A Fine Line (4 page)

Yeah, right! It’s not like there’s anyone I’m even remotely interested in.

Mandy, no stranger to Lucy’s moods, broke her friend’s thought process by asking from the front seat, “What’s up, Luce? You’re pretty quiet back there.”

Lucy fiddled with her phone, “I’ll let you know when I know.”

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: I’m totally not sending this…

Sam-bo,

I wish I actually had the courage to send this to you. I wish I had a universal remote that I could fast forward and see how our relationship turns out. It already hurts so much that you’re gone. I thought marching and the Line would fill the void, but no such luck. It’s even tougher being around everyone because they’re all happily dating people and it reminds me of us. Anyways, the reason I’m not sending this is because I don’t want you to see me as a whiny annoying high school student. I know college isn’t that different, but please don’t forget me, okay?

Your Luce

Lucy sighed, clicked “save as draft” and signed off. She lay down on her bed and thought about her last first day of school that would begin in less than twelve hours. Feeling strangely inspired for the late hour, she signed back online. Looking at her buddy list, she glimpsed a name that had been there off and on throughout the summer,
Cartwright213
. She felt bad because between practices, being with Sam, and working she had little time to keep in touch with her anonymous friend. Lucy cracked her knuckles and typed:

bassgirl17:
How was your summer?

As soon as she sent it, she felt like an idiot for her complete lack of wit and overall dorky question. An answer came back shortly:

Cartwright213:
Decent. I’m about to get some sleep, can we talk soon?

Lucy smiled, in spite of herself, and typed.

bassgirl17:
Sounds good. P’s.

After the second day of class, as was usual on Tuesday afternoons, Lucy got ready to walk down to the practice field. She didn’t want to get all mushy about her final season, but there was something definitely nostalgic about realizing that each practice was one practice closer to her last. In August, the Tuesdays and Thursdays seemed to stretch out forever, but unfortunately, there was a definite end when she would put away her bass drum for the last time. The senior crossed her fingers, silently hoping the football team would make at least semi-finals this year, thus stretching their season just a little bit longer.

How to keep the season interesting without Sam around…?

Lucy had already looked over newcomers and underclassmen at band camp and had found a few cuties, but no one she actually deemed crush worthy or even worth her flirting time. After her semi-disastrous and ultimately very confusing season last year combined with her unknown status with Sam, the brunette decided she was going to play things this season cautiously.

Attaching her bass to her carrier, Lucy flicked down her sunglasses, turned up her iPod which had randomly landed on Blondie’s The Tide is High and began the five minute trek to the practice field. She was walking alone, enjoying herself, and the optimism that could only come with the beginning of a new season.

Contemplative, Lucy wasn’t sure what stars had aligned for her to be the only girl on the Battery for an unusual second year, but she wasn’t complaining. Lost in her thoughts and tunes, she didn’t notice the shadow that was passing over her and the object that was coming closer and closer to her. As if drawn to a bull’s-eye in the middle of her bass drum, a football smacked into her drum head with enough intensity to puncture it and render it useless. After quickly assessing what had happened, Lucy practically threw her drum off and was angrily looking around for the culprit within seconds. As the large school was continually growing, construction had forced the band and football practice fields closer together than usual.

Lucy picked up the football and went storming over to the field. She soon found herself surrounded by some massive football players. Her power song (
Battle Without Honor or Humanity
) roared in her head and she angrily asked, “Who’s responsible for this?!”

The guys shrugged. Lucy got even madder.

“Seriously? Whoever it was just broke my bass drum head!” She exclaimed, and then cringed, realizing that something about her choice of wording sounded ridiculously sexual. A few of the guys snickered. Lucy’s mortification grew steadily as she flushed. From the back of the group, an accented voice said, “Sorry about that. I think it was me.”

The group parted as a guy came forward. Lucy had never seen him before, but thought she had heard a rumor of a British transfer student who was sending serious palpitations through the females of the student body. She looked him over. In a country that had produced the famous footballer David Beckham, this guy wasn’t too far behind, sporting a similar hairstyle and stature of the celebrity. Lucy met his eyes and was surprised to find they were as vividly green as her own. She was glad she had her sunglasses pulled down so that he couldn’t see her obvious once over. Putting a hand on her hip, she rudely asked, “Really?”

“Yes, please let me help you.”

“I think you’ve done enough already.”

Without giving much further thought, Lucy purposely threw the ball at his crotch and walked away, smirking at the whistles coming from the football players. She got back to her drum and began walking in the opposite direction of the practice field, heading back towards the school. Passing Billy and the strange look he gave her, she said, “Some punk football player managed to put his football into my drum. I have to change a head.”

Billy shook his head, “Already? That’s pretty early in the season.”

“Don’t blame me. Blame the idiot who did this.” Lucy turned so Billy could see the gaping hole in the side of her drum. She then turned and walked up back to the percussion room. Lucy switched out the drumhead as quickly as possible, but had already missed the warm up and got a number of questioning looks as she made the walk alone back down to the field for the second time.

Across the football practice field, green eyes watched the brunette with the cute ponytail and “I don’t give a damn” walk, noting her short khaki shorts that complemented her tan and a white tank top. He asked one of his new teammates, “Who’s that?”

