Layla walked by the kids where they huddled on the bleachers in groups of two or three or ten, some of them wrapped in blankets to keep warm and some of them toughing out the nearly snow-worthy night in just their marching uniforms and what was underneath them. Cody, who was smooshed between Madison and Haley along with his saxophone, a giant blanket wrapped around all of them, had a shitty grin stretched across a face that bespoke pure, teenage boy bliss. The girls' piccolos were in there too, lost in the jumble of blankets and limbs.
Layla paused in front of them. "Aren't you hot, Cody? I thought you said you wore two pairs of thermal underwear."
His face reddened, as she knew it would.
"Uh...nope. I feel just right." The girls giggled at the way he stretched out the word "just," and Cody's grin stretched to the splitting point when Haley climbed up the bleachers, piccolo in hand. She prodded Madison on the shoulder with her instrument, and somehow they made room for her, too.
"Alright. Rein it in, Goldilocks." Layla glanced over her shoulder at the scoreboard, then yelled at the band. "Get ready to line up in three minutes, people."
The noise of the crowd rumbled behind her, the referee's whistle blowing every now and then. Normally Layla watched the game, cheering just as loud as the people in the full bleachers, almost all of them on the home side clad in Boomers' green and blue, but tonight she barely felt present. Every touchdown, every raucous cheer, every fanfare by the band felt like another piece of her program was being chipped away and handed over to Brody.
Tonight was the big night. Time to give her speech about why everyone in town should love music as much as she did, and to convince them to not just voice their support to the school board, but to part with a little cash at next week's fundraiser dance. Unfortunately, Brody would be there listening as well, but she planned on imagining the look on his face after Derek punched him so he wouldn't intimidate her. With any luck, he'd be too busy coaching to give two shits about what she said, anyway.
The drum section broke into a spontaneous cadence, exited about something that had happened on the field. Haley whispered something in Madison's ear, and her eyes darted to Layla. Madison conveyed the message down the line, and soon almost every pair of eyes, drum section excluded, was painfully "not" looking at her.
Layla sighed. "What?" she said when the drums stopped. "I know you're all talking about me, so just spit it out."
Madison, always eager to step into the role of spokesperson for the group, leaned forward. She pitched her voice just right so that everyone could hear her. "Are you dating him yet?"
"What are you talking about?"
Madison's eyes practically rolled out of their sockets. "Come on, Ms. M. You know what I'm talking about. Are you and Derek a thing yet?"
"Me and Derek..." Layla's stomach lurched in anticipation of where this conversation was headed.
She spent her days trying not to think of him--usually that lasted about two minutes, tops--waffling between hating his guts, wanting to sex him up again, and feeling sorry for the guy. But one thing she knew, was they would never, ever be a thing. She still didn't know what the hell they were to each other, but he'd made it very clear that it wasn't a thing.
After he blew smoke in her face and called her a booty call in front of his friends, her opinion of him had swung from wanting to get to know the real him back around to hating his guts, real or not. But the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if his reaction was like that of a porcupine. Something had triggered him, and she just happened to be close enough to be on the receiving end of his quills.
Actually, the more she thought about it, she was pretty sure there was a whole lot of hurt underneath the super shiny asshole-armor he was always so quick to don.
Blowing a big old puff of smoke in her face should have been enough for her to work overtime trying to get him blacklisted in town--she was sure she could make Ed and the gang see things her way--but for some stupid reason, it just made her want to tell him about the fire even more. He meant it when he said he wanted her to give him a reason not to smoke. She could see it in his eyes.
And for the first time since that horrible night, she wanted to tell someone. Because for the first time, sharing those terrifying details wasn't about exposing herself, it was about helping someone else. Someone who meant way more to her than he should considering she hated his guts.
She cleared her throat, not liking the way every gaze in the band was focused on her, as if her love life was the most exciting news of the year. It was much better with them "not" looking at her. "No. We are not a thing. And we never will be."
"Awkward..." Addison said as she exchanged a grimace with Madison around Cody's shoulders.
"What? What's awkward?"
"He's here with grandpa. I just saw them sitting together," Haley said.
Grandpa. As in Ed, Derek's apparent BFF and traitor to the cause.
"Great," Layla muttered.
"Wait, that's not all." Haley bounced in her seat and clapped her hands together, piccolo and all. "Adam Nakamura is with them, too. Can you believe it? Both of them at one of our football games?" A whisper rippled down the bleachers at Haley's follow-up announcement.
Cody's face paled. "Shit. I hope we don't screw up tonight."
"My mom told me the other two guys are in town, too," Addison announced.
"Is it true?" Madison's gaze darted back to Layla. As if attached by string, everyone else's followed along.
"You all need to just calm down. They're just people." Layla repeated the words Derek had said to her more than once when they first met. After spending time with him, she understood exactly what he was trying to tell her.
"See...I told you," Addison said. "I heard they've been into the Rooster a few times for drinks. It's so exciting."
Layla frowned. Yeah. Real exiting. And the exact opposite of what she needed tonight...
She figured she'd run into him again eventually since he was apparently sticking around even though she still couldn't imagine why. Everyone ran into everyone in Maybe every once in awhile. She just didn't want to do this tonight.
Her focus needed to be on her speech, what it meant for the future of her program, and most importantly, sticking it to Brody. She did not need to be distracted by a sometimes sweetheart, sometimes asshole in sexy pants.
The stands were full. People looked mostly the same in their scarves and hats. Maybe she wouldn't be able to find him in the crowd, and she sure as hell wasn't going to go looking.
"Gramps is right in the middle, about three rows up. You know...so you can ignore Derek if you want." Haley nodded as if she had the whole thing figured out. "But I wouldn't play hard to get for too long if I were you."
"I am not playing hard to get." Easy to get was more like it. She looked at the scoreboard again so the kids wouldn't see her face flush when she thought about exactly how much she'd enjoyed playing that particular game.
"I don't get it...what are you playing then?" Madison's wide blue eyes appeared genuinely befuddled.
Layla didn't have an answer for that, and that was a huge part of what had turned into a month long problem. This game she and Derek had agreed to play had turned into something way too real, and she suspected the game had gone wrong because they were playing by different sets of rules since the beginning.
"Enough with the interrogation. Time to line up." Layla motioned to her drum major, Morgan, who then gave the signal for the band to get ready to march out for half-time.
While the away team's band performed, Maybe's band--called the Marching Boomers after the railroad workers who helped put Maybe on the map--waited as patiently as could be expected considering half of a famous rock band was sitting in the stands.
Actually Layla was proud of her kids. There was more whispering than she normally tolerated, but at least everyone stood extra straight and still while doing it.
As for her, she kept her eyes on the field. Nothing in bleachers interested her.
When it was the Boomers' turn, they marched onto the field, knees lifted extra high and lines straighter than they'd ever been. Layla smiled as they finished the final number, her pride momentarily overshadowing her nerves.
The piccolos were almost in tune, the trumpets were actually on the right measure, and the Sousaphones had just completed the flag of the giant eighth note shape they'd been working on all week. She wasn't on her ladder so she couldn't tell for sure, but she thought the darn thing actually looked like an eighth note instead of a crooked tadpole.
The crowd clapped, making Layla's pride swell near to bursting. These were her kids. Her program.
It meant something to everyone, even the people who weren't standing out there in twenty year old uniforms with outdated music and barely functional instruments. It meant something. The cheers from the stands proved it.