Chapter Four

4.

Clayton

For the first time in a long time, Clayton didn’t feel like going to band practice.

                Usually at the end of every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, he practically skipped his way to the band room, swinging his clarinet case back and forth like Maria from The Sound of Music. He liked it in there. He wasn’t just Clayton Reed, the lanky junior with braces and good grades. He became someone else, someone he actually liked being; someone he wasn’t embarrassed of.

                On that particular day though, after having spent nearly six hours regretting his decision of waking up that morning, Clayton just did not want to be in there. He didn’t want to make small-talk with his band teacher, or argue with Hector over who had first clarinet seat and who had second. The only reason he wasn’t skipping out all together was because Mona would be there, and he really wanted to see her. Otherwise he would have gotten on the bus and pretended he’d forgotten his clarinet at home which would mean there was no point in him even showing up.

                Just like any other day, the band room was conducting itself in a chorus of loud horns, drum hits without a rhythm, kids laughing and shouting together, and music stands squeaking in protest as they were adjusted. Clayton knew the sounds well. He’d spent the last three years of his high school career being surrounded by them.

                Brian was waiting for him in their seats, his trumpet case sitting on his bouncing knees as he struggled to open the latches. He was growing frustrated, his hands clawing madly at his mess of brown curls and cheeks already flushed and hot. In a few minutes, he was going to abandon his efforts all together and wait for Clayton to come help. It was what happened every band practice.

“Piece of s**t.” Brian muttered angrily, tossing the case onto the empty chair beside him as Clayton approached.

“Ever think about getting a new case? Possibly one that might actually open?”

                Brian rolled his eyes. “Sure, and then I’ll go buy a new trumpet while I’m at it, because I totally forgot to mention I’m rolling in cash nowadays.” He collapsed back against his fold up chair and nodded his head towards the case. “Could you please just open it so I can participate in today’s festivities?”

“Sure thing.” Clayton reached down and flipped open the latches effortlessly. “There you go, pal.”

“Thanks. Want to pick up my dignity off the ground while you’re at it?”

                As Clayton laughed, he let his eyes scan the length of the band room. His gaze settled in the flute section, fourth chair from the left: Mona Judd’s chair. She was braiding her light brown hair with the cutest look of concentration on her face. Her nose was scrunched up and her eye brows furrowed while she reached behind her and blindly twisted her locks together.  When she finished, she smiled triumphantly and pulled the braid so it fell over her left shoulder. It was at that moment that her eyes lifted, meeting Clayton’s and catching him staring directly at her.

“S**t.” He cussed, quickly averting his gaze as if he had suddenly become interested in the stack of chairs on the other side of the room.

Brian frowned at him. “What?”

“Mona saw me staring at her.”

“Doesn’t that happen a lot? Like, every day?”

“Shut up.” His cheeks had grown furiously hot, and Clayton patted the backs of his hands against them desperately to try and cool them down. “I was totally, full-on staring.”

“I don’t see the problem. You do this all the time, she always catches you, and nothing happens.”

                Clayton didn’t respond. It didn’t happen every day…just most days. But that wasn’t his fault. It was Mona’s. If she would just stop coming into the band room with her little flute case and her beautiful hair and her colourful scarves and everything else that made her so stare-worthy, he wouldn’t be having the same problem so much.

                Avoiding looking at the flute section again, Clayton began assembling his clarinet, his reed stuck between his lips and ears perked for the sound of an approaching Hector. It was usually around that time, when he was seated and setting up, that the s**t-brain moseyed on over and demanded to know why Clayton was sitting in “his” chair. Hector figured himself to be the best of the best when it came to clarinets, and even though he’d only been at their school and in the band for a year, he declared first chair his. Which was complete bullshit. Clayton had been first-clarinet since freshmen year and no kid from Utah with a massive overbite and greasy hair was going to take that from him.

“Oh how nice of you to show up.” Brian commented to an approaching Lorne.

He fell into a chair one row behind them, the designated saxophone seats, and exhaled slowly. “The hills are alive with music in here, boys. Oh how I’ve missed band.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Brian, the fact that you’re too much of a dumbass to get your case open shouldn’t affect how you feel about band.”

“It doesn’t.” Brian shot him a dark look. “I hate band for lots of reasons, my case being last on the list.”

                The sound of obnoxious chortling from the doorway of the band room caught the three boys’ attention. Clayton didn’t even bother looking to see who it was. There was no point, really. Only one person in their entire school could make such a noise and although he’d prayed most of the day for said person to fall down a flight of stairs before band practice, he’d still shown up. Wonderful.

“Look alive, Clay.” He felt Lorne patting his shoulder sympathetically. “Here comes your best friend.”

                They looked at each other precisely at the same moment. Hector’s mouth drew into a hard-pressed line on his face and he narrowed his eyes, making a direct beeline for where Clayton was sitting. The entire band room fell silent and watched, as if that day’s show would somehow be different from every other day’s. It was always the same ordeal; Hector bitched and moaned about how he deserved first chair, Clayton told him where he could shove his clarinet and stayed seated, Hector threatened to tell Mr. Willis, Lorne threatened to stick his head in Eli O’Donohuge’s tuba, and then Hector relented to sit in second chair but only after warning he would be back to claim what was “rightfully” his tomorrow.  

“Clayton.” Hector greeted him curtly once they were standing toe-to-toe. “I thought we’d settled this before we broke for Christmas.”

“Apparently not, otherwise you wouldn’t be invading my personal space right now.”