The answer was grunted back, “How the hell am I supposed to know? What do I look like, some sort of band geek?”

He turned to the rest of the team and shared a hearty guffaw at the thought.

The Brit was confused. Having only recently moved to the States, he wasn’t familiar with the various social hierarchies that came along with being an American high school student. Up until his first day at Forrest Hills, he had attended, like many students his age, a gender specific preparatory school. Being around all these girls was already seriously messing with his hormones. Furthermore, even though he wouldn’t necessarily classify himself as a “jock” per se, as a member of the football team, that was where most of his classmates had immediately lumped him. Over the summer, his parents had encouraged him to join one of the sports teams at school. With the starting kicker injured, and his beloved soccer on hold as a ‘spring’ sport, Wes found himself in the unlikely position as an American football player. Up until a few minutes ago, he had considered himself lucky to already be a part of something, but now wondered if he would be willing to accept all the social rules that came with his clique.

On the other practice field, during the marching band’s first water break, Lucy was still fuming about the afternoon’s events, grumbling to herself, “Who does he think he is?”

Gina walked up with a cup of water and asked, “Where were you before practice? And who is the ‘he’ you’re talking about?”

“Someone put a hole in my drum!” Lucy burst out.

Nearby, Mandy twirled her flag absently, “Wow. It wasn’t Mark, was it? I mean, I know you guys like to play pranks on each other, but isn’t that even a little extreme for him?”

Lucy shook her head, “No, it was some jock, but he had a British accent. Do we now have some sort of exchange program at Forrest Hills?”

Gina burst out, “The new guy put a hole in your drum?!”

Mandy smiled and said dreamily, “I have AP Bio with him and he is too cute!”

“Does my new enemy have a name?”

Mandy volunteered, “Wesley Mallinson, but I think he goes by Wes.”

Gina asked, “Did you ask for some retribution?”

“No. The football team has too much testosterone for even me to handle. I had to bail.”

Mandy said, “I don’t know, if I were you, I would try and get something out of this. Like, I don’t know,” she raised her eyebrows suggestively, “Maybe a date?”

Gina added, “I mean, it’s only fair.”

“As if!” Lucy scoffed and got up to get back to her section.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR: How Not to Apologize

(A Lesson by Wes Mallinson)

Fred pulled on his pristine white Drum major gloves, blew his whistle, and all the band members scurried back to opening set on the field. With their first half time performance in just a couple days they were all doing their best to finalize all parts of the show. It was nowhere near competition ready, but in the two weeks it had been since band camp, the show already sounded a lot better. More people – freshmen included – were consistently in step, the routines of the Auxiliaries were locking in, and the overall musicality of the show had definitely improved.

With the realities of being a senior setting in, Lucy shoved the football incident to the back of her mind. She knew she had probably bitten off more than she could chew with three AP classes and marching band, but hey, sleep was definitely overrated. As she walked into the familiar Forrest Hills halls on her third day of classes, she was happy with the way the semester was looking. When the bell rang for first period, Tom joined Lucy as they walked to AP European History.

Lucy asked Tom, “Are you ready for the quiz today?”

“What quiz?”

“Tom! It’s only the third day of school, there’s no reason to get behind this early!” Lucy started lecturing her friend as the percussive pair walked into their classroom.

At lunch the next day, Lucy brought her food to the drumline table and sat down, pleased at how her first week was going. She was joking with her fellow seniors, when suddenly they were all quiet and looking directly behind her.

“If you guys tell me that there’s a shark behind me, I’m going to be very upset,” Lucy tried to joke.

Tom nudged her, and smirked, “I think someone wants to apologize.”

Lucy slowly turned around in her seat and was genuinely shocked to see the blonde football player that had permanently damaged her drumhead standing in front of her, complete with a large bouquet of daisies. She had to admit to herself that the rumors were indeed true and that he gave many of the guys at her school a run for “Hottest Senior.” Still, she wasn’t about to admit that to him. As the entire Line waited eagerly for her response, she cocked her head and asked, “Are you completely mental?”

The guy sputtered, but managed to say, “These are for you.”

Lucy stood up, barely reaching the flower-bearing Brit’s shoulder, and answered, “Look dude, I don’t even know your name, but this is not some lame American sitcom where—”

“It’s Wes—”

Lucy tried to continue, “Where—AH-CHOO!!!”

She got a good whiff of the daisies and practically fell down with the intensity of her sneeze. It was then she noticed her arms were becoming red and splotchy and her sinuses were suddenly clogged, making it difficult to breathe.

“God bless you.”

Somehow, with a British accent, those words were among the more sexy things Lucy had ever heard anyone say. At the same time, she had a sinking suspicion that the daisies he was holding were causing her nasal melt down.

“Dank you. Dis is just great! Nice abology, Wes. Danks for nudding.” Lucy stormed off, presumably in the direction of the school’s nurse.

Wes was left in the middle of the busy lunchroom with a bouquet of daisies and a desperate expression. Tom, looking around the smirking expressions of his fellow drummers, felt bad for the Brit and stood up, quickly leading Wes away from the percussion table.

“I just thought that…”

Tom shook his head, “Lucy can just be well, Lucy, sometimes.”

“Is that her name?”