The Perfect Kid

Part 1

This is just the start of what I hope is a long-ish story. Please give me feedback (good or bad), I'd like to make this better. I'm warning you now, this story will have some very...mature topics later on, don't read if you don't like that kind of stuff.

I walked home from school that day with only one goal in mind; get my parents to agree with me. I rehearsed what I would say over and over again in my head, getting things just right. As I neared the house, I grew more and more tense. I didn’t think I could handle it if they said no. I quickly composed myself and pushed through the door.

“Erm…mom?” I called out.

“I’m in the study,” my mother’s voice rang back to me.

I tentatively walked into her study to find her staring into her computer screen, as normal.

“Yes?” she said, not looking up at me.

“Can I talk to you about band?”

“Have you quit that silly thing yet?”

“No actually, it’s-”

“You’d be much better off in something else,” she said, looking up at me. “It’s a waste of time, that drumming stuff you do. Will you be doing basketball again this season?”

“No mom. I was actually hoping-”

“You’re going to get out of shape if you don’t stop messing around. You were amazing in basketball, the best boy on the team, why do you want to stop?”

“I want to do winter percussion.” I said, handing her the papers.

She sniffed. “And what is that?”

“It’s kind of like an indoor marching band show. But with only percussion instruments, and it’s on a tarp. It’s really educational and challenging, I’d really like it…” So much for getting things just right. She flipped through the papers.

“And there’s no way you could do basketball too?”

“No, it overlaps.”

“You’ll still be doing youth group. You know that it would kill your father if you didn’t.”

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered.

My mom sighed. “Is this something you really want to do?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to do a sport instead?”

“Not even remotely.”

“I suppose…your father won’t like this. How much do I need to make this out for?” She said, already scribbling a check. I tensed.

“Four hundred and fifty dollars?” She growled but kept writing. I beamed.

“What’s that?” Seth asked, sliding in beside me.

“Percussion forms.” He snatched them up, almost knocking over his school-issued sludge that was supposed to pass as food.

“Winter percussion? Cranking up the dorkiness, I see,” He said, chuckling.

“Hey, laugh all you want, girls love drummers,” I said.

“When does it start?”

“Tonight, actually.”

“Seriously? You’re going to miss the Jacklyn Fritz party. We’re the ONLY freshmen to be invited, you can’t flake out.”

“Sorry bro. Maybe another time.”

“Whatever. While you’re off being a dork, I’ll be making out with junior girls.” I chuckled.

“We’ll see about that. I don’t even know if Mr. Connor will take me this late.”

“I’m sure he will. You have to have at least one stud in the band. You know, to help even things out.” I jabbed Seth in the side and he kicked me. I started to kick him back when he said, “Shove it dude, Sandra’s coming.” I promptly straightened up and stopped fighting. Sandra wasn’t one of the girls that roamed the halls forever looking for a reflective surface to check hair and makeup in, but she was definitely pretty. And somehow she made even the school food seem more attractive.

“Declan, you up for basketball tonight?” She said, swinging her leg over the seat.

I silently cursed the band scheduling system. “Sorry, I’ve got percussion stuff. Later though, for sure.” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Yeah, he’s got a band geek meeting. They have to decide what their uniform retainer color will be this year,” Seth interjected.

“Oh, shut up. You’re just bitter because the Star Wars Leaders of America turned down your petition for matching pocket protectors.” Sandra rolled her eyes and attempted to down her “turkey”. I smiled in spite of myself.

I had no idea what to expect when I walked into the band room that afternoon. It was all kids that I recognized from mass pieces, huddled in groups talking. After surveying my options, I settled for leaning against a wall and waiting. After a few minutes of this, Mr. Conner called us to attention.

“Welcome, to the 2012-2013 season of winter percussion! Most of you are returning vets, but I see a fair amount of new faces, which is excellent. I expect the more experienced kids to help the newbies, not intimidate them,” Mr. Conner glared pointedly at a few whispering seniors in the back. “I’ll be overseeing things and doing general corrections. We have an amazing group of instructors to aid in specialized help.” He then proceeded to rattle off names that I hardly even registered, much less remembered. The snare instructor was Zach, or Zane, or something of that nature. He seemed pretty cool. He looked to be in his early thirties, with dark brown hair and an even layer of stubble. His tee shirt was pulled tight from the muscle underneath.

“So we’ll be splitting you up into sections and you’ll be evaluated for what you can do!” Continued Mr. Conner.  “Don’t stress out about it. We have all ranges of training and ability here. As long as you try your best, it doesn’t matter where you fall on that spectrum.” I scoffed. Doubtful.

I went where I was told the snares would be. We circled up, and I noticed that the snare instructor smelled strongly of peppermint for no apparent reason. Zach/Zane told us to introduce ourselves.

“I’m Maddie,” said a junior from behind her curtain of hair.

“Ryan,” grunted a burly senior. A blonde boy mumbled something I couldn’t make out. There was something oddly familiar about him, I couldn’t figure it out. I knew I had never seen him before, but still…

“Oh, sorry. I’m Declan,” I said sheepishly. The blonde boy’s eyes concentrated on me. It was then that I realized that he looked like me. Almost scarily so. His hair had a much lighter color than my chocolate, and I was a good couple inches shorter than he was, but the resemblance was definitely there. He had the same frame that I did, lanky but oddly muscular. And his face shape was nearly identical to mine. But the most resounding similarity was our eyes. I had a light brown, almost orange eye color that I had never seen on anyone else. But here I was, staring into the exact same amber abyss. There was a distinction though, I couldn’t tell what it was…

“Okay, it’s time for you to show me what you can do.” Zach/Zane’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. “Just grab a drum from over there. I’ll tap you out a rhythm, and I want you to repeat it as best you can.” We did as told and went around the circle. The other three did it almost perfectly and received approving nods from Zach/Zane. When it came time for me to try, my palms got oddly clammy. I slipped up on the easiest part, and I just stopped. The other three snares uncomfortable shuffled their feet. To my surprise, Zach/Zane smiled at me.

“It’s okay, just try it again. You’ve got this,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I took a breath to steady myself and tried again. I nailed it.

Maddie and Ryan looked extremely relieved, but the other boy looked alarmed. He looked at me again with such a weird expression. Almost like pity. Pity that went much deeper than messing up a snare part. I decided then to find out what I could about the blonde boy.