The last bell had rung twenty to thirty minutes ago, but the band hall kept its own hours. Late, erratic, and always way louder than it should be. Joseph remembered when he himself would spend hours in the band hall playing his quota for the week on his clarinet. It was something in the echo, maybe, or the thrum of memory packed into the old tile floors and acoustic panels still chewed up by a decade of students' shoes and spit valves.
He was halfway through his reminiscing when the double doors creaked, swinging inward with a comic whine. Joseph didn't need to look up. Only one person could make an entrance that dramatic with a backpack and a clarinet.
"Joseph. You ready to admit your own failures, or should I give you a few more minutes alone with your feelings?" Samantha Whitmore let the doors close behind her and advanced, music binder under one arm and a sly, satisfied look in her eyes.
"I don't know, I think your reed squeaked so bad the last time I stopped by, it traumatized the ventilation system," Joseph said with a grin of his own, "I almost considered coming back to it so I could take your chair."
"Spoken like someone who's never had to tune next to the brass section," Samantha shot back. She crossed to him, slid her bag onto the linoleum with a practiced twist, and set about assembling her clarinet. The instrument's black resin and silver keys gleamed under the fluorescence, a sharp contrast to Joseph's old poorly maintained Clarinet from Freshman year.
She worked in silence for a minute, as Joseph pretended to not to watch. Samantha was always in motion; even seated, she bounced her foot and clicked her nails against the clarinet's bell. In another life, she might have been one of those girls who ran for homecoming queen or organized blood drives, but in this one, she played section leader, and Joseph had never once heard her ask for permission to do anything.
"Want to listen to me rehearse the solo?" she asked, voice a little softer.
He shrugged with a warm smile, "Might as well." he'd reply trying to hide the fact that he wanted nothing more than to watch her play.
She stood, unscripted, at the edge of the risers. The band room was a strange theater after hours, empty chairs and stands cluttered with a day's worth of left-behind sheet music and the smell of cork grease. Joseph sat in a viewing seat, gave Samantha a two-count nod. She took her breath and launched into her performance
Her music filled the room, hanging against the walls, then fading out like the last word in a long conversation. Her control of the instrument was so complete it felt less like performance and more like confession, every note bending to her will yet carrying a vulnerability that made the silence afterward feel just as important as the sound itself. When it ended, Joseph clapped from his seat with a grin.
"It was good, but you're still flat," he'd state with a smirk.
"Nowhere near as bad as you used to be," Samantha replied, smiling as she spoke. Only she was rehearsing her solo now; Joseph hadn't touched the clarinet since freshman year. They stood close, both keenly aware of the silence, both waiting for someone else to break it.
"Remember when we first did this?" Joseph asked. "Sixth grade, in the honor band."
Samantha laughed, surprised. "You had braces and a crazy long hair. And you wore those terribly skater tees. And it was different when you were playing with me."
"Hey, those were classics."
"They were public health hazards." She nudged him with the bell of her clarinet. "You barely talked to anyone that whole week."
He shrugged. "I was shy."
"You were tactical. You wanted to see who'd fold under pressure before you made friends."
Joseph tried not to blush but couldn't help the warmth across his nose. "Maybe I just liked the mystery of my silence."
"You were the mystery, Joe." She stepped away to realign the rings on her clarinet. "But you'd always played like you had something to prove."
"I still do… have something to prove that is," Joseph said, the words truer than he'd intended. For a moment, neither of them looked away.
Samantha broke the stare first, sinking into the battered rolling chair by the percussion section. "So what's it gonna be after graduation?" she asked, casual but sharp. "The muddy water Navy, like everyone keeps saying?"
Joseph sat cross-legged on the risers, a playful smile and chuckle plastered on his face at the joke. "That's the plan. My packet is in at the recruiters. Dad keeps dropping hints about the Academy, but…" he trailed off.
"But you'd rather be out in the real world," Samantha finished for him gently.
He nodded. "It's the only way I can do the exact job that I want to do."
She leaned back in her chair, the springs creaking. "I'm jealous. I wish I had it all figured out like you."
Joseph laughed softly, "What do you mean, you're going to Juilliard, like your Mom keeps saying." he'd tease, "Or Yale, or Harvard, or some other fancy named school."
She looked at him as though he'd missed something obvious. "I'm not even sure I want to do music. Sometimes I think about nursing or something with animals like veterinary medicine. But then I play, and…" She wound a strand of hair around her finger. "You ever feel like everything's decided, and you just have to fall in line?"
"Only every morning," he said. "But I like the order. It's easier when the path is straight."
Samantha rolled her eyes. "Of course you do. You'd probably organize your dreams into neat little brackets."
His smile faded when he saw her face. For a second, he wondered if she truly was jealous or just terrified of being left behind.
"Ich hoffe nur, dass du nicht vergisst, mich mitzunehmen" she'd mutter before changing the subject. "Are you coming to the party Friday? Jenkins's senior send-off?"
He hesitated hearing her German, wishing he had paid more attention in their classes. "I wasn't invited."
"You are now. And you have to bring chips. Jenkins trusts you not to cheap out."
"I'll see if I can squeeze it in between PT and avoiding my sisters."
Samantha smirked, but her eyes stayed on him. "Good. I'd miss you if you bailed. And I am sure Jenkin's would too."
"You think I will get to listen to you play again, after we graduate?" he asked, quieter than intended.
Samantha shrugged, too quick for casual. "We could start a cover band if ya picked up music again. Maybe do wedding gigs. You can even wear those band tees."
He laughed, genuinely this time. "You'd bail after one rehearsal with me."
"Probably," she admitted, smiling. "But I'd remember every note."
She finished packing in companionable silence. The sun had slid lower, slanting through streaked windows in bands of gold and dust. Joseph felt the weight of the moment. Something more than nostalgia, but not quite hope.
At the door, Samantha stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You're still my mystery, Joseph."
He met her eyes, searching for a joke and finding only sincerity. "You're always going to be mine," he said, and meant it.
The hallway outside was empty, lockers clanging shut in the far wings. Joseph walked beside her toward the exit, the rhythm of their steps perfectly in sync.