a few fake breaths out of the inhaler for effect, but mentally tell him that it has nothing to do with an allergy or asthma attack...I can't breathe in this bus...he's way too close...and I'm straight. So is he. It's not as if friends don't get close or whatever, right?

Maybe the heat is making everything a mirage. He's not really this close to me, close enough for me to see the miniscule freckles on his nose. I reach out a hand to make sure that I'm not just a guinea pig with no depth perception and bop him on that freckled nose.


"Hey! What the hell was that for?" Travis complains, rubbing his nose and finally moving away from me, huffing and settling into his seat to me as Mr. Reese puts on a movie.

"Dr. Doolittle? Is he serious?" I mutter.

"He's seriously got a messed up mind. He makes us watch Dr. Doolittle so that he can try to rape us when we fall asleep. Or he hopes that we'll get terrified and we'll jump into his hairy arms. I bet he loves it when the drum major yells attention."

Attention: Standing still while sticking out your butt. Can only talk in whispers so that no captains or other leaders hear you.

"Aw, I don't think he's as bad as you say he is," I say, defending our band teacher- Travis is obsessed with the idea that Reese wants to get into all of his student's pants. And since you have to stand still and can't run away from a pedophile...well, the theory makes sense. Eh. Whatever.

It's not bad, really. All of us band geeks in our nearly shapeless black marching pants...especially Travis...

What? He looks like the sex god of band geeks in his uniform. He kind of is our band's sex god.

I think he is.

Um, I mean...oh, screw it.

I'm a terrible liar, did you know that?

I, Cameron Moore, am three things:

One: a junior in high school.

Two: an utter band geek.

Three: um, gay.

And guess who's got a hot best friend?

Yeah. Me. How damn predictable.


A/N: I'll update this one! Really!  Hope it'll work out and you like it! Review, please!

I'm gonna get severely confused, what with my updating my straight fic I'm Not a Soup Can and adding slash! Ahhh! Yummy. Oh, and they're in different tenses. Confusion to the max.