“As much as I appreciate your input and welcome it, I’m not willing to reconsider Challenge Thursdays. A little nervousness is a good thing. Competition keeps everyone performing at their best.”
Not always. Competition kept Jim and me apart for a very long time.
“Let me handle the rest of practice. I want you to get together with the other drum majors to work out your parts for the show next week.”
It’s not my place to argue. I’m head drum major, not the director of the band. Dr. Kimball has been here for decades and will still be leading the band long after I’ve graduated. Besides, I’ve been looking forward to this next part.
Pregame might be steeped in tradition and ritual, but halftime is where the band lets loose and spotlights our role as the entertainment for game days. Our shows have run the gamut from Disney themes with princesses running around the field, twirling flags, to the entire band dancing through the routine to today’s hit songs.
Next week’s show? Star Wars.
I gesture for the other drum majors to follow me into the field house. Even the band won’t know our part of the performance until the final run-through the night before the game. It’s another special tradition—getting to surprise them with whatever we come up with.
Nate’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Is it time?”
“It’s time,” I confirm, happy I’m not the only one eager to get started.
“Lightsaber battle,” he blurts.
Jim chuckles. “I see you’ve given this some thought already.”
“I have it all worked out,” Nate confesses. “I’ll be Poe Dameron, you’ll be Rey, Jake will be Luke Skywalker, Tim will be Finn, and Jim will be Kylo Ren.”
Tim scoffs. “You’re only making me be Finn because I’m black.”
“Yeah,” Nate says like Tim’s stupid for being offended. “Just like Sophia has to play Rey because she’s a woman.”
I mean, he has a valid point.
Jake shakes his head. “I don’t wanna be Skywalker. I hate that character. He’s so lame.”
“Sweet,” Jim says. “I’ll be Skywalker. I want to use an actual Jedi lightsaber instead of Kylo’s double-bladed saber.”
“I thought we were all using lightsabers?” Jake squints.
“Only those of us who have the power of the Force may wield the mighty lightsaber,” Jim states, completely serious.
“No, no, no.” Nate waves his arms like he’s literally trying to wipe everyone’s minds of other ideas. “Jim has to be the Kylo to Sophia’s Rey. No changing the script!”
“Why?” I snort. “Because the band’s so used to us being sworn mortal enemies that they wouldn’t accept Jim as my mentor?”
“I could destroy you with my lightsaber as Kylo,” Jim acknowledges. “Don’t pretend I couldn’t.”
“What?” Nate looks at us like we’re crazy. “No! Because you lovebirds are going to kiss at the end of the show!”
Everyone shouts over each other, but we’re all on the same page. None of us likes this idea.
“You ship Reylo? That’s just fucked up.” Jake shakes his head.
“Finnrey for life!” Tim thrusts his fist in the air.
Jim points at him. “I will definitely destroy you with my lightsaber.”
“Save the lightsaber destruction for in the bedroom, you kinky bastard.” Tim winks.
Normally, that assumption might embarrass me, but he’s not far off. I’m actually getting kind of sore from our exploits.
I make a time-out motion to halt their increasingly heated discussion. “Why does it have to be romantic at all? Just because there’s a female main character doesn’t mean love has to be part of the story.”
“I actually think Kylo is going to be revealed as Rey’s long-lost brother,” Tim agrees. “I mean, they still haven’t addressed Han and Leia’s twins in the movies, but we’ve all read the books. We know it’s canon.”
We nod because … yeah, some stereotypes about band nerds are just true.
“Sure, but the final movie hasn’t been released yet, so everything is still fair game,” Nate insists. “And we want to put on a good show for the band, not just the crowd, right? So, this is it. Let’s play up what we’ve already got to work with. What the band is already interested in.”
I point at Jim. “They wouldn’t be so interested if you didn’t ask half the sections for dating advice.”
He splays his hands wide, not defensively, but with an air full of admission and self-labeling. “Desperate.”
“Ridiculous is more like it.” Nate rolls his eyes. “All right, we’ve got a little less than two weeks to choreograph this. Let’s get to work.”
“Wait a second.” Jake halts Nate’s plans. “How are we going to choreograph a lightsaber battle between all five of us if only three of us are supposed to use lightsabers?”
“Oh.” Nate grins. “Not all of us are getting lightsabers. The Jedis will. Finn gets to gun down the color guard because they’re all dressing as stormtroopers.”
“Yes!” Tim cries. “I’ve been waiting to get back at them for all the bloody noses they’ve given me with their stupid sticks!”
Nate points at Jake. “You’re going to disappear in a puff of smoke after fighting Kylo with your lightsaber.”
“What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to basically fight everyone until the final battle between you and Kylo.” Nate grins. “And I get to command the fleet.”
We exchange confused glances until Jim asks, “And what kind of fleet will you be commanding on the field exactly?”
“The drumline and tubas are going to get a little makeover before game day.” Nate grins.
“It could work.” I give Nate credit for thinking of everything. “We’ve already seen their drill. We know each section is going to battle against each other. We’ll just fit in around the edges in between conducting.”
“This is going to be awesome,” Nate promises, rubbing his hands together. “And the crowd is going to go wild when you two kiss at the end of the show. I don’t care what you say, Soph. Everyone loves a little romance.”
“Aww, crap!” Jim yelps. “We’ve been so busy banging that I forgot all about romance!”
Some things will never change. As the other guys snicker, I fantasize about destroying Jim. A lightsaber will not be nearly as satisfying as using my bare hands.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“This is … nice.”
Jim smiles with the rim of his glass at his lips. “Nice? You mean to tell me dinner at the most expensive restaurant within an hour radius from campus is … nice?”
“It’s so expensive!” I lean forward to hiss at him, suddenly grateful for the violin quartet on the stage to provide some background noise. “My salad was forty dollars!”
He sips his overpriced wine and tries to hide his grimace. Jim drinks beer. Not wine. He places the glass on the table with a shake of his head. “I never thought you’d be the kind of woman who orders a salad on a date.”