He tsks—definitely not excited. “Just be careful. These big companies come in and entice students with glamorous pictures and promises of the moon, but they aren’t a part of the community. They prey on those who can’t defend themselves against corporate entities. Your landlord might have had to raise prices to keep up an old house, but you knew his name. You had his phone number. And he always came when you called. Guys like him have owned houses here since their kids were students, and they’ve rented them out ever since as an easy way to make an income in their retirement.”
This is why I love Dr. Kimball. We call him Band Dad in secret. This isn’t just a job to him even though everyone wants to use that excuse for why he’s cracking down on hazing this year. Staying employed isn’t really his main reason for the broader hazing bans. He cares. He wants what’s best for us, and he never fails to help us step up and find that best for ourselves. We might be adults, but we’re still learning. We still need mentors.
“Yeah, but there are also plenty of slumlords around campus who charge an arm and a leg for rent and don’t maintain their properties. Remember that house fire last year? Totally preventable.”
“That’s true,” he admits. “There will always be both good and bad in anything. You had a good thing, Sophia. You have a smart head on your shoulders, so I just want to remind you not to forget the trees while you’re in the forest.”
I grin. That’s the other thing I love about Dr. Kimball. He tries so hard to relate to us on our level, but he’s always throwing around these old-timey sayings that most of us are too young to even know the meaning of. We keep a running list of them, and everyone throws in their guesses for what they meant in the context of the conversation. It’s a band tradition. One he doesn’t know about.
When we arrive at the field, Dr. Kimball joins the other staff on the sideline, and I go to the center of the field where Jimbo is already stretching. Shirtless.
“Trying to give your main constituency what they want, James?”
He grins then flexes even more obviously. “Are you nervous because it’s working?”
“I’m nervous because we aren’t supposed to be engaging in anything sexual on band time.”
“You find me sexual?” He clucks at me. Like a damn hen. “I could report you for harassment, you know. That could be construed as an insensitive comment by some of the good Christian band members who believe fornication is a sin.”
I hold my breath, count to ten, and channel the perception change Shannon suggested.
“Sin can be such a purge for the soul though. Purifying. Cathartic. A release.” My sultry tone of voice hides that I’m fantasizing about the sin of murder.
“You look a little constipated, Sophie. I have some laxatives in my room that could help with that.” He drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was going to prank someone by slipping it in their morning coffee, but I didn’t want to get kicked out of band for hazing.”
Yeah, and that someone was probably me. Suddenly, all the stomach bugs I’ve ever suffered through in the past three years are suspect.
He smiles, affable, easy. Fake. “But since we’re friends now, and friends help each other, I wouldn’t mind running back to my room real quick in the name of making you more comfortable.”
“You’re so good to me. I love you so much.”
Even my completely sarcastic tone isn’t enough to take the surprise out of a string of words I have never uttered to this man.
I think it surprises both of us. I never knew I had it in me, and if my phone wasn’t back in my dorm room, I would absolutely take a picture of Jimbo’s expression right now.
Preserving the moment in time I shocked the hell out of him for all eternity.
This thought really does make me smile dreamily at the imaginary life-sized poster that would be the first decoration to go up in my new apartment.
“You don’t want me to be good to you.” He steps closer, his chest glistening with sweat under the afternoon sun, his voice containing a gravelly undertone, dripping with innuendo.
I should have known he’d figure out my game of hiding the hatred in the love so easily. And that he’d make it into another competition. And be good at it.
At the very least, I’m grossly eager to see how low we can both go. We’ve never competed before over something both of us have wanted so much and for so long.
I tip my face up to him. “I would absolutely love to get you filthy dirty, James.”
With a shovel. In a grave.
“And I would love to make you scream.”
Oh, he already does. Into my pillow every night.
We step back in unison to a more respectable distance as the other drum majors jog to the center of the field.
“We’re still doing this?” Nate glances between us with annoyance all over his face. “Really? Haven’t we already established Sophia overheard everything? I thought we all agreed to call off the dirty plays?”
Jimbo beams. “You heard the man, Sophie. No dirty plays for you.”
My disappointment is obvious. I don’t bother to hide it. Putting Jimbo six feet under is one of my favorite fantasies even though I still maintain I’d never go to prison for him.
“Where’s Jake?” Tim peers at the groups of students huddled on the sideline to watch the show.
Sure enough, our group of five is short one member.
“He didn’t get sick this morning at practice, did he?”
By the end of the week, the health center usually has a few bandies suffering from heat exhaustion, dehydration, or just plain not being used to the physical exertion of marching band for twelve hours every day. College bands get done in five days what high school bands take three weeks to complete. If he doesn’t show up, we’ll have to cancel the competition. It would be unfair to do it without him.
I really shouldn’t be so excited about the thought of Jake lying on a cot, puking his guts up every so often.
I squint at Jimbo, who’s still searching for our comrade in the sea of bandies. “You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?”
Nate stares at me. “Why would Jimbo have anything to do with Jake being missing?”
“Because I told her about the laxatives I brought to camp.” Jimbo rolls his eyes.
Tim shakes his head. “It’s bullshit you couldn’t get back at Jared for that prank last year. You are a badass for making it through that, and you couldn’t even get your revenge.”
Jimbo shrugs. “I’ll get him back at one of the ITK parties.”
“Wait a minute!” Memories from last year’s band camp rush to the surface. “That’s why you kept running to the field house every fifteen minutes the first day of camp?”
“Keeping pretty close tabs on me, aren’t you, Sophie?”
I bat my eyelashes. “It’s because I love you so much.”
Tim points at me. “Now, that is just downright terrifying.”
Nate throws his arms up. “That’s it! I am calling it off right now! We all agree, no more underhanded moves to get the vote. We’ll run a clean campaign until the first game. Understood?” He looks at each of us in succession. “Say it. Say you agree.”