* raise your flags !

prologue

"Really, the only thing you can't do is volleyball."

A few of my friends' eyes focused on me. Noticing the shift in attention, so did the gazes of the girls talking to us. They study me for a second, then resume their explanation. My friends look away from me. I'm suddenly tangling with my thoughts-- this puts a kink in my plans, to say the least.

The same girl who was just speaking began again. "But if you do decide to join, you'll have lots of fun. It's tough--"

Another girl, one with curly blonde hair, interrupted, "Really, really tough."

The first girl laughed, then lost her place in the sentence. After a brief pause, during which she tugged on a strand of her long chestnut locks, she remembered where she'd left off. "But it's worth it. It's so, so worth it."

A few more of us eighth graders asked questions, and the older girls answered them. Meanwhile, my best friend Lindsey raised her eyebrow at me, like she always did when she sensed I had one of my infamous ideas. "Please tell me you're not considering this," she said.

I scoffed. I hope she thinks I'm genuinely dismissing the idea, because I don't think I have my head together enough to really talk it out with her. "Duh. How could I leave volleyball now? I spent my summer on it."

That was true. I'd spent my every waking hour this past summer busting my knees and serving up aces at the volleyball club down the road. It took me a while, but I'd finally grown into my height, and I'd learned to use all five feet and six inches of myself to my advantage.

Lindsey sighed. "You did that just to prove a point."

"And I proved it, didn't I?" I countered.

"Yeah, you did," Lindsey relented. "But that's not a reason to ditch your shot at freshman volleyball captain, and I'm pretty sure you can't stay in actual band if you go do... whatever it is they're talking about."

"Colorguard," I put in.

"Yeah, colorguard. You may as well hand first chair flute to Hannah Hinks."

I grimaced. Hannah Hinks definitely did not need that ego boost.

And yet, some part of me still longed to once again hold the swords and guns the girls from the high school had brought into athletics. This was not in the plan. That should've scared me, but it didn't. For the first time in my thirteen years of life, I wanted to find my own way.

As long as my dad never found out. He wasn't a big fan of me doing things that weren't in the plan. Last year when I'd left National Junior Honor Society leadership, mostly because my job was a joke, I'd gotten grounded for three months. He didn't seem to care that I'd left because he said I could've done better; he seemed more angry that I hadn't asked him before leaving. I knew, if I wanted to do anything, I'd need to run it by him first.

"Hey," Lindsey said with a nudge of my arm. "You good, Quentin?"

I nodded, brushing all thoughts of my dad out of my head. With a smile, I responded, "All good here, Harris."

Someone passed me a pamphlet with the high school emblem and some more colorguard girls on it. I glanced at the tryout date, but immediately looked away. I had other choices to make.

I'd grown up knowing that someday, I'd have to decide between what I loved. I knew there were two paths to take-- volleyball or band. I hated to say it, but I knew neither of them was exactly what I wanted. As the girls and their director left, I already knew they couldn't possibly have what I wanted either.

A few nights later, I came home from activity night and relayed the adventures I'd had to my mom. Mom wasn't as high-pressure as Dad, and lately she'd been asking me a lot about what I wanted from high school instead of telling me what to do.

"I laughed so hard- I swear it was the funniest thing I had ever seen. Lindsay started crying she laughed so much." I snickered at the memory, picturing my friend's face when she realized she just said 'plate tectonics' was her favorite word. As in a singular word."

My mother and I were sitting in the living room, watching Netflix and eating popcorn. When a flashback scene showed a high school football game, I perked up. Wasn't there something-- oh!

"Hey mom, remember that flag twirling thing that I wanted to do?"

She wasn't paying attention. I try again. "Mom!"

She looked up, eyes a bit unfocused from her investment in the show. She loved crime shows like these, and I knew she wouldn't be a fan of me starting a conversation in the middle of one.

I repeated my question.

She paused the show, picked up her purse, and dug through until she found a crumpled but readable brochure. After scanning the pages, she tossed it at me. "You interested?"

I nodded, opening the pamphlet to find what I was searching for. "When are tryouts?"

She stood up and turned off the TV.

Confused, I simply stared up at her. "What are you doing?"

She smirked like she did when she was about to tell me she'd bought us bungee jumping tickets. "Chloe, get your jazz shoes and get in the car. They start in ten minutes."