Becoming Who We Are Ch. 02

As she turned it on, Mark, Pete and another boy burst through the door, nearly mowing down a small sophomore holding her flute.

"Sorry, Jess," the third boy said to her as Mark and Pete continued across the room. They stopped when they caught sight of her, and for a moment neither said anything. Then Pete couldn't hold back his laughter any longer, and that set off Mark.

"Oh, God, Melina," Pete said. "You look hysterical."

She noted enviously that their uniforms both fit.

"Well, it was this one or the one for the six-four, two hundred and fifty pound guy," she said with dignity.

That made them laugh harder, irritating Melina. She couldn't help that she was stuck with this blighted uniform.

"If you don't like it, don't look at it."

They responded simultaneously:

"Oh, lighten up!"

"Are you kidding? We love it!"

Melina glared at them both.

"You weren't laughing yesterday. Why the public humiliation now?"

That sobered Mark, and he considered her carefully.

"We-e-ell, yesterday, your uniform was baggy all over, which actually was pretty funny, but not as funny as today with it kind of ballooning out below your waist. You look a little like Charlie Chaplin, except without the facial hair."

"Thanks a lot. You're a real comfort."

Melina turned back to the tuner. The boys looked at each other and decided to fetch their instruments.

"Well, she does look pretty funny," Mark said, assembling his sax and polishing its bell with a soft cloth.

Pete sighed, applying a couple of drops of oil to a sticky valve.

"You know how girls are. Even if they look like Bozo the Clown, and know they look like Bozo the Clown, they don't want you to say so. It's too bad she wound up in that uniform, though. It's a damn shame to hide that body from the world."

"Got another new girlfriend, Pete?" a girl behind them asked archly.

"Tracy," Pete said, sounding wounded, "you know you're the only girl in the world for me."

Tracy snorted as she fit a reed to her clarinet.

"You are such an incredible liar," she said. "Does that poor girl you're talking about know you're the Conquest King of the White Rose Warrior Band?"

"Really?" Mark said. "The Conquest King?"

"She exaggerates my abilities," Pete began modestly.

"I do not!" Tracy said, her tone both joking and catty. "Every year, it's the same old story. Pete finds the prettiest new girl, dazzles her with his witty remarks and sophisticated parents, and generally gives her an overwhelming rush. They almost always fall for it. He takes her to Homecoming and breaks up with her the next day. By Thanksgiving, he has a new victim in his sights. That ends after first semester finals. He takes a month or two off, then finds another girlfriend for spring. That lasts until Prom, or maybe the last day of school, leaving him free for a new summer romance. Or two. Or maybe three."

Mark stared at Tracy, who smirked. A few kids laughed and agreed with her.

"Yeah, that's Pete all right," one said.

"When do you find time to study anyway, Pete? I mean, something besides female anatomy!"

"What a delicate petal you are, Tracy," Pete said. "You really need to develop a social life of your own and quit dissecting mine."

The kids looked back at Tracy. She tossed her hair, grinned, and stood up.

"You know I want to be a psychologist, Pete," she said. "I figure you're a perfect subject for my senior thesis: Evolution of a Twenty-first Century Don Juan."

The kids laughed as Pete glared at her.

"Well, Tracy, if that doesn't work out, you can always do a self-study and call it Evolution of a Twenty-first Century Bitch."

Heads snapped to catch Tracy's response.

"Feeling threatened, are you? Interesting reaction. I'll have to include it in my study."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the closet. A few kids followed her, still chuckling.

Pete shook his head.

"Bitch," he muttered.

Mark had trouble hiding his smile. He liked Pete, but it was kind of fun to see someone best him in a battle of wits. He had a feeling Pete didn't lose very often. He edged out of the instrument room.

By now, most of the band members had arrived. Pete joined the excited throng in the band room, where Ms. Shaffer was having little success attracting her students' attention.

"Pete," she said as he passed, "let me borrow your trumpet."

Lifting one eyebrow, Pete handed the horn to her. She put it to her lips and blew a loud six-note "charge." The noise died as everyone stared at the woman. She returned the horn to Pete with a quiet "thank you" and faced the band.

"Don't ever make me do that again!" she shouted, almost snarling. "When you see me up here, that's your cue to shut up and sit down. Understand?"

