Boy Swap Read online

  “Oh, just Target. No biggie,” she says hurriedly. “So when do I get to borrow it?”

  Shoot. The redirecting thing didn’t throw her. It must only work on three-year olds.

  “Hey, Honey,” a warm voice whispers into my ear and two strong arms envelop my waist. Chris. My hero, saving me from any further scarf-borrowing talk.

  I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a good morning kiss. He’s so handsome; especially in the mornings when his dark blond hair is still a little damp from his shower. And he smells so, so good. All, I was just outside chopping down a pine forest like.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” Lizzie says and walks to her seat to warm up. Lizzie plays the tuba, which, you can imagine, is just as unsexy as it sounds. Toting around a gigantic hunk of metal that probably outweighs every boy in the room and puffing out your lips as you spit into this giant metal shaft is not so attractive. But Lizzie loves it. And she’s good at it. And no one else in band could lift it.

  “So are we going to Katie’s party after the game tonight?” Chris asks, arms still around my waist with no plans of moving any time soon. Katie Hodges’s family hosts band parties after every home football game. They are legendary in the band. Her house has excellent hidden nooks for making out. And her mom can make a mean chocolate chip cookie, too.

  “Sure,” I say. “Can we give Lizzie a ride?” Chris sighs a little but then nods his head yes. I know he hates that I always have him carting Lizzie around. But she’s like, my own personal walking talking birth control. I know that Chris is ready to have sex, but hello, I’m totally not. And I’m so not having sex for the first time in the back of his filthy little 98’ Ford Focus. No way. I’ve decided that the perfect time for us to first have sex will be on the band trip to Disney World over spring break. The Disney trip is four months away and by that time we’ll have been dating for eight glorious months. I’ll totally be ready by then, I’m sure. And we can do it on a beach at night with only the moon for light and waves crashing into our toes. It will be super romantic.

  Chris leans in to kiss me again, and I see Mr. Shank walk into the room. “Ooops, keep that thought,” I say. “I better get to my seat.” I race to the front of the room to the flute section. Chris walks over to his drum set, picks up his drumsticks, and starts warming up.

  I take my seat next Rayne, the first chair flutist. I totally hate her. Okay, that’s mean. Let’s say I don’t enjoy her as much as I do many, many other people. I’m a junior so this is my third year in band. Rayne is only a freshman but somehow beat me out for first chair. It drives me absolutely crazy, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Okay, I shouldn’t say there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Just nothing I want to do. Mr. Shank keeps telling me if I want to be first chair, then I can challenge Rayne for it. Which at first makes you think what? Pistols at thirty paces? But no, Mr. Shank’s a total whack job. If you want to challenge another musician for their chair, he sets up this freaking American Idol finale night situation in which the entire band attends and you stand up front and go head to head playing the same songs. Then we are like, critiqued by three seniors band members and the entire band gets to vote who should get the higher chair. I mean, come on people, who in their right mind is going to put themself through all that? So needless to say there aren’t many challenges.

  I take my flute out of my case and quickly line up the pieces, adjusting the head piece to stick out just a centimeter further than it is supposed to be. This is my own little secret—I really think it makes the sound better.

  “Hi, Brooke,” Rayne says, giving me a once over and smiling.

  I sigh. “Hi, Rayne.”

  She makes this muffled heh-heh sound and I see her look up at Chris and then at my scarf. Hmph. She seems to have made the connection between the scarf and the club. Is she in Boy Swap? I give her a once over too, searching for a tuft of pink coming out of anywhere. But nope—no scarf. I don’t recall ever seeing her with a pink scarf either. Maybe I’m reading too much into her reaction.