“Get out of my chair, Reed.”

“No can do.” Clayton looked up at him with a smirk. “Sorry.”

“It only makes sense for the best clarinet player to have first chair.”

“My thoughts exactly. And look at this nice chair beside me just beckoning for your bony little a*s.”

Hector’s ears coloured red. “Funny. Now get out.”

                There was always a moment during their little back and forth where Clayton felt drained of all of his previous energy, and that moment was now. He looked up at Hector’s angry, pinched little face, at his hand clenched around the handle of his clarinet case, and the way his entire body had tensed, almost as if he was readying himself for a fight both of them knew was not coming. And he felt sorry for the kid. Not sorry enough to give up first chair, obviously. But enough to settle this argument without any threats, as he would have previously.

“Can we not do this now, please?” Clayton asked tiredly. “I haven’t exactly had the greatest first day back and I really don’t need this.”

Hector gave an ugly snort and rolled his eyes. “Admitting defeat so early in the game, Reed?”

“Did I say that? No. I’m just saying that we both know you’re not going to get my chair, so why bother wasting your time fighting me on it?”

At once, Hector’s dark scowl returned. “It’s not your chair.”

“Is it not?” Brian spoke up from the other side of Clayton, and Hector’s eyes flickered to him bitterly. “I could have sworn it was.”

“I don’t see his name on it.” Hector replied coolly.

“Then what’s this right here, Hec baby?” Lorne was tapping his fingers against the back of the chair.

                Clayton twisted around and looked at where he was pointing; there, in permanent marker (fresh, judging from the stale smell surrounding it) was a hastily scribbled statement: “Clayton Reed’s Chair”. Below that it read in smaller letters: “Not Hector’s”.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.” Hector scoffed, seeing the writing as well. “You just put that there.”

                Lorne smiled. “I believe your previous statement was if his name was on the chair. Not when it was put there. Checkmate, Hec. Take a seat.” He reached his arm down and patted the second clarinet chair beside Clayton.

                If it weren’t for Mr. Willis coming in at that moment, Clayton was sure the argument would have continued for another ten minutes or so. But instead, Hector heaved himself into the second chair, and leaned towards Clayton. “I’m here for now, Reed.” He hissed. “But tomorrow, that’s my seat.”

                “See you then.” Clayton winked at him and then pulled his phone out of his pants’ pocket. Reaching around, he snapped a quick photo of the back of his chair, and then sent it to Ella.

 

This was my first day back. Story to follow.

         

            As Mr. Willis began discussing the spring concert coming up in March, Clayton relaxed into his own chair, first chair, and smiled to himself. He was feeling quite confident. So much so that he allowed himself a quick peak over at the flute section as a reward for his valiant and victorious fight. He couldn’t help it; the act was becoming quite the bad habit.

                Of course, Mona was still there. And of course, she was still the most beautiful thing to ever step foot on this planet. But unlike any other time he happened to glance over, she wasn’t focused on something or someone else; she was staring at him. Like, right at him. It caught him off guard, and although he felt insanely happy �"euphoric, even�" he looked away instantly.

                Yes, it was the dumbest thing he could have done in that moment. But he couldn’t have possibly kept up a staring contest with Mona Judd! The mere idea made his cheeks flush and heart hammer against his ribcage. She was far too beautiful for that. He needed time to prepare, to ease himself into it. For now, he could live with knowing she’d maybe possibly be up for a staring contest. She had, after all, been gazing at him first. She initiated eye-contact, not him. That had to mean something, right?

                He made a mental note to text Heidi about it later. And to get Mona’s new number from her as well. It was just plain unacceptable that she’d never gotten back to him with it after their coffee meeting. She had promised, after all. Yet no matter how many times his phone buzzed during the break, and he lunged at it to see if it was her getting back to him with the right number, it never was. The girl knew how to keep a grudge, that’s for sure. He made a second mental note to buy her another French vanilla cappuccino to act as a peace offering.

“Instruments at the ready, people.” Mr. Willis tapped his baton against the edge of the music stand in front of him. “And let’s try to keep pace this time around. I’m looking at you, percussion.”

                Clayton raised the mouth of his clarinet to his lips and inhaled deeply, focusing his attention on the music sheets in front of him. Despite how much he wanted to be at home, or in a hole somewhere, on in a galaxy far, far away, he was stuck in band. And he was going to make the most of it. Besides, it wasn’t all bad. He had first chair, Hector was sitting in second, Mona had initiated eye contact… Things were starting to look up.

                The other students fell into the music all at once, and Clayton followed suit, his fingers moving skilfully and comfortably over the holes in his instrument. He soon realized that he’d missed band; the routine of it, the familiarity. It was almost as if his bad mood had been released from him with the music notes. He felt better. Lighter. And he felt the promise of 2012 smiling down on him. This was going to be his year. He was going to ace all of his classes, leave grade eleven with a healthy A+ average (chemistry willing) and he was finally going to ask out Mona. Or talk to her. Whichever came first.

                Peeking up from his music sheets innocently, Clayton checked to see if Mona was still staring. She was. As soon as they realized they were making direct eye contact with each other, both looked away and down again. But then back up at the same time.

Yeah, Clayton thought to himself as he smiled against the mouthpiece of his clarinet. This is my year. 

Author's Note

WOOT UPDATED! :) Work's be really rude and not letting me write. But I got off early tonight and immediately got to writing! Hope y'all enjoy and stuff!