A Marching Band Love Story

Competition: Part 1

It's funny how you remember the tiniest of details.

For me, that little snippet of a memory is the tarnished gold of an age-old mellophone and the blue-green eyes of a boy I had never met before.

"Chels, are you there?"

"Hmm?" I turned to face those same blue-green eyes I had come to know during band camp a few months before. 

"You seem a little out of it," the voice's owner replied. Logan Matthews had come to be one of my favorite people of all time. When I stepped onto the football field for the first day of band camp at my new school, Logan was the very first one to say hi and introduce me to my section: the flutes. While I had originally been intimidated and nervous as all heck for attending a new school, it had been the best experience of my life. I got to join a superior marching band, make amazing new friends, and even met a guy I kinda liked... It's Logan, if you can't already tell.

"So, are you ready for the first competition of the season?" Logan asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "My old school never went to marching band competitions, so I'm excited to see what all the hype is about."

"It's so cool. At football games, there's all this crowd noise and stuff like that, but at competition, everything gets silent. It's almost eerie, but so great at the same time."

"Well, I hope you're right," I replied. "When do we get there?"

"Umm, lemme pull up Google Maps," Logan replied. After making a few motions on his phone screen, he figured it out. "About forty-five minutes."

"Okay, that's not too bad. Wake me up when we get there," I said, resting my head against the window.

"I will," was the last thing I heard before I drifted off into Dreamland.

***

"Hey, Chels, wake up," Logan whispered as he gently rubbed my arm. "You need to get dressed."

"But I don't wanna," I mumbled groggily.

"Here's your jacket and gauntlets," Logan said as he handed me the pieces of my uniform. "Hurry, we just parked."

Even though I was sluggish and half-asleep, I could put on a marching uniform pretty quickly. In less than a minute, I had my jacket, gloves, gauntlets, and hat on. Logan had (or at least tried to) assembled my flute for me, but had failed miserably at aligning the joints to make it playable. Although I had to admit it was a lot better than the first time I had tried to put a flute together as a sixth grader.

Everyone got off the bus and made a standing band set in a nearby grassy area. "Chelsea, I'm so excited! I know y'all didn't do competitions at your old school, but you're gonna love it!" Anna, another flute player, exclaimed.

"Well, I hope it's at great as everyone's worked it up to be," I replied.

"Okay, band, let's run the entire show in these arcs! Don't forget to mark time to get a feel for it!" our band director, Mr. Taylor, yelled.

The drum major's hands went up and the percussionists did a roll-off. I raised my flute to my face and maintained a perfect 90-degree flute angle which marching in place. 

After seven minutes of rehearsal, we were instructed on how to get to the field. The competition was held at a college a few hours away from our school, and bands from all over the Southeast were competing. We navigated the college's campus, eventually arriving at a football stadium much larger than the one at our high school. As we walked on to the field and got into the first set, I noticed how many people and competing bands there were in the bleachers. As soon as they announced our name, the entire crowd was silenced.

The show went smoothly. I didn't see or make any major mistakes, so I assumed we did well. The percussionists counted us off the field and we made our way back to the buses. 

"Hey, Chels, how'd the flutes do?" I heard a voice behind me say. Logan.

"Pretty good. Did you keep the mellos in line?" I asked.

Logan laughed. "Yeah, for the most part. At least we didn't completely mess up that arc in the second movement that Mr. Taylor's been drilling us about."

"That's good."

We continued back to the buses in silence. The chilly October air caused me to shiver inside the thin polyester of my uniform. The bus was warm, though, so I got a few minutes of relief while we changed out of our marching jackets and into our personal ones. Logan put on a navy windbreaker while I put on a fuzzy pullover. Most everyone on the bus put on their band beanies, so I decided to put mine on just in case. I also brought a blanket and some hand warmers. 

Logan left me to talk to the underclassmen mellophones while I joined up with the rest of the flutes. We discussed the show and the upcoming awards ceremony that would come soon. After some time, Mr. Taylor directed us back to the stadium and into the bleachers to watch the last few bands and get awards.

I climbed up to the top row of bleachers where the flutes were supposed to sit and sat down on the end. I talked to Maddie, a piccolo, while we watched the rest of the band file in with their sections.

I noticed Logan climbing past the mellophone row. "Got any room left on this row?" he asked, pushing me to the side."

I giggled. "I think the mellos are down there, if that's who you're looking for," I replied.

"Nah, I don't wanna sit with them. I'd rather be with you," he said looking into my eyes.

"Really?" I asked.

I could've sworn his cheeks got redder. "Yeah, really," he said softly. "Now, share that blanket. I'm cold too, ya know."

I playfully rolled my eyes. "Fine," I said sarcastically. I pulled the blanket over the both of us and watched one of the other bands perform. About halfway through, I felt a hand go up and down my back, sending invisible pulses of electricity through my body. Logan smiled at me.

"You know, if you're tired, you can take a nap on my shoulder," he said.

"I think I will," I replied, returning the grin. But I couldn't fall asleep. This was too good to fall asleep in the middle of. I focused on the texture of Logan's windbreaker against my cheek and the slow movements of his hand against my back. 

But, against my will, I fell asleep.