Stunned, the students nodded.

"Good. Now let's tune. We have a lot to do before the game starts."

"Don't worry," Pete said into Melina's ear. "She does that every year or two. It scares the new kids. She's never used my trumpet, though."

Melina rolled her shoulders to loosen her muscles. The outburst had certainly intimidated her. She wondered if her band director had ever served in the Army. The way her dad talked, some people there could benefit from Ms. Shaffer's disciplinary methods.

**

Clambering onto the metal bleachers after the pre-game show as a drummer beat a cadence, the entire band giggled and chattered with satisfaction. Only one sophomore had made a wrong turn; otherwise, the show had gone well. Ms. Shaffer beamed at the teenagers as they flowed past her.

Once they settled down, she stood in front of them, raising her hands for silence. Every eye locked onto her; every mouth closed. She smiled inwardly. That little demo worked every time, exactly as it had for her old director. She scanned the crowd, noting where people had sat. Most had stayed with their sections, but a few had strayed to sit with friends. She didn't mind. Everyone had his own music, and most of the renegades hadn't drifted too far from their sections. If she clamped down on every little thing the kids did, nobody would have any fun, including Ms. Shaffer. She noted fleetingly that the nice sax player was getting quite chummy with Pete and the new girl; but then, if she had to sit next to Suzanne Jenkins, she'd move if she could too.

"I have coolers of water down here," she called, pointing to three large plastic cases. "It's hot today and I don't want anyone dropping dead of dehydration, so drink as much as you like. There's more in the band room if we run out. Also, you can get cold drinks at the concession stands.

"Remember: we play the school song for touchdowns and field goals. Kathy will call the riffs if a situation warrants one, like a "charge" for a fourth-and-one. Any questions? Good. We line up for the half-time show at the two-minute mark. Nothing fancy in today's show; just concentrate on the four numbers and play your guts out. And by the way -- you sounded great out there just now."

She gave the band her sunniest smile and sat down. Her husband, comfortable in shorts, squeezed her hand.

"You always leave them with something positive, don't you?"

"Learned it in group psych, dear. Don't you remember?"

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a swift hug.

"Nope. That's where I met you. Didn't learn a thing all semester."

She grinned at him.

"Wise guy. Better take your arm off me, or the kids'll figure out I'm human."

"We can't have that now, can we?"

Up in the stands, Mark and Melina watched with interest as a strange man hugged their director.

"Who's that?" Melina asked.

"Shaffer's husband," Pete answered.

"She's married?"

"Yeah. I think they got married last year. He's really nice. He shows up at all the games and concerts."

"And really cute too," said another girl, turning around. "He's an accountant or something, but I think he's sexy anyway. He has the best green eyes. I want to marry a man just like him. Shaffer's so lucky."

"Felicia!" Pete said. "He's too old for you. God, he must be nearly thirty. Practically ancient. Focus your hormones on someone who can benefit from them, like my man Mark here."

Both Felicia and Mark stared at Pete, their eyes wide with astonishment. Pete's eyes twinkled as he smirked back, satisfied with their reactions.

"Pete!" Felicia shrieked. "I can't believe you said that!"

"Yeah," Mark said, "especially since she's obviously attracted to white guys with glasses, like you."

Now Pete's mouth dropped open.

"Mark!" Felicia cried. "Me and Pete? That's worse than me and you."

Both boys looked wounded.

"I don't think she likes us," Pete said sorrowfully. "I don't know about you, Mark, but I'm very hurt. Very hurt. Oh, how sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have an ungrateful clarinet player."

Felicia rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please."

Mark sighed and shook his head.

"Actually, I feel like a good cry. Girls. They pretend to be so-o-o sensitive, but that's all an act to impress us. They're really just cold, unfeeling animals."

"Hold me, Mark," Pete said, sniffing dramatically. "Hold me!"

The two burst into laughter as Felicia regarded them, unsure of what to expect next. She had known Pete since eighth grade. He was a born flirt, never meaning anything he said, but this Mark guy was an unknown quantity. Cute, though, in a Bruce Lee, martial-artsy sort of way.

The new girl between them was shaking her head.

