Free The Line by Courtney Brandt Page A

move.
    As the buzzer sounded to end the first quarter, it was time to go. Lucy looked across the field and saw the South drummers making their way down through the stands to warm up, zeroing in on Sam, who was one of the few people who could actually pull off looking good in a band uniform. South Washington was also fortunate to have decent colors – their uniforms were a smart dark grey with accents in navy blue and white. Nevada grabbed Lucy’s hand as they walked over to the South percussionists. Usually, Lucy wouldn’t mind this display of affection, but she was quick to drop Nevada’s hand as they neared South’s side.
    The South drumline warmed up like every other percussion ensemble, in a half circle with quints on one end, snares in the middle, and basses on the other end. The cymbals hung out in back and stretched out their arms. This setup left optimum room for an instructor to stand in the middle and hear the Line altogether or for another drumline to stare down the opposing drummers. Jerm had chosen the latter of the two. As the Forrest Hills percussionists glared, the South drumline stoically kept their composure through the warm up.
    The night would have gone on in this drama-free standoff if not for one particular event. At the end of the drum solo, the South snares attempted a stick toss from one side of the section to the other. The action was unsuccessful and somehow the missing drumstick landed directly in front of Lucy’s flip flopped feet. She had a quick, but important decision to make: a) not to do anything b) throw the stick even further away c) try the patented “bend and snap” move from Legally Blonde, or d) return the stick to Sam, who was apparently missing one.
    Lucy knew she had to do the right thing. It was as if time stood still. Both lines were waiting for her reaction. Lucy calmly bent over, retrieved the ProMark “Fitz Stick” and walked over to Sam. She handed the piece of wood across to him, but not before catching his eye and mouthing the words, “I’m sorry,” hoping he would recognize her apology.
    Sam gave her a curt nod. Relieved he had actually acknowledged her, Lucy turned to walk back to her Line. She was almost back to her original spot when one of the South drummers said in a low voice, “Bitch.”
    With Molly standing off to the side and no other young women present, Lucy knew the epithet was meant for her. She understood perfectly what the “bitch” meant, but the rest of her Line didn’t know the reference. In rage, Nevada began turning as red as his hair. The rest of the guys looked like they wanted to kill someone. It was one thing to insult the guys on the line or sloppy playing; it was another thing entirely to verbally abuse one of their girls.
    Nevada said loudly, “That’s my girlfriend you’re calling a bitch, punk.”
    This was news for everyone, including one very surprised Lucy. Most of the Forrest Hills guys had known Lucy and Nevada had been flirting a little more than usual, but they weren’t aware it actually had progressed to a label just yet. Lucy was happy with Nevada, but as they actually had only been on one official (and interrupted) date, she thought it was a little pre-emptive to be throwing out the big “G” word. Sam’s blue eyes locked on Lucy’s green ones. She shook her head briefly and shrugged at the same time, trying to send the message, I am sort of seeing him, but still interested in you too and I’m still really sorry for what happened on Friday.
    At this point, things could go either way. The competition between the Lines was a powder keg that had been looking for a catalyst to set it off. Lucy had a vision of an all out brawl, which would be difficult considering the South line were wearing their carriers, uniforms, and drums. Fortunately, cooler minds prevailed. This scenario was all Jerm really wanted anyway – something to charge his Line for the upcoming competitions. Sam, while in uniform, didn’t feel like