Keep the Beat - Kata Cuic Page 0,7

arrive. Jimbo and I were the first ones here. Everyone else is already late to the game.

“Oh, seriously, Jimbo?” Nate frowns. “You made us all matching cool shirts and didn’t make one for Sophia, too? This war between you two is getting a little old, and frankly, there’s no room for it in the drum major squad.”

James’s eyes widen. He’s so busted. I don’t bother smirking because it’s not unexpected at all for him to exclude me. What is unexpected is that, this time, he tried to throw someone else under the bus for his behavior.

Tim joins the party, takes one look at the three of us, then jumps on the bandwagon. “Oh, hell no. I’m not playing the leave the woman out game. Sophia, take my shirt. I’ll be the odd man out.”

Well, well, well. This just gets more and more interesting. The second Tim peels off his shirt, the other two follow suit. Goosebumps instantly prickle their skin while they hold out three offerings that are easily three sizes too big for me.

I’m still debating on how to respond in the best way when the last drum major makes it to the field, donned in a hoodie, just like me.

“What the fuck are you morons doing? It’s freezing out here!”

Good boy, Jake. Now, sit and beg.

“No one wants me to feel left out because there weren’t enough matching T-shirts to go around for all the drum majors.” I smile my best sunny smile. “But that’s silly, right? Because we’re supposed to lead by example, and I sent out an email late last night, reminding the band to arrive for morning drill with proper clothing for the cold temps.”

It’s exceptionally comical the way they individually react to my news. James is pissed he didn’t think to personally email the band first. Nate looks down at the shirt in his hand like it might bite him. Tim glances back toward the dorms, obviously mentally calculating how long it will take him to run back for a sweatshirt, and Jake suspiciously eyes his competitors because he obviously doesn’t know what they’ve done without his knowledge so far this morning.

Restrained laughter warms me from the inside out.

Ever the most competitive adversary, James regains his confidence first. Right after putting his shirt back on. He takes a step forward, putting him at a closer proximity to me than any of his competition. “Listen, I had these made back in the spring right after auditions. I know we haven’t always been the best of friends, but it’s senior year. We’re all drum majors now. I’m hoping we can put the past behind us and present a unified front. For the band.”

This.

This is exactly why I’ve always answered James’s challenges. Because I’m a starving polar bear suffering from climate change, and he’s the knowledgeable scientist who has figured out the best cut of meat to wave in front of my face to keep me engaged enough to study me at close range without being mauled to death. Much.

“How weird.” I cock my head back and squint at him, so he’ll think he’s actually reading my mind instead of the reverse. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Really?” He squints back at me then quickly changes his entire demeanor, clapping his hands together with excitement that almost seems genuine. “I mean, great!” He extends an open palm. “Bygones then?”

I take his hand and school my features to hide my disgust. “I was actually thinking of totally leaving the past behind and starting fresh, too. All is forgiven, but I think we can do better. Friends?”

There’s a split-second gag reflex that he covers like a master of disguise. Which is accurate. Because he is. “Absolutely. I love it. Friends.”

I tamp down the urge to scoff. This man loves nothing more than himself. Maybe his penis. He might love his penis more than himself. I can’t think of any other reason to engage in hook-ups so often that STIs have to be a very real risk regardless of the prophylactics used.

We release clutches in the ominous sort of way two MMA fighters do before they unleash a reign of physical violence on each other. The handshake is a formality ensuring a fair fight. Nothing more, nothing less.

And judging by the expressions on their faces, the other guys don’t buy our act either.

“This has to be some sort of hallucination,” Nate murmurs, shaking his head. “I have no other explanation for this moment.”

“I think I woke up in hell,”