School had always been a game Damion didn't care to play. He never tried harder than anyone else—in fact, he rarely tried at all—but information just seemed to stick to him faster. He could sit in the back of the classroom, sketching in the margins of his notebook while the teacher droned on, and still walk out with the highest grade in the room. Teachers called him "gifted." But his few friends just called him lazy.
But the second he walked into the band hall, that same lazy honor student disappeared.
The blunt kid who barely spoke in class suddenly became the most engaged presence in the room. He would sit there, his massive contrabass clarinet resting against his broad shoulder, his slim fingers moving quickly throughout. He wouldn't miss a note; if he did, he'd finger through it silently in the air, repeating the passage until the muscle memory was perfect. The sound that came out was true, controlled, and utterly honest. It was as blunt and open as he was.
Making 1st chair in the junior high region hadn't surprised him. Making it three years in a row hadn't surprised him either. What surprised him was how different things felt now that he was a sophomore. High school musicians were better—older, sharper, more competitive. He wasn't scared, exactly, but he felt a prickly, arrogant pride. He might finally get to compete in All-State, but he had to make the cut.
All-State was four months away. That meant Damion had to practice his ass off until then. He stayed after school every day for hours, drilling scales and arpeggios until his fingers ached. He practiced the etudes his private tutors had drilled into his head until they were memorized by muscle alone. Usually, he stayed by himself, the beautiful, deep resonance of his clarinet filling the empty hall. Sometimes his best friend, Ethan, a bassoonist just as gifted as he was, would stay, and they'd banter, but mostly, Damion preferred the solitude. The band director often left him to his own devices, treating him less like a student and more like a grandson. They poked fun at each other, played practical jokes, and talked. It was fun.
But every few days, another presence would linger in the corner of the hall. Not his best friend, Ethan, but a ninth grader with an overzealous trombone. She was first chair in the middle school wind ensemble, and Damion knew it. He remembered being in that band with her last year. Even then, she was first chair, though she'd only made 1st band, 4th chair in Jr. Region last year and 2nd band, 3rd chair the year before. Damion respected her dedication, even if he thought she lacked discipline. Her tone was consistent, but loud and far too bright to be called mature. She practiced, though. And that's what mattered to Damion, was simply that she wanted to get better.
Sometimes they made conversation. They were both shy, though, so their chats were short. She'd ask simply, "How's the high school wind ensemble?" and Damion would give her the truth. "Good," he'd say, and maybe mention the piece they were working on. Then they'd return to their own lanes—her practicing etudes, him running scales—and they'd leave each other alone. Damion liked it like that. But sometimes, he wished he could say more. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Damion thought she was cool. She had a dry wit, a quiet confidence that made her seem older than her age. She was funny, cute, and very pretty. She had long blonde hair that caught the light, skin that seemed to glow with an impossible freshness, and brown eyes that were usually focused on her music stand.
Damion often caught himself zoning out on her. In those moments of liminality, between scales, he'd notice the softness of her complexion and the slender curve of her stomach. And in the quiet intimacy of the band hall, he'd let himself wonder about the rest of her. As much as he hated that he did, he once noticed that she had fairly large breasts for her size and age. He never thought about it, but simply made a small note of it. He reasoned with his mind that he never meant to look; he just glanced by accident.
But it also seemed like Allyson did the same thing. He would sometimes catch her looking at him, but every time he noticed her, she would look away, her blonde hair whipping in the opposite direction he was in; so in his mind, they were even.
Damion had band first period and then had his AP Statistics class second period. So he often got a nice mind fuck after band. While Damion was smart and had A's in all his classes, he didn't particularly enjoy math, and math didn't exactly appreciate him. Damion eventually would understand what Professor Jameson was talking about, but he often had to ask the professor to repeat himself a few times for him to do so.
The relief came in AP Language. He loved English. He could understand everything without even paying the slightest attention, just sitting there and idly twirling a lock of his curly brown hair until class was over. Damion had a strict personal code: if the due date wasn't tomorrow, the do date wasn't today. He lived by that rule. he liked to believe it was one of the things that got him through his classes with flying colors.
Luckily, Damion had no issues with his classes. Although some were tedious, he had no issues and was an honour student all around, even having taken Spanish 1 and 2 over the summer for credit. Although there was a girl in his AP Bio class who seemed to have taken an interest in him. Her name was Sofia, she had brown hair and blue eyes, and she was pudgy but not in a bad way. She had curves, and she had a natural complexion that had very few sharp edges. She had small, stubby hands, perfect for the tuba she played in the high school symphonic band.
While yes, she was below him in terms of both intelligence and discipline, he couldn't help but think she had more to her than she let on. Perhaps she had issues that held her back. Perhaps strict parents who only cared about her career? Damion wasn't sure, but he wanted to know. For some odd reason, Damion had an odd amount of curiosity when it came to trivial oddballs. Maybe it was a nice plus or a tragic flaw. Either way, Damion was too arrogant to know that it might ruin him.