"Is Pete always this way?" she asked Felicia.

"Absolutely," the pretty redhead said without hesitation. "He's a terrible flirt, always pushing to see what he can get away with. Just keeping up with all his girlfriends gives me a headache. I can't wait to see what happens when he finds a girl who can match him."

Pete smiled into Felicia's wide blue eyes.

"Neither can I," he said.

Melina turned to him, amused.

"So what qualities would your perfect girl have?"

Pete stared at the sky, considering.

"For starters, she would have to be smart. Not rocket scientist smart, but able to hold her own in a conversation about lots of things. She would have to love music, because my parents would never truly like a girl who didn't and neither would I. She would also be a brilliant cook."

"What? Does she have to do all the cooking?"

"She doesn't have to do all of it," Pete said. "I like to cook. But I like to eat, too, and I want a woman who can satisfy my cravings for beef Stroganoff and fettucine Alfredo and other things I love. Anyway, if you feminists would back off for a minute, I'll finish."

"Sorry, m'lord," Felicia said. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

"Apology accepted, wench. Now where was I? She'd be a brilliant cook, she'd laugh at all my jokes, and above all, she would adore me."

He paused, absently wiping his forehead with one hand.

"And she would have world-class legs. Incredible, long, sexy legs. Beautiful legs. Legs that would launch a thousand ships."

Pete blinked, bringing himself back to the reality of sitting on metal bleachers in the sun with his friends.

"And what sort of career would this superwoman have?" Melina asked.

"Oh, I don't know. It doesn't really matter, although I guess a massage therapist would be nice."

Felicia shot him a look.

"Good luck, pal. You'll need it with those requirements."

"A guy can dream, can't he?" Pete said with dignity. He turned to Melina. "All right, feminist lady, I've answered your questions and taken plenty of abuse for it. Now what about you? What's your perfect guy?"

The question took Melina by surprise. She had never worked up a detailed analysis of her dream guy. She racked her brain for a good response.

"Why, you, of course," she said lightly. "I'm sure every girl in band feels the same way. Right, Felicia?"

"Yeah, right," Felicia replied, rolling her eyes. "In his dreams."

Pete ignored this shot and put his arm around Melina's shoulders.

"I'm touched. Truly touched. Does this mean you'll have dinner with me next Friday?"

Mark's jaw dropped. What incredible nerve! Asking her out, right in front of him.

The invitation shocked Melina as much as it did Mark.

"Why not?" she finally said.

"Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but good enough for now. Want some water? I don't know about you, but I'm parched."

Neither of the girls saw the look Mark shot at Pete. It wasn't fair, he thought. Clenching his jaw. Why did guys like Pete have to be so good at flirting, while guys like him got relegated to the sidelines because they couldn't think of anything to say? He gave the football game his full attention, willing himself not to look at Felicia, Pete, and especially Melina.

"Hey, Melina!" a girl's voice shouted from above them.

Melina looked around and up. She spotted Lakeesha waving wildly, as the boy beside her laughed.

"Hi, Lakeesha," she bellowed back. "Look, Mark, Lakeesha," she added in a quieter voice.

"Really?" he said dryly. He turned around to wave, then grinned as he spotted the girl's companion.

"Hey! That's Evan with her!"

Seeing Mark, Evan waved too. Greetings exchanged, they settled down.

"Who's Evan?" Melina asked.

"A friend of mine," Mark said. "He works out at the same studio I do. Cool guy."

Just then, the Warriors scored a touchdown and the four musicians joined the rest of the band in playing the school song.

"That was number fifty-six, Jeff Rohrbach, carrying the ball twenty-one yards for a touchdown," the loudspeaker announced. "The extra point attempt is no good. The score is now White Rose, six, Northeastern, zero."

On the field, Jeff's teammates slapped his shoulders and back. The big blond boy drank in the applause and craved more.

"Rohrbach?" Pete said. "Figures. He's about the only good player who didn't graduate last year. And he's really good, too. Plays offense and defense well. They say he may get a scholarship."

"I don't care how good he is," Felicia said. "He's a real jerk."

"I thought the girls were falling all over each other to get to him," Pete said.

"The ones that don't know him do. Everyone else avoids him. He's got a mean streak a mile wide. I heard one girl even said he used to hit her."

