Popularity Contest

1

    PART 1 Quinn
7:42am and the bell finally rings, bringing a halt to the loud, out of tune, out of sync instrument sounds around me. Having band first period is both a great start to my day and an instant headache.
    I'm second chair clarinet player and it's one of, if not the greatest accomplishment I have to date. It's definitely my favorite thing that I do, other than Just Dance competitions on the weekends with my best friends.
    Mr Park appears at the front of the room behind his music stand and raises a baton in the air to get our attention. I tap first chair, Alison, who is silently playing the notes on the page in front of her. She looks over at me and I nod towards Mr Park. She lays her instrument in her lap and perks up like a puppy about to receive a command for a treat.
    "Today we're working solely on the Sugar Plum Fairy section of the Nutcracker medley," he starts, projecting his voice to the back of the room even though there's no more than 40 of us. "The holiday concert is three months away but I fear that is not enough time to perfect the atrocity that it is now."
    Mr Park can be harsh at times but it's just his dry sense of humor. He treats us as if we're professionals and not a bunch of kids who mostly took up playing an instrument because they aren't athletic or joined the percussion section for an "easy grade".
    He turns his attention to the flute section, the most important in this part of the music and I hear a faint hiss behind me.
    I turn to see my best friend, Eva Perry, with her hands cupped around her mouth. "My house tonight?" She whispers.
    I give her a thumbs up and a smile and turn back around before drawing Mr Parks attention. Something else does, though. The back door of the room that leads outside to the football field swings open. A guy in a blue sweatshirt and black running pants tries to sneak in, not knowing every eye in the room is already on him.
    Mr Park stops mid sentence, rolls his eyes and says, "I don't think secret agent is an occupation in your future, Mr Langford."
    The guy smiles without looking in his direction and keeps moving along the perimeter of the room. "Sorry, Mr P. Got a late start." He wiggles his way through the back row and finds his seat in the brass section.
    I've noticed him before, of course I have. He's one of the most popular guys at Jefferson High, star wrestler and soccer player. Wyatt Langford. He joined the band this year, his senior year. According to rumors, it was only to fill up his schedule and increase his credits since he'd failed a few classes in the past. Star athlete rarely means star student.
    Wyatt takes out his trumpet and Mr Park continues with the flutes. I glance back over my shoulder and accidentally make eye contact with Wyatt. He smiles and winks before licking his lips and putting them on the mouthpiece of his instrument.
    I quickly look away and put my own instrument to my lips, silently moving my fingers along with my part of the music. I've never spoken to Wyatt before. I've never really spoken to any senior. I'm the quiet, nerdy sophomore that has four friends and likes it that way. If you asked anyone else who Quinn Baker is, they'd probably have no idea.

    When Mr Park instructs us to pack up, I take apart my clarinet and put it in its case. We have lockers in this room, specifically designed for the instruments we play. Eva and I share one on the side of the room by the door that leads to the hall.
    "So we're all just going straight to my house after the game," Eva says as I stack my case on top of hers. "My mom's ordering Chinese food and don't forget, it's you versus Kam first round of Just Dance Battle Royale so get your game face on."
    I laugh and close the locker. "Kam beats me everytime, it would be a waste of a game face."
    "With that attitude, no wonder she beats you," Eva says as we make our way to the door. "You just have to dance like no one's watching. Let loose."
    "Or maybe it's the fact that Kamiya is an actual competitive dancer."
    Eva scoffs. "It's a video game, actual talent has nothing to do with it."
    We burst out into the bustling hallway and I wait for the daily sound of the heavy, automatically closing door of the band room to slam behind me but it doesn't. I turn my head and see Wyatt coming out of the door, lopsided grin on his face, looking right at me.
    "You think Mr P is pissed?" He asks.
    I look back at Eva who's eyes have widened at the sound of his voice and look back at Wyatt. He's talking to me.
    "Um, no. Probably not," I say, trying to laugh a little but it just makes my voice sound shaky.
    "I really wasn't trying to be late but my car wouldn't start and I figured out it was because it was out of gas," he rattles on, walking in step with me down the hallway. "So I had to find a gas can in the garage, literally run to the gas station up the street, run back and put gas in my car."
    The whole time he talks, I notice his hands moving animatedly. I also notice a few sets of eyes look our way in confusion. Trust me, I'm just as confused.
    "Anyway," Wyatt says, "put in a good word for me, won't you?"
    It makes sense now. He has an angle. I'm one of the better players in the band, I have a good repore with Mr Park and Wyatt wants me to get him out of any trouble he might be in.
    "Oh, sure. I mean, I'll try," I stutter, trying to keep a level head.
    "I owe you," he says, tapping my arm.
    I look over at him and he winks before jogging ahead, slapping someone in a varsity jacket on the back and disappearing into a classroom.
    "Did that just happen?" Eva asks. "Wyatt Langford just talked to you."
    I shrug. "Only because he wanted something."
    "Who cares," Eva practically yells as we turn the corner. "I'd give him anything he wanted."
    "Eva, no," I say, laughing at how wrong that sounds.
    We walk into our second period classroom, English with Mrs Douglas, and sit in our seats next to the two other girls that complete our group; Kamiya Conner and Frankie Hughes.
    "You'll never guess who just talked to Q," Eva says as soon as we sit down.
    "Who?" Kam chimes. Her dark skin and golden eyes have been something I've always admired. She's definitely pretty enough to be popular but smart enough to be a nerd. I'm glad she chose us.
    "Wyatt Langford," Eva says.
    "Shut up," Frankie says with disinterest and disbelief. She wraps one of her long, blonde ringlets around her finger before letting it bounce back into place.
    "Swear," Eva says, holding her hand next to her face, palm out. "After band, he walked down the hall with us. Well, with Quinn. I don't even think he knew I was there."
    I ignore them and get my textbook out of my backpack. Having Wyatt talk to me means almost nothing to me but at least the girls have something to talk about.
    "I swear if you get popular and leave us as an odd number, I'm going to be furious," Kam says, poking my arm with her pen.
    I laugh. "I'm not going to be popular just because a guy spoke to me for two minutes."
    "Not just a guy," Eva says. "Wyatt. Langford."
    "Do you have to say both names? Like wouldn't just Wyatt be enough?" I ask with a smirk.
    "Q, something is seriously wrong with you if you can't see how gorgeous he is," Eva says.
    "I mean, even I can appreciate his features," Frankie says. The fact that she came out to us last year makes that statement carry more weight.
    "I mean sure, he's cute," I say.
    "Cute?" Kam says, cutting me off.
    I continue. "But he's no Dylan Minnette."
    "That was the most basic white person you could've named," Eva says. "There's six versions of Dylan Minnette in this classroom."
    "I have boring taste, ok?"
    Thankfully, Mrs Douglas starts talking, forcing my friends to stop. We turn away from each other and open our books as instructed. I stare at the page in front of me but can't seem to retain any words. My mind replays Wyatt sneaking into the classroom, winking at me when I looked over my shoulder, talking and smiling at the same time.
    Sure, he's not ugly. He's arguably better looking than Dylan Minnette and the six versions of him but he's a senior jock who only spoke to me because he thinks I'm a teacher's pet and can get him out of trouble. There's no use in wasting any more time thinking about him.