I signaled Ricky to tap us off as we made our way around the side of the school to the track. Trying not to hyperventilate too noticably, I glanced at Tucker to see him looking like he's going to puke. Running away looked pretty good I'll admit, but the drums had already started playing the beginning of the school song. There was no turning back now. As we heard our cue, Tucker and I spun around to conduct the band as we marched in. And yes, marching backwards and conducting at the same time is hard. Please feel free to try it.
We came blaring "African Symphony" around the track, everyone doing really well considering hardly anyone passed play tests. Cheering began from the stands as we passed, but I was determined not to look. If I did, I knew I wouldn't have the guts to show them my butt for the next eight minutes or so. I almost made it until I heard a manly roar coming from the whole left side of the congregation. I turned my head too quickly, getting whiplash (which hurts like a mother) in surprise. There, sitting amongst our parents and old colleagues, was the entire football team. I'm not talking just a couple of the older siblings of some of our underclassmen. I'm talking the ENTIRE TEAM. I decided that my earlier situation was looking a whole lot more appealing right now.
Thankfully the rest of the band was too busy trying to stay in step, remember their music, and stay in line besides to notice them, but I know Tucker did. We exchanged glances, wide eyed. How were going to perform with this much pressure sitting their watching? They were always in the locker room during halftime at games!!!
This is it, I'm gonna die, I thought. Thank you God for giving me some time on earth before I DIE of complete humiliation... We came around the track and started onto the field, the entire band's volume suddenly dropping at the sight before them. The football team was still screaming out random noises, trying to cheer us on. Their effort was commendable, but they just made us more nervous. I had to put on my serious face so the rest of the band wouldn't know I was secretly peeing my pants. That wouldn't really help them to put their trust in me to keep the tempo.
As we came to the front hash of the football field, the band started marking time while Tucker and I continued our arm flourishes as we'd practiced. The final note blaring, I crescendoed them as high as they could go without the baritones sounding awful (they have a habit of making a blatting sound). Glancing at Tuck, we both did our cut off quickly and sharply, making the football stadium ring. Miss B stepped up to the front as all the parents sat back down from giving a standing ovation. The football team apparently didn't know that you needed to shut up when Miss B was talking and were still on their feet cheering. Though most of them were faking their enthusiasm (rather badly, I might add), I saw that Christian, Tommy, Roger, and the coaches seemed sincere. And to me, that meant a lot. Though it shouldn't, considering the shit they've put us through over the years. But what can I say. I like to be liked.
Miss B turned on her wireless microphone, turning to the audience with a huge smile on her face. "Welcome everyone to the 2011-2012 Marching Owls Preview Show!" More cheering and clapping followed her explanation, plus some more whooping from the peanut gallery. "I'm so glad you all could make it out to see us, especially our veteran marchers, it's good to see you again." I saw a few college kids look away in embarassment, not wanting people to know that they had been apart of this at one time or another. The sad part is, is that no one I've ever met was proud of being in marching band. Apparently it's uncool, geeky, nerdy. But those labels are given by teens that are "cool', but have never done band themselves. How could you describe something you've never done yourself? I'll tell you how. Stereotypes. Oops, got off track there. Sorry, back to the story.
After clapping for those prideful veterans (please note the sarcasm), Miss B started to introduce the Band Booster board members. This is where the rest of us take a seat on the terf and take a nap. Or try not to, anyway. One year Bea got so bored she pulled up terf for twenty minutes, creating a giant hole. She forgot that terf doesn't grow back as good as grass does. As in the field is not grass anymore Bea, nice going.
I zoned back in as the band president finished her speech, just in time for Miss B to introduce the Captains and...well, Tuck and I. Wiggling around on the ground, trying not to giggle from nerves (I'm a nervous laugher) I glanced up at the team. Everyone was following the flow of the introductions, glacing at each captain as they stood, except one. Christian's eyes pierced me and never left, not even when the colorguard was doing their warm up chant for the crowd. A sense of calm washed over me as I stared back into his blue eyes, wondering what the hell was happening to me. I have never been calm, I just pretended I was. Why was that different all of a sudden; why did I feel almost comfortable in front of this huge crowd?
I blinked and realized I had been staring for almost two minutes at him, probably gaping like a cow chewing cud, and he right back. He smiled at me, not his usual smirk, but a real slightly blinding smile and gestured for me to stand. Confusion overtook me until I realized Miss B had just said my name. Laughing at my own stupidity, I stood up and brushed the terf off my shorts. A wall of noise started, from everyone in the whole stadium. If there had been a roof, that thing would have been blasted off!! All of a sudden, a heat stroke overtook me as I awkwardly smiled at the audience and the band. I hadn't realized that they had liked me that much, but hey, I wasn't complaining. I loved them all.
Tuck had already had his cheer, so he was shuffling from foot to foot, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. I couldn't help but agree, the stares I was getting were more than unnerving, especially when a certain pair of them was burning a hole in my back. If I was made of paper, I would have been gone years ago.
"You ready?"
"No," Tuck said, "but we don't have much of a choice, do we?"
I laughed as I towed him to the center of the field for our salute. We'd been working on it all week, using my dance experience and what Tuck was capable of remembering as our guidelines. Drum majors in sync, we moved our arms and legs in the correct pattern until we ended saluting the audience with me kneeling in front of Tucker. The crowd cheered once again as we stood back up and hugged. "You've got this Tuck," I whispered in his ear. "So do you, more than I do!"
With a laugh, we seperated to our respective spots, him on the field, and me to the podium. Sprinting over guard flags I reached the steps, climbing it rather shakily to the top. Once there, I glanced out at the band facing back field, not following anyone, and hoped that they would make it to the end proud of what we'd accomplished this week. It was hard, hot, and heavy in memorisation, but we'd made it. Now it was time to show the audience what we could do. Smiling at Carter, poised above his snare drum, waiting for my count at the back of the field, I raised my arms, and began.