Free Notes From An Accidental Band Geek by Erin Dionne Page B

my mouth today?
    “Nothing,” Jake said, eyes to the floor. Not before I saw the hurt in them, though. “Glad it’s okay.”
    That wasn’t what he wanted to say, and I knew it, but the moment was gone.

13
    At the end of the day, I stopped by the front office and picked up the ugly plastic shako box. For our dress rehearsal we were supposed to wear our hats—not full uniforms—so AJ and Mr. Sebastian could more clearly see our formations during the drill. Plus, it’d get us freshmen used to playing with the hats’ goofy chin chain that draped just below our lower lips.
    We ran through the field show a few times, then were called to the sidelines and told to suit up. I opened my hatbox, careful not to let anything spill, and removed the heavy headwear. No plume-chicken needed today.
    I balanced it on my head and felt a tap on my shoulder. Punk.
    “You need to straighten it, Chicken,” he said. He grabbed both sides of the hat and adjusted it until it felt like it was going to come off. “If you’re wearing it right, the balance feels funny. It takes some getting used to.”
    “No kidding,” I said. How was I going to play like this? The other events we’d done at school since homecoming consisted of us wearing our band T-shirts and baseball caps, so we hadn’t had to get decked out yet.
    Prep time over, AJ called us back to opening set and put us at attention. The hat wobbled on my head as I brought the horn up. The brim was low over my eyes, causing me to overshoot my spots. Based on AJ’s shouting, others were having just as much trouble as I was. Amazing how the simple addition of a piece of ugly headwear could mess up everything you’d been working on for nearly two months.
    “Watch it!” came Punk’s voice. I narrowly missed crashing into the clarinetist in front of Hector who I was used to seeing a lot sooner, thanks to Mr. Hat. That put me off step, and I had to do a little skip-hop to catch up and get back into alignment with my group. I heard Hector snicker. This was like starting all over again. Frustration rose in me, and I fought it, focusing on staying in step, playing, and hat balancing.
    We finished the show and stood in our final set: a “company front”—standing shoulder to shoulder from thirty yard line to thirty yard line. It seemed like every freshman was at least a step out of their spot. We looked more like a gap-toothed smile than a straight line.
    “Well,” AJ called from the podium, “that was a horror show. Reset, and let’s do it again!”

    Thursday and Friday slipped by, and I managed to get mostly caught up on my homework. Steve assured me that I’d have some downtime between the parade and field show competition on Saturday afternoon, so if I really needed to, I could bring school stuff.
    “However,” he cautioned, “there’ll be a zillion distractions and you probably won’t get much done.”
    Distractions, I could handle. And although I felt tingles of excitement surrounding the field show competition, I was downright panicked over not being able to practice for Shining Birches for two whole days. The audition was six weeks away! But although my playing chops needed a night off before the show to ensure their full strength for Saturday, I couldn’t help but wonder if taking time away from my French horn meant a competitor would win my spot at Shining Birches. Tension knotted my back and shoulders.
    And it made me really pleasant too.
    “Stupid shoes!” I snarled as I kicked Dad’s concert dress shoes away from the door. I held about thirty gazillion pounds of band stuff—shoes, hat, mellophone, music, and a backpack full of field show competition must-haves—and was waiting for Steve to pick me up so we could meet the band bus at the high school.
    My mother called a sharp, “Elsie Kate! Do not speak in that tone!” from the other room.
    I left, trying really hard not to slam the door, which opened not two seconds after I stepped outside. Dad.
    “Your