Ah, marching band. Just about a hundred or so students out in the parking lot after school, in the middle of Texas, during the hottest month of the year. Completely mental, right? Yet that is where I, Anja Buelen, find myself during the beginning of my sophomore year. So what drives so many people to do this masochistic activity?

Well, some people do it because they just really love the art. People like my friend Ashley, the tall mellophone player. Still a freshman, I met Ashley during boot camp. I saw her sitting all by herself and decided to take pity on her.

Ashley’s the daughter of two musicians, and their love of all things musical has clearly been passed down to her. Personality wise, Ashley’s a loner: she’s brooding, cold, stoic. Often times comes off as egotistical. Clearly, she’s the type who was meant to be giving the orders in our world, just like me. But a general can’t lead an army by herself; she needs the soldiers to carry out the commands.

Some only do marching band because it offers credits in both fine arts and physical education. In the trombone line in front of me is Nova. He’s also a freshman, and we’re in the trombone section together. That’s right, I’m a girl trombone player. That means my boner is bigger than yours. (Oh, there it is! That’s what I should’ve said earlier to Zoe! That’s funny, I need to remember that.) Nova loves nothing in the world more than video games. As a result, he’s pretty good at them, judging by how thoroughly he kicked my ass at Smash Bros. last weekend. But this Saturday, I’m not letting that happen again. I’ve been training all week for our next showdown.

“Anja! You’re too far back!” a voice says suddenly, snapping me out of my trance.

Ah, that was my section leader. Indeed, it looks as if I overstepped my dot by quite a lot. I guess I got so into narrating my own life that I spaced out. Time for a bathroom break, I suppose.

However, inside the bathroom, I run into another one of my new freshman friends: Zoe, the saxophone player who also plays bassoon.

Zoe I met because she’s a friend of Ashley’s, and personally, I’m pretty sure they secretly love each other. I mean, they’re very different people, but that’s just exactly what makes me ship them so hard. I mean, really, when you think about it, they need each other. Zoe is the SpongeBob to Ashley’s Squidward. The right brain to her left brain. The sweet that comes after the sour when you eat a sour patch kid. (Okay, maybe that last metaphor was a bit weak.)

Upon laying eyes on me, Zoe appears to be nervous. I bet I know why. We only really know each other because we’re both friends with Ashley. So, we have not had enough time yet to bond and a one-on-one basis. So, perhaps she doesn't know how to start a conversation with me. I decide to be generous and take the lead.

“Hello there, Zoe!” I say to her. I would’ve normally shaken her hand, but she had just washed hers, so I think that perhaps she doesn’t want my sweaty hands in hers right now.

“H- hi, Anja,” she stammers, looking around the bathroom apprehensively.

“Is something the matter?” I ask her, because it certainly seems as if something is the matter.

For a few seconds, there is only silence, as Zoe contemplatively bites her lip. Then, she says, “...C-can we talk about something? Somewhere private?”

The location we’ve chosen for our private meeting is a big practice room in the back of the jazz band room. Nobody ever goes in there to practice, because it is used to store a bunch of assorted percussion instruments. The perfect place for a heart-to-heart talk.

Zoe does not seem to be in a great hurry to say what is on her mind. She is sitting on the ground in front of me, still biting her lip bit, and now also wringing her hands.

“Okay…” she says, planting her hands on the floor. She doesn’t quite meet my eyes.

“On Tuesday,” she says, “some of my friends said something which… upset me. About Ashley, and I think about you too.”

“Oh really?” I reply. “And what did they say?”

She seemed to get nervous again, and this time she’s also blushing a bit.

I’ve very concerned for her, but at the same time, I’d like to get back out there in the parking lot sometime today. So, I start guessing at what she’s trying to get at.

“Was it something bad about the two of us?” I ask.

“Well… um… I mean, it’s like… I g-guess it…”

She doesn’t seem keen to answer that. Okay, maybe that was a bad question. Let’s try something less subjective.

