The Drummer and the Quarterback

Chapter 1

"What time are we supposed to leave for the pep-rally?" I ask as I pull out my calculus homework to finish before Mrs. Hutchins asks us to pass it forward.

"I think he said 9:30, but they'll come on the PA to release us. Like usual." Eddie slides into the desk behind me, not bothering to take out his homework. He probably finished it before dinner last night.

I look up for a second, pausing my furious scribbling to survey the mostly empty classroom. "It's not fair that the football guys don't even have to show up this period."

The voice behind Eddie says, "It's not fair that I'll be the only one in here with Mrs. Hutchins once you guys leave."

"What was that, Cade?" She says from her desk at the front of the room.

"Oh, I said your hair looks lovely today, Mrs. Hutchins. Want to hit up Starbucks when these losers are gone?" He says, running a hand through his shaggy hair. Hutchins ignores him, standing and saying, "Pass your homework forward please. We'll go over questions in a few minutes."

I groan, and circle random choices on the last two questions before tossing the paper to the empty desk in front of me. ~The call comes shortly after that, and I don't get to find out how horribly I did on that assignment, but the first couple of questions certainly weren't boding well for the rest. Eddie and I pack up our stuff and head down to the band hall. Our band isn't actually that big, even though we're in a pretty big school, so the hallways are pretty deserted while we walk. Despite that, though, there's a palpable feeling of excitement in the air. Pep rallies always feel like an early beginning to the weekend. You can tell that the teacher's feel the same way - assignments are lighter, no homework is given, fewer phones taken up for being used during class. I always wonder if it's just because we live in Texas, where football is like our entire purpose of living (what do we do the other months of the year?), or if other states feel the same rush and euphoria of Friday Night Football. And to be clear - I do mean Friday nights. Those random Thursday night games are actually trash and nobody likes them. 

Hutchins' classroom is on the other side of campus from the band hall, so by the time we get there, mostly everyone has already got their instruments out and ready to march to the gym. Eddie and I rush back to the percussion corner to grab ours. Luckily, it doesn't take a lot of work to put on my bass drum or for Eddie to grab his cymbals. We both joined the percussion pit our junior year to fulfill our physical education requirement, but since I had previous music experience, I was moved to bass drum while Eddie stayed in the pit. We're ready to go by the time Zenuk calls 'Set' (that's band speak for "I can't say shut up because I'm a teacher, but please shut up"). We're warmed up and headed out of the doors in less than five minutes. When we march to the gym, we walk between all the faculty cars parked in one of the parking lots, and the other basses and I try to play loud enough to set off the car alarms. Sometimes it's the little things that get you through the day. Sure enough, the car to my left starts and when we cheer, Mr. Fin, our assistant band director who usually hangs in the back with us, just shakes his head, refusing to join in our revelry. I know he secretly loves it, though.

With the exception of the football team, we're always the last to enter the gym. The rest of the school is already piled into the stands, separated by grade level. The freshman section is always the biggest and the loudest. The rest of the drum line and I take up our space in front of the bleachers to the left of the band. We finish up our cadence while the cheerleaders do a routine they probably learned the five minutes before the pep rally. When we reach the end, Mr. Zenuk calls 'Set' to the rest of the band, but it's impossible to hear in the gym at this point, so it takes a few seconds longer than it normally would for everyone to actually be ready. When we are, he gives our center snare the signal to count off the fight song. This is the signal for the football guys to come running in decked out in the jerseys they'll wear tonight, clapping and pumping their fists over their heads.

The junior varsity players don't run in with the team during pep rallies because they played the night before, so they're already in their seats on the floor across from the band. The remaining seventy or so boys, made up of mostly juniors and seniors with a sprinkling of sophomores and like zero freshman, make their way to the chairs. Bringing up the rear are best friends and Anderson High football stars: Brock Darren, quarterback, and Connor Boyd, running back. They're quieter than the rest of the boys, not running into the gym but walking and waving to their adoring fans. They stop to stand in the middle of the gym, taking in the screams until the end of the fight song. The principal hands the microphone to Brock as the song ends and Zenuk pats his chest in our direction to let us know we can take off our instruments.

I set my bass drum against the rail behind me as I hear Brock shout into the microphone. "What's up Anderson!" The other students, including a few of the band members now that their mouths are free, yell in return. 

Brock hands the microphone to Connor who gives a loud "How's it going Armadillos?" to more deafening cheers. That's right: our school mascot is the armadillo. Such a majestic and proud creature. Connor has handed the microphone back to Brock who's giving the same rehearsed speech he's given every week since 10th grade about how he's "got the greatest team in the state" and with them at his side, "no one can defeat us" win or lose. At this point he calls up the rest of student council - the two of them are President and Vice President, respectively - to give out the "Spirit Award" for the week. Every week that we have a pep rally, student council gets together and chooses one boy and one girl from each grade to receive the spirit award. Typically, it's the close friends of the student council members or freshmen that the football guys have already taken under the wing or taken a liking to. We're never surprised by who they choose. Once the parade of popular kids is over, the cheerleaders take the floor to show us the routine they've actually spent time on rehearsing. They usually choose whatever the popular song of the week is, so the whole school screams when the music starts, but the excitement dies down pretty quickly. While the girls dance, the whole football team, junior varsity and varsity, are in their seats front and center to the performance. I notice Brock and Connor have actually moved to the back of the pack to stand, not deigning to sit with the rest of the team. Conner leans in to tell Brock something while pointing at the cheerleaders. Brock throws his head back in laughter, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

Shortly after that we've played the school song and let the rest of the school file out of the doors before we follow, the drum line playing more cadences as we march back to the band hall. By this point, third period has all but come and gone, and mine and Eddie's next class, choir, is just across the tiny hallway, so we take our time putting away our instruments. Zenuk shouts at everyone leaving to be back in the band hall immediately after the release bell at the end of the day and that anyone more than 5 minutes late will be running a lap Monday morning.~The rest of the day is pretty uneventful. My afternoon consists of lunch, economics, English class, and finally theatre last period. The way our schedules worked out, Cade and I actually have the whole day together, with exception of band, of course. Eddie is in several of our classes, but not all of them due to different extracurriculars. He's more into computer science where Cade and I really prefer the science of easy classes i.e. fine arts. Don't get me wrong, I love my fine arts classes more than anything, but it's no secret that you have to screw up pretty bad to not make an A in them.

English class, however, is a totally different story. Every year since we've entered high school until we made it to senior year, we were warned about the senior English teacher, Mrs. Hims. And the truth is...she's not like anyone made her out to be. After Mr. Fin, she's the coolest teacher in the school. In fact, she tells her seniors to tell the underclassman that she's so awful so that they don't know what to expect. That's not to say that her class isn't tough. She expects the best from you, and if you put in the effort, you should do just fine.

And if you miss a single class period, it is very hard to catch up unless you have someone take very good notes for you. Lucky for me, the band kids aren't called out early to get ready for Friday night games. Unlucky for Brock and Conner, who both happen to be in my 6th period English class with Mrs. Hims, they are always called out about ten minutes into class to go change and practice before they're bused over to the stadium. Luckily for them - I take good notes. So when the announcement is made for all varsity football players to be excused from class, Brock grabs his backpack (which he never unpacked), slides out of his chair, and as he walks down the aisle past my desk, he looks down at me, and asks, "You got me, McGrath?" I just tap my notebook where I've already started my notes for the day. He just smirks and catches up to Connor at the door who gives me a thumbs up. I catch Cade's eye across the classroom. He makes a face and mouths "You got me?" with a sarcastic double thumbs up.~