Shannon bites her lip but decides enough safety precautions have been taken to go forward. She counts us down. “One, two, three … lift!”
All my focus goes to the shiny metal bar in my whipped cream–sticky hands. It lifts off the ground with about the effort I expect until I get it to knee height, which is the moment muscles I didn’t even know I had scream out in agony.
Why do people do this to themselves voluntarily?
I can’t quit. I won’t quit. I’ve gotta push through.
It might be a setup, but Jimbo’s advice is all I have to go on. I’ve never done this before, and it was more than I got out of watching the drumline captain do it. Maybe the trick is momentum.
“Put it down before you rupture a disc,” Jimbo advises.
“You can do it, Soph!” Jake cheers me on.
With a feral growl, I launch the bar skyward with all the strength my marching band–geek thighs have to provide. And then I feel myself falling, falling, falling.
I wait for the impact of the definitely fifty-pound bar across my neck, but it never comes.
“I told you to spot her!”
“I caught the bar!”
“Oh my God! Is she okay?”
“Sophia, are you all right?”
Some voices are far away, and others have grown closer, but I can’t quite peel my eyelids open to check on actual proximity.
“She’s fine,” Jimbo says with a strange quality of pride in his voice. “She did exactly what she was supposed to do.”
Oh, God. I actually did die. Jimbo is speaking at my funeral, and I can hear it in the afterlife. It’s the only explanation for his praise.
“Come on, Sophie. Up and at ’em.”
“No. I’m dead. That was a nice eulogy, by the way. Thanks for that, but we’re done now. You won the war. There’s no need for you to haunt me for eternity.”
“No one’s won anything yet.”
Shannon clears her throat. “Uh, actually … you did. You won this round, Jimbo.”
“You still have to tally up all the scores, and there’s another week of voting left. Get everyone back to their dorms to pack up. We’re done here.”
I will never live this humiliation down. This is far, far worse than the rookie initiation. At least I never tripped and broke my nose and domino’d a whole line during that.
The chatter of all the funeral-goers eventually drifts away. I settle into the peace and quiet.
Until Jimbo’s voice makes me think I’ve gone to hell. “Are you a drum major or not?”
I moan then crack open my eyes to see if everyone is really gone. The first sight I’m met with is Jimbo, so I’m definitely still in hell.
His hand is outstretched like he’s actually offering to help me up. “Drum majors never rest. We keep the beat.”
“You should put that on a shirt.”
“I’ll even make one for you this time. That was badass, Soph. I’m really proud of you.”
Maybe Shannon was right about hazing being important for bonding. Because, for reasons I’ll never understand, his words sound genuine. And there’s no one left to put on a show for. I reach up an arm with the last of my strength, and James Fossoway pulls me upright.
Chapter Twelve
I kick the front door since my arms are struggling to manage what I’m pretty sure is a box weighing way more than fifty pounds. College textbooks are no joke. And I swore I’d never do weight lifting again.
“It’s about time!” a voice calls from the other side. “We’ve got a fucking party to put on tonight, and you’re late!”
The door swings open. If I wasn’t in the mood to lay on this front porch, curl into the fetal position, and cry until my tears run dry, I would really, really enjoy the look of horror plastered on Jimbo’s face.
“Mr. and Mrs. Reston!” His voice cracks like a prepubescent teen, which barely lifts my spirits. That’s how bad this whole situation is. He snatches the box from me like it weighs nothing because that’s what weight lifters who don’t want to shake my father’s hand do. “Welcome to our home! You don’t have to stay if you have other plans. We’ll get Sophia all settled in, no problem.”
“A party?” My mom glares at him.
“Nothing special,” Jimbo hedges. “Just a very small, intimate gathering of a few fellow senior band members to welcome everyone back to the new school year. We’ll be making study schedules and serving a five-course dinner of ramen.”
“Intimate, huh?” My dad squints at him.
As much as I would normally enjoy watching Jimbo sweat, his overselling lies are only making this worse. For me.
“Mom, Dad, this is James Fossoway. He’s one of the other drum majors this year.”
The stupid stud holds the box with one hand and extends his other toward my father. “Nice to meet you both. I’ve heard great things.”
More lies. He hasn’t heard shit. I would never talk about my family to enemy number one.
“Have we met before?” My father shakes a little too exuberantly while still studying Jimbo. “You look so familiar.”
He’s the spitting image of his brother, and Dad is a huge Miners football fan, so it’s only a matter of time until he puts two and two together.
“Uh, no.” Jimbo has to forcibly extricate his hand from Dad’s grip. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure before.”
Dad’s eyes brighten. “Fossoway! You must be Alex’s little brother! You look just like him!”
I guess I know him better than I want to admit because there’s no way my parents notice the slight tension around his smile or the way his bright blue eyes dull a bit. My dad’s too busy yapping about Alex’s last season in Orlando, and my mom gives me the third degree about my sudden living situation.
“I’m not comfortable with you staying in a house off campus with other men.” She clutches her neck like she might actually wear pearls.
“It’s only for a week until they get the burst pipe in my apartment fixed. I’ll be with Shannon. She has her own private room upstairs.”
A squeal from inside the house interrupts my mom’s likely next question about how many locks are on Shannon’s bedroom door.
“You’re here! Yay! This is going to be just like freshman year all over again!” Shannon throws her arms around my neck. “I’ve been shifting stuff around in my room ever since you called, so you can have some space. Come on in! I’ll give your parents the grand tour!”
Jimbo must be pretty desperate to escape the football talk because even though I think that’s a horrible idea, he boards Shannon’s happy train. “That’s a great idea! Can I get you something to drink? Are there more boxes to bring in from the moving truck?”
“No, no.” Dad holds up the two duffel bags he’s holding with a week’s worth of my clothes and toiletries and gestures to the pillow Mom is squeezing in one hand like a stress ball. “We’re taking most of her stuff back home since she can’t really move into a flooded apartment.” Dad throws an arm around Jimbo’s shoulders like they’re old buddies and steers him inside. “I’ll take a beer if you have one.”