Chương 13: Left, Right, Left

The final bell rang, releasing a torrent of eager students into the campus. Most made their way toward the parking lot, loading into iconic yellow buses or the colorful line of cars waiting near the entrance. Some of the older students bypassed the slowly churning queue of parents smugly as they hopped into their own vehicles, only to find themselves similarly stuck in the crush of homeward bound traffic.

Olivia pushed against the tide of outgoing students, doing her best to weave into the spaces between them on her way to the band room. The place was already bustling with activity. Students streamed through the wide-open double doors and made preparations for practice as the air filled with dozens of lively conversations. It was her first time seeing the whole band together like this, and even after all this time, Olivia recognized the vast majority of the faces she saw—even the seniors.

The snare drum who would start dating the younger drum major next year. The tuba who seemed to be at the center of every prank or joke. The clarinet she'd had a crush on during junior year. … Yeah, he's no Jason. Not even close. The scene brought a smile to her face. Her fellow flutes clustered together near one side of the room, the lower and upperclassmen separating into distinct groups.

The chatty freshman who'd been talking to her during class now latched onto some of the other girls her age, mouth moving nonstop as usual. All around, other freshmen wandered aimlessly or hung close to the seniors in their section as they waited for further directions. She even spotted Lexi nearby, the scene girl offering a small nod of acknowledgement before turning back to her fellow trombones. And also… Her glance cast around the room until it found one particular saxophone. A curly-haired sophomore.

He was chatting with his friends, completely oblivious to her. She breathed a slight sigh of relief at the realization. She didn't have to deal with that can of worms quite yet. Still… it is kind of interesting how quickly everyone forms cliques by instrument. I guess we do spend the most time with our own sections, so maybe that's only to be expected. That wasn't to say such friendships were the only ones on display. Plenty of kids mingled across section lines, especially the upperclassmen.

Maybe it just took time for those default social groups to break down and intermingle more naturally. She quickly gathered her own clothes and hurried toward the bathroom to change. When she returned, even more figures had joined the crowd of students milling about. Hannah stood near the front of the room, the drum major now wearing a tie-dyed shirt with cutoff sleeves. Beside her, arms crossed and eyes scanning the assembled band, was her male counterpart—the band's senior drum major.

The boy stood tall and proud, confident amidst the chaos. Olivia had never known him well outside of his role as an authority figure in the band. But he'd always seemed nice enough.

"No instruments!" The elder drum major called as a few kids began pulling cases out of lockers.

"No instruments for now!" The call rippled out and soon the clicking of latches stilled. Olivia replaced her flute case in her own locker as well. Her attention drifted across the room, simply observing as the last few stragglers made their way in. That was when she noticed a new figure next to the door. A tall male with sandy hair styled short stood as straight as a street sign. Reflective sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the laser focus directed toward the spiral-bound notebook perched in one hand.

The other held a pencil to its pages as he scribbled something in quick, deft strokes. Woah. Is that… Coach Brian? The sight of her old marching coach brought back a flood of memories. This was the man responsible for all things field-related. Mrs. Villanueva was their band director, of course, but him? He really ran the show during marching season. But what really caught her off guard was their coach's appearance. Specifically, how young he looked.

Even calling him a "man" felt strange, given that she clearly had at least a decade on the guy He's absolutely not older than twenty-two, I guarantee it. I wouldn't be surprised if he's still in college. Was he always this young? She frowned. The coach had never seemed old exactly, but compared to a high schooler? He was an adult, complete with the authority and seemingly insurmountable gulf of experience that entailed. That was probably why she'd never noticed his actual age.

If even seniors seemed impossibly out of reach to their younger counterparts, then someone in their twenties was out of the question. After a few moments, Coach Brian tucked the pencil away behind one ear and snapped the notebook closed. Olivia saw him turn to the senior drum major and say a few quiet words. The boy nodded and sucked in a deep breath.

"Band! Atten-tion!"

"One!" Olivia felt her body instinctively respond to the command. She and every other student snapped to face the pair of drum majors at the front. Well, most of them. There were a few stragglers whose slowness made them stand out in the ensuing silence. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Coach Brian looked over the group.

"All right. Let's go." His words were crisp and to the point. Without waiting for a response, the he immediately turned and headed out the door to the field. The lithe coach seemed to glide effortlessly across the ground, his posture never faltering. A tide of students followed in his wake, Olivia among them. Her stomach fluttered nervously as the group ambled toward the practice fields. I picked up flute again easily enough. Marching can't be any worse. Right?

