I put my book on my chair and approached my eighth grade band director, Mrs. Morse, who had just beckoned me to her desk. She smiled and told me to sit down.

"Okay," she began, "this isn't working out."

Now you notice? I think to myself.

"Most of the students that come in here with an instrument for the first time that have trouble with it won't quit until they get it right. This doesn't seem to be the case with you," she continues. "I don't think you're very fond of the saxophone as you claim to be."

I sighed with relief. Finally someone sees it. I had been playing the saxophone for about four months, and I could never get a sound other than a high-pitch squeak. I had been trying to get the courage to say that I didn't want to play it, but my mom had already spent hundreds of dollars on the last four instruments I've been playing, and I don't want to break it to her that I was quitting another instrument. Again.

I waited for Ms. Morse to tell me to try pit - I had known for a long time that I was never going to be able to play an instrument. Instead, she looked at me for a long moment until finally, she said, "I'm going to put you on the trombone."

I stopped for a second. "Wait, what?" I asked, dumbfounded.

She smiled. "I'll have one of the band members from the high school come in tomorrow. He can go over a scale with you, see if you like it."

"Okay," I said. "Great."

Under the surface, a part of me was screaming.

The trombone? Really? She had to be joking. She couldn't be talking about that one brass instrument with no keys or valves that could only be played by expanding or extracting the structure of the instrument. She couldn't be talking about the thing that I had seen people almost killing each with by whipping it from side to side while the people next to them ducked over. Not the trombone, the instrument that requires a lot of skill to know what note you were playing.

I was going to have a lot of fun tomorrow.

Okay, before we move on, I should probably tell you a little bit about myself. My full name is Kaylee Ann Juniper, and for the past year or so I've been jumping from instrument to instrument trying to find the one I can play. I was in poor schools for the past few years, and they kept saying they had no money to pay for a music program at the school. So, despite my childhood dream to join band, I had to hold back and wait for a time when the school would finally be willing to let the preforming arts department have a share of the sports program's budget to finally get my hands on an instrument. Lucky for me, I didn't have to, since my parents moved us to another town when I was just starting eighth grade. However, I soon found out that eleven years without ever touching a musical instrument had taken its toll - I had no musical talent playing an instrument whatsoever. I had often feared that I would never get the chance to be on the stage playing with the other musically talented players.

The next day during my last period, I was met by a guy about as tall as I was (for once) who carried two trombone cases in his hands. "Hey," he said. "Are you Kaylee?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Hey, I'm Caiden. I think Mrs. Blue asked me to come show you the trombone?"

"That's what I've been told."

"Great, so let's get started, then." I followed him to the locker room.

The locker room is always littered with a few chairs and stands, so it was no trouble finding a seat. Caiden put the two cases on the floor and began to put on of the trombones together. "So, you're thinking about the trombone, huh?" he asked as he tested the slide.

"I don't know. I'm just looking for an instrument, and Ms. Morse told me to try the trombone," I answered.

Caiden put the trombone between his leg and opened the other case. He pulled a bottle of slide oil out of his pocket and put it next to the case. "So, what other instruments have you played?"

"I've played the clarinet, the saxophone, the tuba, and the french horn."

"Oh, wow. The french horn?" he repeated. "That's a hard instrument to play." I shrugged and watched as he sprayed quite a bit of oil on the slide, then spread it by moving it. He handed the instrument to me. "So, I'm guessing you know how to buzz your lips, then?"

I nodded and took the trombone from him. Technically, I had played the trombone before, but only because one of my older cousins wouldn't stop bugging me about it until I tried it. I blew one note into the mouthpiece, and they were satisfied. I never thought I would actually be trying to play it a few months later.

After showing me how to hold the instrument (it felt a bit weird moving the slide with my right hand, not to mention how bare my chest felt compared to how I held the other instruments I had played before), I blew a note for him - a B flat, as I had later learned - which turned out to be very airy. Right at that second, I had confirmed that I was done with the trombone - never to touch the thing again. As I had learned from past experience, no one would know how to change my mind. That only made me feel worse about my non-existent talent in music.

