Marching season is out, but the competition is only heating up.
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Section leader applications for the next marching band season at Halston University are officially open, and percussionist Bay Rodriguez wants the role.
Bay's only competition is Ca...
noun. a break in the music, during which time is not counted.
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THE MARCHING RED FOXES PLAY in the Homecoming Parade, which is a procession of spirit groups and performing arts ensembles in advance of the football game.
Compared to a halftime show, parade marching is so much easier. Left, left, left-right-left and just watch the drum major (who is watching center snare) for when to stop, mark time, or turn. We use the most popular of our songs from the Sun show.
Callum is throwing yet another band party this Saturday, and this time I seriously deliberate skipping it. I can't keep up with his social energy. But the drumline already likes him more than me, and being liked translates into being respected, which has a direct impact on your ability to lead.
By Saturday evening, after dinner, I'm still torn about whether to attend. I pull out my makeup bag from the drawer in my desk. As soon as the first drop of foundation touches my cheeks, the decision is made. I don't wear make up during the day, and now I will feel like I've wasted product if I don't debut it to some sort of crowd. (Look what social media has done to us. Perception becomes reality.)
The sky outside is covered with milky pink clouds, the fall weather still blissfully dry. At her desk, Renata watches me apply my makeup in the closet mirror.
"You know, I hear so much about Callum and his beloved strip beer pong, and yet I never see any photos."
I snort, working contour in the hollows of my cheeks. "You never see any photos of Callum stripping?"
"Precisely," and just as my expression curdles, "hey, we can agree that someone is objectively criminally good-looking and not endorse their personality or behavior. You don't even have to know a name to know beauty."
I fill in my brows to balance my eyes, which I think are too deep set and cavernous. Blush and contour and mascara. "He is not criminally good-looking."
"Bay, sweetheart," Renata says softly. "He's an Adonis."
I mime barfing in my mouth and swallowing it back down again, with a piteous distressed expression, too. "If I get you a shirtless photo of him, will you shut up?"
"Yes."
I swipe on the gloss I'd saved for after dinner, then pick up my Science Faculty tote bag to pack my party essentials. "What are you doing tonight?"
I'd offered to bring Renata as my plus one, but apparently Vivian, the Treasurer of WISA, is taking a bunch of the executive committee clubbing tomorrow night, and, "I need a full social battery to keep up with Viv. She parties hard."