  * * *

  Can we just call this BEST DAY EVER? Seriously, it’s only 4th period and my day has been amazing. Everyone is looking at me differently. Everyone is treating me differently. Yesterday, I had my band friends and my French club friends and the kids I sit with at lunch. But that was it. Nobody beyond that had a clue who Brooke Thomas was. But today, well, today my name is buzzing through the air. I’m on the tip of every girl’s lips. And it isn’t just the non-scarf-owning population that is talking about me. The popular girls, those in the Boy Swap Club that is, are all nodding acknowledgement. You know, kinda like how one semi-truck driver acknowledges another on the highway? Or how one dude in a shiny Mustang convertible slows down to let another dude in a shiny Mustang convertible in his lane? It’s like that—they’re acknowledging their own. And wow, I didn’t realize how huge Boy Swap really is. I mean, this morning alone I probably spotted thirty-five scarves. Girls are wearing them in all kinds of styles: in their belt loops, peeking out of a pocket, on a purse handle, or tied around their neck. I even saw one girl with a scarf tied around her ankle.

  I’m busily trying to figure out how to handle my new position in Jefferson High society. I mean, I want to run up to each girl with a scarf and become instant besties but that would give away the whole secret club thing, right? I’ll just have to sit back and observe for a while. See what the other girls do.

  “Hey, Babe,” Chris says, tossing an arm around my shoulder and shaking me out of my thoughts.

  “Hi, Sweetie.” I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. We walk toward the gym—we both have class there next hour.

  “Did I mention that you look really pretty today?” he adds.

  “No, but thank you. You look good too.” I lean into him. Aww. Even Chris is acting differently today. I love this scarf.

  “Practice was crazy this morning, huh? It was so freakin’ cold outside—I can’t believe Skank made us go outside to rehearse.”

  “I know! I was a total Brookesicle.” Especially since I refused to wear a hat and cover my scarf.

  “At least you get to march around,” Chris says. “We just stand up front and freeze.” That’s true. Mr. Shank positions the percussion section in the front of the field and the rest of us do the routine.

  “Poor baby,” I say jokingly, and give his shoulder a little shove with mine.

  “Hey there. Looking good,” a tall, leggy blond says to Chris as she walks by, totally interrupting our couple cuteness. I have no idea who she is, but I suddenly have a strong urge to do this morning’s marching routine all over her face. Who does she think she is telling my boyfriend he looks good right in front of me? Rude much? I feel Chris stiffen, his arm still around my shoulder. Okay, apparently he registered the weirdness factor of this situation too.

  Oh yeah. It’s the scarf. Boy Swap. God, this is like walking around with a freaking vacancy sign flashing over my head. You too can have Chris’s arms wrapped around you! Ew. I don’t even want to picture that. But it is what I signed up for, I guess. And I got the cute scarf. And maybe some cool new friends. And the thrill of torturing Delaney with my mere existence. Not to mention Chris looks about as interested in Blondie’s flirting as he would be in getting a flu shot. So, it will be okay. I force a smile and look up at Chris.

  “I can’t wait for the party tonight,” I say, breaking the awkward silence. Chris looks instantly relieved. Like, one of those, oh-thank-god-we-don’t-have-to-get-into-an-hour-long-fight-over-why-that-girl-just-talked-to-me looks.

  “Me too,” he replies.

  Chapter 3: Friday Night Fights

  Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Panthers! Panthers! Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Panthers! Panthers!

  The stands are shaking with what looks like the entire student body stomping their feet and screaming. There is so much orange and black clothing in the stands that it looks like Halloween. No one can say the JHS students are not HUGE on school spirit.r />
  “Ladies and Gentleman,” an announcer booms through the intercom system during half-time, “put your hands together for the Jefferson High School Marching Band, together with the Flag Corps and Dance Squad.” The stands go wild with applause and my heart speeds up as we march quickly out to our marks on the field. The realistic portion of my brain is well aware that the crowd is NOT applauding for the band or the flag corps but rather the dance squad in their micro-minis, but I like to pretend. It motivates me to give the performance my all.

  We play the school song and march into various lines and circles around the field. The dancers are kicking their little brains out and the flags are twirling like windmills around the edges of our large group. The students in the stands are screaming the Panther’s fight song and making the required cat-like scratches to the beat.

  “Go Panthers, Go Panthers

  Growl! Growl!

  Win Panthers, Win Panthers

  Now! Now!

  Fight for us, Win for us

  We’re behind you all the way.

