What Are We?

Chapter 4

12 years ago

Just as I am finding a sweet cool spot on my pillow and snuggling into my softest blanket, I hear a loud banging on my bedroom door.

"Jenna! Get up already" my mom hollers at me. "I've already knocked three times. Next time, I'm coming by with a pot of water. Let's go"

I take my pillow and put my newly discovered sweet spot over my face. "Ugh! Mom it is still summer break for another 2 weeks. I haven't gotten to sleep in yet since swim season ended last weekend.  Let me be." 

I groan into my pillow as I hear the door opening. "I understand that, but you're a busy girl. A high school girl now. You have commitments." My mother walks up and pulls the pillow off of my face. "You're first day of band camp starts in less than an hour. Trust me. You're going to want to eat something first."

I open my eyes and glare at her. "It wasn't even my idea to join marching band. That was all you and dad. I'm busy enough as it is. Can't I just have a break for once?" I look at her hoping she'll agree but all I get in response is crossed arms and a lifted eye brow that seems to say I haven't got all day. I regretfully start to fling back my blanket and sit up. "Do I really have to go? This is not how I envisioned my freshman year starting."

Mom walks over to the window and opens the curtains. "Yes you do.  And it won't be so bad. You'll make lots of new friends, learn some new skills and your calves will look great!" She laughs at her own joke and shakes her head.  "I miss my band days. They'll fly by so fast. You mark my words: these will be some of your best high school memories here. Now get up and get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs.

As I hear her foot steps softening as they get further and further down the staircase, I mutter to myself. Yeah. Sure mom. 

___________

I lug my heavy French horn case with me through the door of the high school band room. It's a lot bigger than I anticipated. It's ceiling is 20 feet tall. The floor has stair layers. There are hundreds of cage-like lockers of all different sizes lining the walls around me. There is at least a hundred teenagers loudly moving about the room. I hear shouting, laughing, and unfortunate kissing noises. 

As I take in the new environment I enter, a tell lanky man walks in front of me. "Ah! You must be our freshman French horn player. How wonderful to meet you! I am Mr. Rodgers, the director." He reaches out a hand for me to shake before realizing my hands are already full with my case and my giant water bottle Mom insisted I would need. 

Mr. Rodgers takes his hand back once he realizes my dilemma. "Oh! Here. Let me show you to your lockers. I imagine your arm is getting fairly tired. Give me a moment to grab my clipboard to heck your locker assignment." He walks into what I believe is his office and grabs a clipboard off his desk. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Jenna O"Brian"

" Of course, Jenna! Right this way. Your lockers are right next to each other" 

As I follow him up the leveled stairs to the back of the band room, something occurs to me. "Wait a minute. Did you say lockers?" 

We stop in front of lockers big enough to fit the tubs my mim uses to store all the Christmas decorations in. He turns around to face me. "Well yes! I was going to touch base with you about this after introductions, but I have good news and bad news.  The good news: You are our first french horn player in 3 years. We are ecstatic to have you!" Mr. Rodgers is practically bouncing as he says this. "The bad news is that a french horn is not a marching instrument. So over the next two weeks, I have an instructor coming in to teach you how to play the marching band equivalent: the mellophone."