Her body awareness was so much better than it had been during high school. It wasn't great by any means—her awkwardness when it came to basic things like catching a casually tossed water bottle was a constant source of amusement for Jason—but trying to keep up with the boys and their games had to count for something. Well, I am still a freshman. Expectations won't be that high. Still, I'm a freshman that's ostensibly had two weeks of practice before this.

Forgetting all of that wouldn't exactly leave a great impression. Her worry continued to fester throughout the warm up exercises and stretches that the drum majors led them to through. Although the protests of her sore muscles did help to distract her somewhat. Maybe she'd been pushing herself a little too hard during morning exercises. Then again, wasn't that just evidence of it working? Finally, Coach Brian stepped forward.

His gaze swept across the collection of students where they stood in a relatively neat grid.

"All right. One step, left foot stepoff. Something simple to start. Remember, straight legs and push off the platform of your right." Olivia nodded internally as the harsh electronic clicks of the metronome started up—loosening yet another repository of long forgotten memories. A quick glance around reminded her of how to hold her hands, one fist against the other's palm and knuckles layered atop one another. She focused, drawing herself up as tall as she could manage as the countoff came.

Then her left foot stiffly shot forward. She stopped mid-step as it touched down. Easy. Of course, that was only to be expected. It was a single step forward, the most basic of basics. It wouldn't be hard to get right even if it was her first day.

"Eyes here." The marching coach said before kicking his sandals off.

"I saw a lot of people stepping out, but staying in the same place. You should already be moving forward. Otherwise, when we take step number two, you'll get left behind." The man set his feet and took a step in demonstration. He exploded forward before freezing completely, balanced perfectly between front heel and the ball of his back foot. Olivia's eyebrows rose. That's… how does he make it look so smooth? It was only a single step.

Yet the motion was crisp, intentional and precise without an ounce of wasted movement. And done so casually, too. He'd made the simple movement look effortless, yet so good. It showed how completely the coach outclassed them. Yet it also lit an ember of competitive drive deep within Olivia's chest. I want to move like that. Olivia was many things in her youth. Shy, awkward, clumsy with her words. But one thing she wasn't was a slacker.

Just as with playing the flute, it went against her instincts to do anything less than her best. Even when her baseline for "best" had risen more than a little bit beneath the rust. I don't think being super good at marching can make that much of a difference. Not in the grand scheme of things. It's not like a lot of the drill I'd be doing depends on my individual skill. So would it really be a problem if I work on bettering myself just a bit?

If anything, trying to get as good as I can would be more faithful to what I've done in the past. Olivia frowned and focused as Brian demonstrated again, this time with a series of steps. She dissected the movement, evaluating every aspect critically. Then, when it was her turn, she put those observations to work. … Better. But I think I still am shifting my weight side to side too much. And what about my shoulders? The group quickly moved on to two steps in sequence, then right into sets of eight.

Olivia took full advantage of each repetition. She carefully critiqued her own form and made subtle adjustments again and again. The improvements were steady, especially as she remembered more of the lessons she'd long ago forgotten. But it was clear she still had a lot of room to improve. Occasionally, her attention would drift to the students around her. Most of the freshmen were doing fine, even if they did look a bit clumsy. There were a few standouts overall, most notably among the seniors.

She did her best to observe them whenever she got the chance. I don't think I'll become the absolute best in the whole band or anything. But I do want to get better. She continued repeating and refining their movements until a break was finally called. The formation dissolved toward the sideline to drink water and mingle during those precious few minutes. Olivia also took a few swigs of her own water, taking care to stay near the edge of the group. But her mind was still on the field.

Before she knew it, she was standing and taking slow, ponderous strides across the grass. Her eyes remained locked on her feet for the moment, focusing on just that aspect. Something didn't quite feel right yet. If only—"Uh, hey, Olivia?" Her head snapped up. Alyssa stood a few feet away, the section leader eyeing her strangely. The older girl raised an eyebrow.

"You realize this is a break, right? As in, time to stop practicing?" Olivia blushed slightly. In reality, she didn't feel tired. Even considering her current body, they hadn't done enough for her to do more than break a light sweat. The brief swigs of water she'd already taken were more than enough to stave off dehydration, too. Yet pointing that out would be a bit more pushback than she probably should give.

"Yeah. Sorry." She ducked her head as sheepishly as she could. Alyssa smiled and waved her off.

"Pfft, don't apologize! Just take a rest! Come on, sit down or something!" The section leader ushered Olivia back toward the group of flutes. She followed without complaint, oblivious to the few pairs of eyes that watched her go.