  Go Panthers, Win Panthers

  Save the day!

  Growl!”

  The stand erupts in cheers again as the dance squad leaves the field and we stay on to finish the rest of the half-time show. About 75% of the crowd stands up and moves toward the concession stand or bathrooms for the rest of our performance. Figures.

  Once we are back in the stands and have put our instruments down at our seats, I drop my silly hat with the enormous white feather plume and run down the rows to meet up with Chris for our traditional hot chocolate break. We do this after every home game half-time show. I jump down to the final row where he’s standing and he takes my hand. We walk down the aisle toward the concession stand and I swear a couple of the dance squad girls wink at him. But maybe they are just cold from the lack of clothing and their eyes are all fluttery trying to protect their brains from freezing. There’s something good about our band uniforms after all. With a half-inch of polyester, I’m rather toasty right now.

  Chris orders our hot chocolates with extra whipped cream and we go for a stroll behind the bleachers, a.k.a, one of our favorite make-out spots. I’m licking off some of the whipped cream from the top of my drink when Cassie Deegan appears in front of me in her dance squad mini-dress.

  “Hi, Chris,” she says sweetly.

  “Hey,” Chris says and coughs.

  “Hi, Cassie,” I say cautiously. What is she doing in our make-out spot?

  Delaney sidles up next to Cassie but she tilts her head back, looking up in the air like a plane show is going on or something up there. I glance up. Just the same old sky. Well, if she’s not acknowledging me then I’m sure as heck not acknowledging her.

  “You did such a nice job out there, Chris. That contraption with the drums that you wear looks so heavy. And so difficult to play! I don’t know how you keep all the drums straight.”

  Huh? Really? She wonders how he keeps all FOUR of the drums straight?

  Chris laughs a little, obviously flattered. Um, hey buddy, girlfriend standing right next to you. Don’t encourage her.

  “It’s not that hard. I practice a lot,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I interrupt. “The flute is hard too. I have way more keys to remember than he has drums.” Like she cares.

  Cassie eyes me as if I am totally interrupting. “You were good too, Brooke.”

  “So, Chris,” Cassie starts, back in her Splenda voice and briefly touching Chris’s arm, “are you in a band outside of school?”

  Does she not see me standing right here, holding hands with him? I have half a mind to go hunt down her boyfriend, Carter Jones, and rub up on him, right in front of her face. See how she likes it. Delaney rolls her eyes as she tugs her dance squad skirt a millimeter lower. Chris looks a bit uncomfortable at Cassie’s touch. At least he remembers that I’m standing here.

  “Um…” he says, stammering. “I’m thinking about starting one. I mean, a couple of my friends and I mess around.”

  Why hasn’t he told me about this before? I didn’t know he wanted to have his own band.

  “I’d love to hear you play sometime,” Cassie says, batting her eyelashes at him. Okay, this is too much. I know my jaw must be absolutely dropped open. Cassie raises her eyebrows. She looks up at my headband and back at me again. I reach up and finger the pink scarf in my hair. Oh. That’s right. Boy Swap. Well, this kinda sucks.

  I want to look confident and cool in front of Cassie and Delaney. But I’m not any of those things and this is dreadful. I turn my head quickly and look at Delaney. She’d been staring at me but she instantly turns to Cassie and tosses her hair.

  “Um…” Chris says again and looks at me. Wow, he isn’t too witty when being flirted with by a pretty girl right in front of his girlfriend. “I…uh…guess you could hear us play. Brooke will come too,” he says all excited like he just thought up the best idea ever. Oh, good—I do still exist.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Cassie asks.

  Man, she’s like a freaking steamroller! “We’re going to the band party,” I say firmly.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by.” Cassie never takes her eyes away from Chris’s.

  WHAT? What would she be doing at a band party? I mean, it is for the BAND. Hence the word BAND in BAND PARTY. Chris looks at me for some kind of answer but I’m still too stunned to talk. I can see that he is totally uncomfortable and I kinda feel bad. After all, I signed him up for this, didn’t I? Oooh, I’d like to punch Cassie right in the face. But I’m sure there is some clause about violence in the agreement I signed.

