Strike Up the Band (Sequel to Blind Faith)

One

August, 1996

        Mebane, North Carolina

Not quite three Years after quitting his band, thirty-two-Year-old Rob Bobby Dall walked in for the first Day at his new job. After putting himself through the remains of high school and enough college to earn an Associate's degree in education, he'd applied for a job at every single school in the Alamance-Burlington School System. His Intent wasta nab whichever position for a Music teacher or band director came open first, but he was technically qualified to teach just about anything he wanted to.

        As it so happened, the high school almost within spitting distance of where he and his family'd picked to build their new home after moving from Cali Ended up needing a band director pretty quickly. The woman who'd filled the position before went out on maternity leave right before the End of the last school Year, then decided over the Summer that she'd rather be a stay-at-home mommy. He certainly didn't have any problems with that–his own wife, whom he shared with a former band mate, was a stay-at-home mommy. Besides, it opened up a position for him at the very high school he'd say was his top pick outta any other in the County.

        The band mate he shared his wife with, twenty-six-Year-old Richie Kotzen, had somehow managed to snag the same job all but right next door. Just down the Hill from Eastern Alamance High was Woodlawn Middle, and their band director'd decided to retire at the End of the last school Year. All that mattered to these two technically former rock stars was that their preferred jobs in the schools at the top of their lists'd come open at the perfect Time.

        "Good Morn, sir," the receptionist–a Mrs. Gentry–greeted him as he walked into the main office. "How can I help ya today?"

        "Just got hired as the new band director," he chuckled.

        "Ah, Mr.–uh, I'm not too sure how to pronounce your name," Mrs. Gentry admitted, sounding sheepish.

        "Let's just go with Dall–been doing that for Years already, anyway," the former bassist told her.

        "All right, that works," she agreed, pushing herself up outta her chair. "Let's go see how busy Mr. Ebert is since he'll wanna meetcha for himself."

        "Sounds like a plan," Rob said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

        Following her down the hall, he couldn't help rolling his eyes at the bland and boring Color the main office was painted. Then again, it wasn't like it was a recording studio or anything, so he really shouldn't have been surprised there wasn't much with even the school Colors on it. But before he could really let his Thoughts derail, the receptionist knocked on an open door at the End of the hall on the left.

        Mrs. Gentry was quick to introduce him to the main principal, Mr. Dave Ebert, who handled pretty much everything from the rest of the faculty to Discipline for all four grades that attended this school. The former bassist wasn't surprised by the somewhat disapproving look the man shot his braid when he tossed it back over his shoulder. Even as he shook the principal's hand, he made no bones about refusing to cut his hair unless his wife demanded it, or he got tired of his kids pulling it. It'd been long for so long, he honestly couldn't remember the last Time it'd been cropped short, and he didn't wanna imagine it any shorter.

        The principal seemed to ponder his words for a moment, then asked how long it'd been grown out to at least his shoulders. Rob chuckled and admitted that he'd kept his hair grown out for upwards of two decades–the exact length depended on any given Time period they were talking about. He said he was willing to keep it braided, both for professionalism's sake and to keep it from annoying him all Day, but that was as good as they were getting outta him unless he actually wanted it cut.