No one can argue with that.
Jimbo claps his hands together. Whether it’s fake enthusiasm, or he just wants to get back to running the show doesn’t matter. He takes the reins. “Okay, so let’s make band camp not totally suck for our rookies. What kind of drum major competition do you guys have in mind?”
Shannon bristles. I just know it’s because Jimbo used guys to refer to a group of mixed gender and sexuality.
“Oh.” Jared chuckles. “After the bomb you just dropped on us? Yeah, we’re gonna need a few minutes to regroup.”
Kim produces several sheets of paper from her bandie bag, and the entire group of section leaders huddles together to revise whatever they’ve obviously already come up with.
Et tu, Brute? I’m starting to rethink the reason for Shannon’s bristling.
“I can’t believe you,” I yell across the room. She damn well knows I’m talking to her because her shoulders hunch up, and she visibly winces. “You knew about this competition and didn’t even tell me? I gave you a heads-up about the random alcohol searches, and I know you’ve got a fifth of vodka in your duffel bag!”
“Hey,” she volleys back, recovering quickly. “I told you about the secret drum majors’ meeting, so don’t act like I never give you anything!”
Jimbo actually gasps. “That was you? What the hell? You’re my vice president! You can’t betray me like that!”
Shannon shrugs. “She’s my best friend. You’re just my president. She’ll be the maid of honor at my wedding, and I’ll only think of you after graduation when I tell my grandkids a story about that time you pissed off the balcony of the house because you were too drunk to make it upstairs to the bathroom.”
Yep. That’s right. Jimbo is the president of ITK this year, and my bestie is his second-in-command. If that’s not bad enough, they both are also now living in the ITK house since they’re officers. The world is such a screwed-up place.
Once everyone recovers from all the revelations of betrayal, a far more sinister threat invades the room.
“Cross that one off,” Shannon advises. “We’re not allowed to do anything sexual.”
Oh my God! Sexual? What were they going to make us do?
“The wet T-shirt contest has to go too.” Kim scribbles with her pink gel pen.
Wet T-shirt contest? I’m not even in ITK!
“I know we all agreed we didn’t wanna go this route because it would seem boring, but put the push-ups, suicides, and deadlifts back on the list.” Jared glares at us. “I wanna see them suffer.”
I don’t even know what a deadlift is! Except that it has the word dead in it, so that gives me a clue. I glance at the four guys sitting next to me, who are leaning forward in their chairs with only slightly concerned furrows in their brows. They all have matching postures. Elbows on their knees, asses on the edges of their chairs, feet spread apart for stability, and visible biceps from the tension in their bodies.
I can’t compete with them physically! Jimbo has the muscliest build, but all of them are probably a foot taller than me! I’m a shrimp! I don’t even run unless I’m late or something is chasing me. Band is the most athletic thing I do, and a trumpet isn’t exactly heavy, so it’s not like I’ve ever even accidentally done weight training like a drummer or tuba player!
Once the list of certain death is finalized, Jared crosses the room and hands me the papers.
Not gonna lie, it buoys my spirits a little that he thought to hand it to me instead of any of the other guys.
Until I start reading.
I’m fucked.
Chapter Ten
“This is so exciting! Do the drum majors do this every year, or is this new, like the voting?”
Some people can meet for the first time, and their personalities just instantly click. They go from being strangers to being friends, bypassing the whole acquaintances limbo.
Emily is one of those people for me. And she is my favorite rookie by far even though I’m not supposed to have favorites.
“It’s new this year. Fucking hell.”
She doesn’t gasp in horror or give me a side-eye for not behaving like a leader should. She just chuckles and squeezes my hand.
Ever since the section leaders dropped their bomb on us, I’ve been forcing a smile, faking State bandie spirit, trying to be the best drum major I can be while pushing the looming failure of the competition to the furthest recesses of my mind.
But today is Friday. It’s the last day of camp, and we’re all heading toward the gallows. Well, everyone else is heading toward the scene of the crime—I mean, the field! We’re going to the field where the competition is going to take place!
No one is going to die, except me.
Sadly, I’m not even really bothered that much by my imminent death. At least I’ll be free from Jimbo’s reign of terror. No, what I’m really terrified of is making a total ass of myself. No one is going to vote for the drum major who can’t even hack a competition that’s supposed to be a fun replacement for the initiation ritual that’s been banned.
Dr. Kimball sidles up to me with a much more excited clip to his clop. “It’s working, Sophia! Everyone’s really in the spirit! I can’t believe how easily everyone adjusted to the drum major voting! And then to come up with this idea to give the new students who aren’t familiar with anyone yet an easy way to make up their minds? It’s like the bandie equivalent of a town hall before elections!”
I do a little mental polling, and there are about one hundred rookies who reported to camp. Freshmen almost always make up the biggest class because people tend to drop band instead of sticking it out until senior year. It’s a huge time commitment, and the further you get into your studies, the more you have to burn the candle at both ends to do it all. Emily’s been campaigning for me, but she’s new too, and not comfortable reaching out to her fellow classmates in other sections. So, that means I’m going to easily lose a third of the votes after this disaster.
“You look nervous.” He chuckles.
Remembering the guys’ secret meeting when they implied I could use harassment as an unfair advantage, I bite back my sigh. “No, just tired. I’ve given it my all this week, and I still have to move into my new apartment this weekend. I guess now that camp is basically over, I’m just dreading all the last-minute prep before the first day of classes on Monday.”
“You’re moving? I thought you liked your old apartment?”
Yes, my band director knows all about my life away from band.
“I did, but the landlord raised the rent to cover the cost of all the repairs he was constantly having to make.”
“Victorian homes are beautiful, but they are a real estate nightmare,” he agrees. “So, where are you moving to this weekend then? I’m sure your fellow bandies will be willing to help with the heavy lifting.”
“You know the new apartment complex they just built on the eastern side of campus?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t say this like he’s as excited about it as I am.
“It’s great! Rent really isn’t any higher than what I was already paying, everything is brand-new and modern, I won’t have to constantly be calling for repairs, and utilities are included! I’m going to be living the high life for my senior year!”