“Did they seem unhappy about whatever it was?” I ask.

“Um… yes,” she says. “They said that Ashley was… Although, I still am not quite sure if it’s you they were…” She trails off again.

“What did they say we were doing?” I ask.

“Just… hanging out. Nothing special other than that,” she explains..

Oh. So, they were unhappy about Ashley hanging out with someone. And they told her about it. I think I may know what this is about.

“What exact words did they use?” I ask.

She starts wringing her hands again. “Well, she said that… well, they said something… not sure what the word means, I…”

I smile at her encouragingly. “Zoe, if what they said was something insulting, it’s okay, you can say it. I’ve been called pretty much every name in the book. I won’t be shocked.”

Zoe gulped. “O-okay. She said that… she had been hanging out with ‘that dyke…’”

“Yeah, that’s probably me then,” I say, trying to keep smiling outwardly. “I’m pretty familiar with that term.”

“But I don’t… what does…”

“A dyke is a rude thing to call a lesbian woman,” I explain to her, “or just any women who is… you know, interested in other women romantically.”

Her nervous habits have stopped by this point, and now she’s just sitting deathly still, looking at me with wide eyes.

“So, if you were able to piece that together,” I say, “I assume you know about what happened with Ruth and I?”

She continues being still for a just a moment, and then lightly nods.

Ruth was my first ever love. We dated for a while in sixth grade. But at one point, we were caught together and it… didn’t end well.

Zoe’s looking rather… frightened at this point. I think it’s time to start getting to the bottom of why she’s talking to me about this.

“So… what is it about this that upsets you?” I ask her.

She begins moving around again, just a little bit. “Well… um…”

“Are you upset with me?” I ask her. “Are you upset with Ashley? Or is it your other friends who you think are in the wrong?”

This takes her a good thirty seconds, but eventually she says, “I’m not upset with you… or with Ashley. I’m not upset with anyone. I’m just… scared.”

“What are you scared of?” I ask her.

Uh-oh. This question officially sets her off, and I see tears roll down her face. Looks like we’re going to be here for a while. That’s okay, though.

I move next to her and set an arm around her shoulder. She immediately caves in and just latches onto me, crying onto my sleeve.

After a few minutes, she finds the will to speak again.

“Y-you don’t… like her like that, d-do you?” she asks me.

“Who, Ash?” I ask. “No, she’s not really my type. I prefer someone who’s more… uh.. cooperative.”

Suddenly, I get an idea. I think I may know what this is all about. “Why do you ask?” I ask her.

She detaches herself from me and looks straight at me solemnly. “After I heard them say that… I think that… I do.”

“You do what?” I ask.

“I… like her.”

Ha! I knew it.

Zoe, however, has gone right back to crying on me.

“So, you’re worried that… if your friends find out that you feel that way about her, they won’t want to be your friends anymore?” I ask.

“My… friends,” she sputters in between sobs, “my family… everyone.”

Well, I wish I could tell her that she’s wrong, but I guess I can’t promise that. There’s one thing I can promise, though.

“I’ll still be your friend,” I tell her.

Her crying does ease up a little bit at this. But still…

“Are you worried about what Ashley will think?” I ask.

Zoe nods. “We’ve been friends… for so long,” she explains. She detaches herself from me, and starts wiping her face on her own sleeves. “If our friendship got ruined… and it’d all be my fault…”

“It wouldn’t be your fault, Zoe,” I tell her.

Her face scrunches up and goes red. “Yes… it would be.” Back to the lip biting again. “I’m the one… who had this thing…”

“You don’t get to choose who you have feelings for,” I explain to her. “Nobody gets to choose whether they like men, or women, or both, or neither, or… whatever.”

She’s just looking at me intently, so I continue.

“Some people think it’s all genetic… it could also be partially developmental. We don’t really know yet,” I explain to her. “But what we do know, is that the way you are… is not going to change. Just think of it like being left-handed!” I tell her. (This is a rather apt metaphor for me, given that I am left-handed myself. It made learning to play the trombone a pain in the ass.)