"Really?" Melina piped up. "That's terrible."

"I never knew that," Pete said. "When was this?"

"Last year."

"What happened to her?" Melina asked.

"Her parents found out and sent her to a shrink. Then she transferred to Sacred Heart."

"How come I never heard about this?" Pete asked.

"What? You don't know everything?" Melina teased.

"I never said I knew everything. You just got that impression 'cause I'm always right."

"Oh, please. I don't think so," Felicia said.

"On second thought, forget dinner," Melina said. "I don't think there's a restaurant table large enough for your ego."

Pete slapped a hand to his shoulder, then raised it enough to peek under it.

"Dear God, I'm bleeding!" he said. "Melina, that was a nasty shot."

"I was kidding," she said. "Or aren't you used to being on the receiving end?"

Felicia smiled deeply enough to bring out her dimples.

"Good one, Melina!"

Melina bowed her head modestly.

"It was nothing."

"Why would a guy do that?" Mark said, still thinking about the football player and the girl.

"Why would a girl take it?" Pete asked.

Melina shrugged.

"I don't know. I wouldn't, that's for sure."

"A guy who would do that has no honor," Mark said, more to himself than to the group. "I'd never do that."

"Honor?" Felicia said, cocking one eyebrow at him. "Nobody talks about honor anymore. At least no one our age. It's an outdated concept, like chivalry."

"Not according to my dad," Melina said. "He's always talking about honor."

"How come?" Pete asked.

"He went to West Point. They've very big on honor there."

"Well, then, he's a special case. And besides, he's old. To kids our age, honor isn't a big deal."

"Yes, it is," Mark said. They looked at him. He shrugged. "It is to me, anyway."

"Good," Pete said. "Maybe you'll inspire the rest of us."

Northeastern fumbled just then, and a Warrior tackle scooped up the ball. The crowd bellowed approval, and the four focused their attention on the game.

**

The clang of metal striking metal echoed through the locker room as Jeff slammed his locker shut. He hated going home after a game. Getting ready to play meant psyching himself up; the game itself was a huge adrenaline rush, especially when he scored, as he had today. Always he avoided thinking about home, even when he was there. He preferred to dwell on the finer points of his life, such as football, beer, and sex.

Football. Even the word had a savory sort of sound. Jeff filled each game with as much hitting as he could pack into an hour of game time. He could not get enough of it. He loved the solid thud slamming into another body and bringing it down to the turf. Once he had even broken a guy's leg. He hadn't actually intended to at first, but the kid put his foot down wrong, and Jeff had seen the opportunity to experience something new. He had hit the kid with a cold precision; between the force of Jeff's tackle and the unyielding earth, one of the shin bones had snapped. He would never forget the tremor that had run through the boy's body, or the sharp crack of the fracture, or the boy's scream. Whenever Jeff found himself in a really foul mood, he would replay that moment in his mind. It always made him feel better.

Since then, he had played as close to the edge as he could, hoping for another break, or even just a mangled knee. He kept his running, blocking and tackling skills honed, and treated the coach with respect. He knew if he made himself indispensable, the coach wouldn't bench him, no matter how questionable his behavior on the field. So far, the coach had not said a word, except to praise his aggressiveness and to use him as an example to the other players. If any of his teammates thought he pushed too far, they didn't tell him. Not that he would have cared if he did. They didn't make the crucial decision of whether he played.

The husky blond tossed his uniform in the large laundry cart and walked out. He had told his friends to go ahead without him, he'd meet them later, and almost everyone had left for the day's first victory party. As he opened the heavy door, a wall of heat hit him. Perspiration immediately beaded his face and neck. Jeff scowled. His old man hated hot, humid weather; he said it reminded him of Nam. Today, in this heat, he would have guzzled half a case of beer by now. His temper had probably reached the boiling point and he'd be looking for a fight. Well, maybe he could get in and out of the house without the old man knowing. Jeff had persuaded Michelle Rossi to go out tonight and he couldn't wait to get his hands on her lush figure. He smiled. All the girls he dated knew they had to sleep with him. That was the rule. But this one, she'd let him do anything he wanted with her. And after a good game, he wanted everything he could take.