Glee Fanfic: A Band Kid's Task
Long time no post, and certainly a very long time without fanfic...not that I was ever the most effusive fanfic writer. But! Anyways. I couldn't help but write this. It's been a long while coming.
An Hour in the Life of the Glee-verse Band Kids
Michelle sends the text 27 minutes into fourth period.
“RB in the Aud. Need a cellist.”
Kenny’s response is almost immediate.
“cello in the car. finger still broke tho. Suse?”
There is a space of a few seconds then responses from two separate people:
“Can’t. Pop quiz,” from Susan and
“viola instead?” from Roger.
“Cello is better,” Michelle insists. She does not feel like arguing with Berry. Not today.
“roger can fake,” says Kenny.
There are three “lol”s one right after the other.
Getting the group messaging app for the entire Jazz Ensemble had proven to be one of Michelle’s better investments. Better than those new drumsticks, certainly. Even though Kenny got pretty good use out of them, it had only taken Mike Chang one session of air-drumming to crack the left one completely in half.
She mostly just stole sticks from the marching band closet now.
But none of that resolved her current dilemma.
“Okay,” she sends through the app, “I have two bathroom passes and a note from Ms. Pillsbury. Be here in 5.”
“Roger,” sends Kenny.
“GL,” sends Susan.
“omw,” sends Roger.
Michelle has a free period so she is the first into the auditorium. Berry is tapping her foot at the front of the stage, illuminated in a blue spot. She barely turns when Michelle comes in, dragging a chair behind her and propping her bass against it.
“Did you get one?” Berry asks.
“A cellist?” says Michelle, opening her case and beginning the quick task of tuning, “Yes. I did.”
“Wonderful,” says Berry, turning. Her hands are clasped in front of her chest like a starlet from the 40s. Michelle works very hard to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Do you need a drummer?” she asks, tightening her E string. She really hopes the answer is no since the drum set is still set up in the hallway for Blaine Anderson’s earlier performance.
“I’m thinking acoustic,” Berry says, her eyes sweeping over the empty auditorium seats with something akin to lust. “I just think it better conveys my message. If you got the cellist…”
Michelle finishes and sets her bass down on the chair.
“I’m here,” says Roger, coming in with a case that’s almost bigger than he is. He hauls it up the steps and sets it on the floor next to another chair on the stage.
Berry nods her head in acknowledgement and begins to hum. Roger shrugs before he opens the case and begins the process of setting up the cello.
“What’s the song?” he whispers to Michelle. From the furthest stage door, they hear Kenny stumble in, cursing.
“I don’t know yet,” Michelle whispers back, “she hasn’t told me.”
Roger snorts and shakes his head.
“Typical,” he says, rubbing resin against the edge of his bow. Michelle shakes her head as Kenny pulls up the last chair.
“What’d I miss?” Kenny asks, opening his guitar case quickly as Berry’s humming grows a little louder.
“She’s about to start,” says Michelle, gauging the timing with a practiced eye.
“No shit,” says Roger, grunting a little with the effort of pulling the cello up against him, “there’s Hudson now.”
Kenny groans.
“She’s gonna sing at him again? Don’t you think she’s learned from the last 80 times?”
Michelle rolls her eyes and settles her bass against her legs.
“It’s romantic,” she says in a whisper.
“It’s stupid,” says Roger with a frown.
The three jazz kids cock their heads to the left as the impetus of Berry’s song comes into their minds.
“Streisand again,” says Kenny.
Michelle nods and begins to strum the opening riff, the other two following soon after.
Their arrangement is great and it ends with Berry and Hudson kissing even though Michelle refuses to watch that anymore. It just looks like he’s trying to eat her, he’s so much taller. But it’s cute, she guesses, so.
Kenny and Roger pack their instruments quickly and Michelle hands Kenny one of the bathroom passes and Ms. Pillsbury’s note to Roger.
“I’ll see you guys later,” she says as she heads back to fourth period. Kenny and Roger wave at her over their shoulders as they go out the other door.
She is only halfway to class when her phone vibrates against her butt.
“Puckerman tapping toes in caf,” sends Marcus, then, “Code Yellow.”