To my surprise, Caiden did not act the same as everyone else did. After I played a note, I watched as he wrote something down on a piece of paper. He pulled up a stand and put it in front of me, placing the paper on it. I recognized the scale: B flat major. Instead of the note names, as they had done when I was learning a m woodwind, he had written numbers ranging from one to six that, at the time, seemed pretty random. He put the second trombone in front of him to his lips and began to play the scale. He then put the horn down and pointed to the staff.

"You know the staff, right? So, the numbers above it are the different positions. The first position is the closest to the mouthpiece - which is how you were just playing it right now. The second position" - he held up his trombone for me to see - "is slightly further back from first." He moved the slide as he showed me the positions.

After a while of showing me how to tongue, the scale he showed me, and how to tell which position was which, the bell rang for the end of school.

Because of finals, I didn't see Caiden again for the rest of the year. And since the school didn't have any working trombones left, I didn't any chance to play it again until I got to high school.

On my first day of high school, I walked into the band room for third period and was immediately welcomed by the band director, Ms. Blue, of whom I had come to know quite well over the past year. She smiled at me and got all excited when I walked through the door. "So, are you going to play the trombone this year?" she asked excitedly.

"Well - uh - yeah," I answered, unsure of what I had said, myself.

"Oh, good!" Ms. Blue squealed, excited now. "Go ask Jordan to help you pick out a locker. The trombone you were playing has a number nine on the case." She pointed to the back of the band room where a few other kids were putting their instruments together. "The trombones sit back there. I'm sure they'll introduce you."

Not having the heart to tell her I wasn't sure I was going to play the instrument at all, I took my backpack to the locker room. A tall boy was standing in the doorway. "Do you have a locker?" he asked as I walked by.

"No, Ms, Blue took me to ask...Jordan?" I answered, not quite sure who to ask.

"Oh, okay, that's me," he chimed. "What instrument do you play?"

"Uh, trombone?"

Jordan knit his eyebrows. "You...don't seem sure about that," he said, smiling.

"Do I?" I asked.

He laughed. "Come on, the trombone lockers are over here." He directed me to the corner of the small room. "Just take any one that isn't already taken."

Since I had just now confirmed that I was playing the trombone, my only two choices were a locker on the ground or one at the very top. I'm pretty tall, so it wouldn't have been too much of an issue, but I didn't want to have to stand on a chair to get something at the back of the locker, especially if I had second lunch at some point. So, instead of being smart and using the top, I slung my backpack off my shoulders and tossed it into the bottom locker. Jordan, clearly trying not to laugh at my decision, nodded and said, "Okay, that's your locker now. Welcome to marching band."

.

The trombone section was probably the smallest in the band, next to the tubas. Two girls and three boys (one of them being Caiden) were sitting at the left side of the room putting their instruments together. Awkwardly, I carried the trombone case I had found up to the row where they sat, weaving between the stands and chairs of the clarinet and saxophone sections. I looked around at the faces of the other trombone players and sat down at the end, two chairs down from the person on the end. I didn't want to make friends with a group of people just to say I'm leaving the section in a week.

Despite my attempts to avoid making friends, I soon realized that I had no idea how to put the trombone together. Everyone else was putting their instruments together, and I didn't want to bother them. I racked my brain, trying to remember how Caiden put it together when he was showing me how to play. Taking the slide in one hand, I took the mouthpiece that Ms. Blue had given me and put it into one of the holes on the top. I then grabbed the bell from the case and attached it to the slide. Soon after I had finished putting it together and had closed the case, the girl who was sitting two chairs away from me tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hey," she said, "I think you put the trombone on wrong."

I looked down at the instrument in front of me. "Oh," I acknowledged, seeing that I had put the bell on the wrong side. I twisted it back to the other side.

The girl was still looking at me. I stared back at her. A grin creeped onto her face. "Why are you so far away?" she asked.

I shrugged and shifted to the next chair. "Do you have music?" she asked.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out my white music folder. The girl smiled again, trying not to laugh. "I only have clarinet and saxophone music, though," I defended.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" she questioned, dramatically spreading apart her arms. She reached into her folder and took out four songs. She then took each one and ripped the paper in half; why two copies of the music were on one paper is beyond me. She then handed me the four copies: The Final Countdown, Incantation, Santana, and Fly Me to the Moon. "So what's your name?" she asked.

