Notes From An Accidental Band Geek by Erin Dionne

mother said someone is going to pick you up?” I stared down our street, not meeting his eyes. What was this about?
    “My section leader. Steve. He’s going to drive me to the band room, so we can catch the bus to the competition.”
    “Remember our conversation from the first day of school?” my dad asked. At his solemn tone, I turned. Part of me expected to see a smirk or smile on his face, but a larger part knew it wouldn’t be there. The larger part was right. He was serious.
    “It’s my section leader, Dad. It’s daytime . We’re going to school. With other people. To take a bus to a band competition.” Did he think I was going to a party? My dad had never cared about this stuff before. We were strangers to each other. Where did the dad go who argued Beethoven vs. Wagner with me?
    “I’ve never met this boy.”
    A little blue car turned onto our street. It had to be Steve. No one else in our neighborhood drove a tiny car like that. My heart thudded in my chest. I didn’t want Dad asking Steve a ton of questions. The thought of that embarrassed me almost as much as the chicken-dropping incident. Would Steve call me “Baby Chick” if Dad got too involved? Or something even worse?
    It’s only band, I thought, trying to keep calm. Why was Dad rattling me? I didn’t like-like Steve—no way!—so what was the big deal? My dad needed to chill out.
    Steve’s car slowed to a stop in front of our house. I could hear marching band music pouring from his speakers and saw a figure sitting in the passenger seat. I was pretty sure it was Jake. Great. Two boys. Dad will love this.
    I reached down for the mellophone case, but Dad already had the handle. “Let me help you with that,” he said. A total excuse to walk me to the car.
    “Sure,” I muttered.
    Steve popped out of the car when he noticed that both of us were moving toward him. “Mr. Wyatt,” he said, holding out his hand. Dad shook it. “It’s a pleasure to see you, sir. I mean, I’ve been watching you at the BSO for years, but it’s nice to meet you in person.”
    The fire in my face would melt my bell. Dad immediately morphed from scowly face to professional horn face, but that almost made it worse. He told Steve the story about the night James Levine fell off the stage while conducting while stashing the mellophone case in Steve’s trunk. It closed with a clunk.
    “Break a leg,” Dad said.
    Steve thanked him. I exhaled. Apparently, Dad hadn’t noticed Jake in the front seat.
    “And drive carefully, young man,” Dad said. He reached for Steve’s hand. “You’re carrying my precious cargo.”
    So much for relief. My face flamed.
    “Dad, we’re going to be late if we don’t leave.” The embarrassment-o-meter was sky high. I had to get him to stop. Luckily, one thing my dad is, is never late for a rehearsal or performance. Barbeques and family parties? Those are another story. “Mr. Sebastian says the bus leaves promptly at eight.”
    “Nice to meet you, sir,” Steve said.
    “Take care of her,” Dad replied. I nearly dove into the car as soon as the two of them separated. Could he have made me sound like any more of a baby?
    “What was that about?” Jake asked from the front.
    “Distractions,” I muttered.

14
    If I thought the first day of band camp was chaotic, it was nothing compared to competition day. Band members packed instruments for transport, the color guard practiced choreography and spins in all corners, and others were running around with some purpose I couldn’t figure out. I gaped. So did Jake.
    “Welcome to crazy,” Steve said. We followed him in and plunked our gear down in a place where it was least likely to get trampled, then huddled with Hector, much as we had on the first day of band camp, and watched Sarah practice her spins—she wasn’t dropping her flag anymore, and had great articulation. The percussionists packed their drums into big cases while the sousaphone players unscrewed their bells and the