Michelle switches her steps to head toward the cafeteria instead.
A Jazz Ensemble’s work is never done, after all.
An Hour in the Life of the Glee-verse Band Kids
Michelle sends the text 27 minutes into fourth period.
“RB in the Aud. Need a cellist.”
Kenny’s response is almost immediate.
“cello in the car. finger still broke tho. Suse?”
There is a space of a few seconds then responses from two separate people:
“Can’t. Pop quiz,” from Susan and
“viola instead?” from Roger.
“Cello is better,” Michelle insists. She does not feel like arguing with Berry. Not today.
“roger can fake,” says Kenny.
There are three “lol”s one right after the other.
Getting the group messaging app for the entire Jazz Ensemble had proven to be one of Michelle’s better investments. Better than those new drumsticks, certainly. Even though Kenny got pretty good use out of them, it had only taken Mike Chang one session of air-drumming to crack the left one completely in half.
She mostly just stole sticks from the marching band closet now.
But none of that resolved her current dilemma.
“Okay,” she sends through the app, “I have two bathroom passes and a note from Ms. Pillsbury. Be here in 5.”
“Roger,” sends Kenny.
“GL,” sends Susan.
“omw,” sends Roger.
Michelle has a free period so she is the first into the auditorium. Berry is tapping her foot at the front of the stage, illuminated in a blue spot. She barely turns when Michelle comes in, dragging a chair behind her and propping her bass against it.
“Did you get one?” Berry asks.
“A cellist?” says Michelle, opening her case and beginning the quick task of tuning, “Yes. I did.”
“Wonderful,” says Berry, turning. Her hands are clasped in front of her chest like a starlet from the 40s. Michelle works very hard to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Do you need a drummer?” she asks, tightening her E string. She really hopes the answer is no since the drum set is still set up in the hallway for Blaine Anderson’s earlier performance.
“I’m thinking acoustic,” Berry says, her eyes sweeping over the empty auditorium seats with something akin to lust. “I just think it better conveys my message. If you got the cellist…”
Michelle finishes and sets her bass down on the chair.
“I’m here,” says Roger, coming in with a case that’s almost bigger than he is. He hauls it up the steps and sets it on the floor next to another chair on the stage.
Berry nods her head in acknowledgement and begins to hum. Roger shrugs before he opens the case and begins the process of setting up the cello.
“What’s the song?” he whispers to Michelle. From the furthest stage door, they hear Kenny stumble in, cursing.
“I don’t know yet,” Michelle whispers back, “she hasn’t told me.”
Roger snorts and shakes his head.
“Typical,” he says, rubbing resin against the edge of his bow. Michelle shakes her head as Kenny pulls up the last chair.
“What’d I miss?” Kenny asks, opening his guitar case quickly as Berry’s humming grows a little louder.
“She’s about to start,” says Michelle, gauging the timing with a practiced eye.
“No shit,” says Roger, grunting a little with the effort of pulling the cello up against him, “there’s Hudson now.”
Kenny groans.
“She’s gonna sing at him again? Don’t you think she’s learned from the last 80 times?”
Michelle rolls her eyes and settles her bass against her legs.
“It’s romantic,” she says in a whisper.
“It’s stupid,” says Roger with a frown.
The three jazz kids cock their heads to the left as the impetus of Berry’s song comes into their minds.
“Streisand again,” says Kenny.
Michelle nods and begins to strum the opening riff, the other two following soon after.
Their arrangement is great and it ends with Berry and Hudson kissing even though Michelle refuses to watch that anymore. It just looks like he’s trying to eat her, he’s so much taller. But it’s cute, she guesses, so.
Kenny and Roger pack their instruments quickly and Michelle hands Kenny one of the bathroom passes and Ms. Pillsbury’s note to Roger.
“I’ll see you guys later,” she says as she heads back to fourth period. Kenny and Roger wave at her over their shoulders as they go out the other door.
She is only halfway to class when her phone vibrates against her butt.
“Puckerman tapping toes in caf,” sends Marcus, then, “Code Yellow.”
Michelle switches her steps to head toward the cafeteria instead.
A Jazz Ensemble’s work is never done, after all.