"Kaylee," I answered. "What's yours?"

"Jessica." She did a little dance for some strange reason as she introduced herself.

Jessica was a short, 13-year-old girl with back hair and a black pair of glasses. She almost always had her hair up when I first met her - she hated her long hair, but her dad wouldn't let her cut it. Her trombone was much cleaner than mine; it was perfectly polished and looked as if it was just recently bought. Everything that she did was flamboyant: introducing herself, saying she knew something, thanking someone for something, whole bit. There was never a day when Jessica wasn't dabbing back and forth or hanging on to my shirt and begging me to walk slower so she could keep up with me. Come to think of it, Jessica is probably the closest person I am to in the section.

Soon after Jessica had introduced herself, the drum major stepped up to begin conducting the music. Yes, I know, the introductions are probably getting boring, but bare with me a bit. We currently have two drum majors, David and Kayla. David, the drum major that was about to conduct, was a very tall boy that was always very strong and confident in his motions. In contrast, Kayla was a short girl with curly hair and black glasses like Jessica, but she wasn't always as head-strong as her boyfriend. David was constantly calling on a few sections and helping them out with the rhythm, giving us cues if we were guessing, looking around to make sure that we knew what we were doing, mouthing commands while conducting like "watch me." Kayla was a good conductor, but she wasn't as open as David. She would still lead with David and call on a few sections to play their part, but her expertise was leading. In my mind, David was the one I looked to for conducting or help with the music. Kayla was the leader for parades or when we were marching to a new position practicing the field show.

Back to the class, the first song we went over was Final Countdown. I was so confused about what to do. I wasn't very keen on the bass clef, so I wasn't exactly sure which position was each note. "Can you read this?" I asked Jessica.

"No, I can't really read music fast," she said.

"Yeah, same. I could if it was treble, but..." I added.

The band began to play, and I just sat there awkwardly like I usually did in middle school. No one had ever stopped me, which wasn't a bad thing, but I do wish that someone had at least leaned and helped me with the music every once in a while.

Oh yeah, Jessica is one of those "silent musicians." She says she sucks at playing, but she really doesn't. Literally right after she told me she couldn't read the music fast, she put her horn up and started to play, which made me feel stupid, in a way. I looked down at the instrument, considering picking it up and starting to play, but I was too scared to try. What if I messed up? Would I throw off the rest of the band?

I was about ready to cry. I knew that this wasn't getting me anywhere. If I continued like this, like I did with the saxophone, I would never be able to play anything. Why couldn't I just sit down for two seconds and play without thinking I'm a failure?

The song ended, and everyone put their horns down. As if by some miracle, Caiden and another guy sitting next to him put their horns down, looked me in the eyes, and asked me a question I will never forget.

"What are you doing?"

Dumbfounded, I replied, "I can't play this thing."

The two other them looked at each other and said something inaudible to me. They then turned back to me and ordered, "Go get a stand. You can't just sit here and do nothing."

"B-but what do I do?" I queried.

"Play a B flat. Do something. You'll never be able to play if you don't practice."

I was dumbstruck. No one had ever told me anything that straightforward as they were teaching me. They were all too afraid to tell me I was doing something wrong. They would just say, "keep practicing," and that would be it. It made me so depressed not knowing if it was me or the instrument that wasn't playing right, and I would always think that it could never be fixed. So, though I felt extremely awkward, I stood up and grabbed a stand from behind me and set the music on it. When David said "horns up," I slowly put the mouthpiece to my lips.

I don't remember most of what happened that day. I think I played like a B flat every four or five measures. Ms. Blue saw me with the trombone at my lips and gave me a thumbs-up. After class, Jessica helped me put the instrument away and informed me that there was practice after school.

There are no words to describe how relieved I felt after class that first day.

_

Hey guys, thanks for reading my story!

I had to tweak the plot a bit because it felt a bit weird to write about, and I wanted to keep this story as original as possible. Just letting you guys know.

Thanks again!

Stealthheart