mean only one thing.
Game on.
The first cry of, “Jimbo for DM!” reverberates through the wide space of our band room.
As expected, it comes from a sophomore female flautist, who gazes at him with hearts in her eyes. I almost feel bad for her because I can practically see her train of thought. He’s gorgeous. He’s built. He’s a stud. Moreover, he has just enough of that bad-boy air to make her think she’s going to be the one to finally tame him.
Sadly, I know something she doesn’t. James Fossoway is the second in line on a list of Fossoways who can’t be tamed. They are womanizers, plain and simple. No supermodel could ever be enough motivation for them to commit. His older brother, Alex, was a star player on the football team here. His reputation should precede him, but unfortunately for the gaggle of women echoing the first’s sentiment, enough time has passed on such a large campus that none of these students even know or remember how Alex Fossoway plowed his way through the female population at State, leaving a trail of disappointment in his wake. If they knew all those facts, they’d recognize Jimbo for the prince of panty-collecting that he is.
All these ignorant young women have to go on is the bright smile, muscly muscles, and heretofore, only loosely lassoed relationship status they know as the current Jimbo Fossoway.
I gag at his confident smile.
A body shifts me off-balance, so I glance to my left.
“Sophia.” My BF squints at me. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” No. “Why?”
“You gagged. Like, visibly gagged. If you’re going to blow chunks, make a run for it, and I’ll cover you.”
Bless Shannon. Bless her to the moon and back. I could not have found a better friend in all the world.
“I can’t believe I have to run an election campaign against that cretin,” I hiss, so no one else will hear. “Why can’t he just disappear already?”
She raises her eyebrows. “I’ve been begging you for years to let me help you murder him and hide the body. For some reason I can’t figure out, you’re not as homicidal as you pretend to be.”
“If I’m going to go to prison for someone, it’s not going to be for him.” Even under layers of anxiety, I can’t keep from grinning. “It’s probably going to be for you.”
She snickers. No one cares anymore that we’re not paying attention to the director. He’s dismissing the band by section for the night anyway. Student leaders are always last on that long list. “Hey, no one caught us stealing that Licking Pike street sign. You didn’t go to jail for me that night.”
“What about the time we did get caught stealing that Caution: Wet Floor sign from the dining hall?” I really thought I was going to be expelled from State. Truly. I’m ninety-nine percent sure the only reason I wasn’t is because someone lit a couch on fire across campus, and all the security patrols were summoned to that hot mess.
She knows it, and she chuckles in response. “Miracles do happen? Besides, it was for the annual Iota Tau Kappa scavenger hunt. I wasn’t going to lose that!”
No, we almost lost our scholarships instead. “Look, you know I want head drum major more than anything, but please, please promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid to help me.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “I won’t do anything stupid to help you. You should help yourself this time anyway. Join ITK this year! Being part of the coolest frat in band will definitely give your image a boost!”
I hate to admit she’s right, but … she’s not wrong. ITK is the coed band fraternity. It’s not like the nationally recognized music fraternities and sororities, but it’s more part of the long-held tradition of State being a total party school. Only these parties are for band geeks.
“Rush doesn’t even start until after the first game of the season, and you heard Dr. Kimball. I only have two weeks to convince all the bandies to vote for me! Joining ITK can’t even help me now.” I think I’m hyperventilating. Can someone hyperventilate when they’re also dehydrated? “I need a plan. I don’t have a plan for this.”
“Just do what you’ve always done.” Shannon shrugs. “Beat him.”
Chapter Two
The stains on this wall suspiciously resemble a Rorschach test. And all I see in it is failure.
I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised. Band camp is always the week before the fall semester