These words do not have the effect that I hoped they would. Zoe is now looking at the floor, and looks crestfallen.

“What am I… gonna do then?” she asks me.

“I think you should tell Ashley how you feel,” I tell her soothingly. “Even if she doesn’t recipo… uh… even if she doesn’t feel the same back, if she’s really your friend, she’ll understand.”

She looks up at me at last, with her wide, blue eyes. “You… you really think so?”

“I really do,” I tell her.

And with that, we really need to get back on the field. I give her a minute to wipe the rest of her face off, and then help her to her feet.

Well, I was just complaining that we hadn’t gotten any good one-on-one time, but there we go! I think we really bonded there. I kind of wonder why she came to me. I guess maybe she figured since I’m already one of those damn lesbos, I would be one of the last people to judge her. (I’m technically bi, but you know.)

And hey, I did it! I helped her with her problems. Honestly, I did such a good job, I should start charging people for this. Take a leaf out of my old man’s book.

Also, for the record, I’m like 100% sure that Ashley is also gay. I mean, come up. Just look at her. It’s so obvious. Man, I should try and find out if Nova is gay too. If he is, we’d have a full set! Score another one for the gay agenda! Mwahahaha!

Speaking of Nova, after marching band practice, I see him skulking around the front while I’m waiting on dad to pick me up. I take this opportunity to ask him about something I’ve been curious about for a while. (No, it’s not the gay agenda. That was a joke. There isn’t actually such thing as the gay agenda. It was made up by Fox News.)

“Hey Nova,” I begin, “you said you were from New Braunfels, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Did you ever know a Lily Kuznetsov?”

Nova gasps. “Yeah, she lived in my neighborhood! She was my best friend!”

“Well, she’s my cousin!” I say, amazed. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

My cousin Lily lives in New Braunfels with her grandparents. I actually know her mom (my aunt), as she lives nearby. My dad doesn’t like me hanging out with her, but I’ll go there and chat every once in a while.

“She’s your cousin?” he exclaims. “No way!”

I sit down next to him. “Well, that’s a happy coincidence,” I say.

He looks pensive now. “Um, how is she doing?” he asks. “I haven’t gotten to see her since I moved.”

“She’s on Skype, you know,” I tell him.

“Oh, really?” he says. “She wasn’t when I left. Send me her username!” he demands.

“You know, I don’t see any reason why we can’t get the three of us in a group chat,” I say. I’ve always wanted to be the admin of a group chat, and now this is my perfect chance!

After a while, he starts talking again. “It really sucks that I had to move,” he laments. “My parents got divorced.”

“Does one of your parents still live in New Braunfels?” I ask.

“Yeah, my mom does,” he says. “But I can’t go back there.”

He says this with a sort of hollow expression. Now’s probably not the time to press him on this, but I can’t help but to wonder what on earth happened to make him say that.

He looks gloomy at this point, so I try to think of something else to cheer him up.

“I’m turning sixteen this December, and then I’ll be getting my real driver’s license,” I tell him. “Maybe I can take us both up there to visit Lily?”

Nova’s eyes widen, and he looks straight up at me. “Really? You’d be able to drive all that way?”

“It’s not that far,” I tell him. “We’d just have to hop on I-35, survive whatever the traffic is like in Austin, and then exit just past San Marcos. Shouldn’t take longer than an hour. Maybe an hour and a half if Austin is bad.”

He’s grinning at me. Oh man, whenever people who don’t smile a lot smile, it’s always just so adorable. Honestly, I could pinch his cheek.

Wait a sec! I never finished my thought from earlier. Got sidetracked. I wanted to answer the question I posed: why do people participate in this insane activity we call “marching band?” Sure, maybe some do it for the art. Some do it for the graduation credits. And some probably just do it because their parents make them. But what matters the most to me… is the friends that I make along the way. Thanks for reading. This is Anja Helen Buelen, signing off.