write a new story | short stories

i can't, i have band

A chaotic, meme-filled, entirely unedited ode to Area 51 and band kids everywhere who just want to see them aliens!

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September 20th. In years past, it had been just another regular day. Kids would drag their feet to school, grumbling about their upcoming geometry test as golden leaves drifted to the sidewalk from the trees above. There would be a crisp autumn chill to the air -

Oh, wait. That would be if it was under 80 degrees.

There isn't much in southern Nevada, but it sure has a lot of the driest heat you can imagine. Even in September, I'm wishing I was in the Midwest or something, because the month starts at 95 Fahrenheit and only drops fifteen degrees by the end. At least, I usually am in years past.

But this year, September 20th is not just another regular day. September 20th, 2019 is a day that will go down in history. They can't stop all of us, for today - yes, today! - is the day we will finally raid Area 51.

I'm not even gonna lie, I've been waiting for this day for months. I'm sure just about everyone thinks the petition was a complete hoax, but even so, the kids at my high school are beyond ready. Maybe it's just as much of a joke to us as it is to everyone else, but I expect so many people to show up for the meme alone. Because why not? Our school might be practically in the middle of almost-nowhere, but while there isn't much in southern Nevada, we are located conveniently near one of the most legendary, never-before-seen areas of the country...the one and only Area 51.

Let the memes begin, am I right?

Except there's just one problem. As I walk into school, I immediately see a crowd of teenagers wearing identical T-shirts, and it all comes crashing back. I can't go to Area 51...I have band.

"Jordan!" My friend Kyle waves me over with one hand, the other holding the can of Monster Energy he's never seen without. I nearly trip over the saxophone case at his feet on my way over. "We're gonna ask Smith if we can skip the game tonight for the raid." We meaning those surrounding him, AKA the group of friends I somehow ended up with, AKA all those easily recognizable as the sort foolish enough to attempt to tangle with our band director the day of the game against our biggest rival - Chad, Brad, Becky, Linda, the whole lot. Even the director's daughter herself, Karen, is there.

"Yeah, right," I scoff, "Like he'd let us miss the game for anything. Nothing is more important than band." Or at least that's what we've been conditioned to believe for the past few months. As soon as August starts, our entire lives are dedicated to band. No event is too major to be pushed aside for anything related to marching band, and if you don't want to hang out with anyone in band, you pretty much have no friends. Smith letting us go to the Area 51 raid instead of playing hype tunes for our lackluster football team? The guards will let us in without a fight before that'll happen.

"Sure he would," Kyle says, tipping the can into his mouth to consume any leftover liquid. "I mean, it's not every day half a million people sign up to storm Area 51."

Behind my back, I hear a sound that has become all too familiar in the past weeks. Across from me, Becky's eyes widen, and Kyle and I slowly turn around to face our band director. Mr. Smith clears his throat, giving us all a look so scorching it could rival the sun (and, seeing as we pretty much live in the desert, that's an astonishing feat). "It's also not every day we have an away game that has the entire population of the school talking." With an air of authority only a king should have, he puts his foot down. "No raiding for you tonight, guys and gals."