  “Sure,” I hear myself saying. “It’s at Katie Hodges’s house.” I can feel Chris’s stunned look but I ignore him. How would I explain?

  * * *

  “Chris…” I giggle as he softly kisses me on my neck, below my right ear. He knows this is a total ticklish spot on me. He moves his way across my neck, making me breath catch, and over my chin until he reaches my lips. There—even better. We kiss a few more times, his lips increasingly hard on mine, and then Chris pulls back.

  “Do you need another soda?” he asks softly, shaking my empty can.

  I look from the can to him. Is he really checking my drink right now? I’d better get his head more into the present activity. I slip onto his lap, wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him harder on the lips. I can feel his shoulders relax and his lips open. That’s better. I don’t need his mind wandering during precious make-out time.

  Chris is normally all over the PDA, but I know he gets a little uncomfortable when we are in the loft at Katie’s house. But everyone knows this is the reserved spot for couples at band parties. The single band members hang out in the living room and family room. Yeah, there are four other couples in here too, but it isn’t like anyone is paying attention to what other couples are doing. Except for that one time when saxophonist Chase Daniels and Bethany Ryan, our drum major, were getting so carried away in the corner that everyone else got up and left. Ew—that was way gross. The image is still burned into my brain.

  Chris is beginning his patented back rub move (rub up, rub down, repeat three times and then slip his hand under my shirt) when the music suddenly stops. The other couples in the loft momentarily pause but then resume kissing. I hear people whispering loudly to each other from below. Something is going on. I crawl to the edge of the loft and peer down. Wow. Cassie actually showed up, and with her crew in tow no less. Standing behind her are Caitlyn Ray and Amanda Montgomery. We’re talking the very tippity top of the popularity pyramid here. At least Delaney is absent. I’m sure Delaney thinks she’s too good for a band party cameo appearance.

  Band members are flocking to the sides of the room like an oncoming bus is about to hit them. Which is sort of true. I know what everyone is thinking. Why are these girls at our party? They don’t belong here. This isn’t school. This is our safe place, our sanctuary, and now they’ve invaded.

  Chris pats the spot next to him, indicating that
I should come back. And I totally want to. But I feel like we have to get downstairs and intercept the popular girls before they get any further. It’s kinda like I’m throwing myself on the bomb to save my squad or something. Kinda.

  “Um, Chris?” I say. “I think we’d better head downstairs. We’ve got company.” He looks confused. “Remember? We told Cassie Deegan she could meet us here.” Chris gives me a stunned look. Yeah, join the rest of the band. I stand up and hold out my hands to pull him up next to me.

  His mouth hangs open for a moment, like he wants to protest but then says, “Uh…okay.” The other couples sitting in the loft with us are all un-lip locked now, making faces at me like my hair is on fire. All probably thinking I’ve completely lost it. Maybe I have.

  We head down the stairs and Chris gives me a half grin. Ha—he probably thinks I’m the world’s coolest girlfriend. Not. I’m just contractually bound to share his love.

  “Hi, Cassie,” I say, and Chris gives a little wave.

  “Hi, Chris,” she says, looking right past me. Okay, no need to be rude now is there, Sister? “The party looks…” she glances around the room, “cute.”

  I follow her gaze. Um, looks like a typical party to me. Music, dancing, eating, drinking, talking, flirting. I wouldn’t call it “cute.” It isn’t like everyone is wearing footie jams and toting their favorite stuffies.

  Chris lets out a small nervous laugh. “Okay...” he says, obviously not getting her at all.

  Cassie finally takes a moment to stare me down. But she doesn’t say anything. She eyeballs me and then glances off to the side. And then looks at me again. And looks off to the side significantly. Oh, now she is seriously being rude! She’s trying to tell me that she wants me to beat it. Grrr. This girl has such nerve. But she did just give me this nice scarf yesterday. I run my hand over the scarf still tied in my hair. It’s so silky soft. And the first rule of Boy Swap is something about not hogging your boyfriend. Fine. But I’m only leaving for a minute.