They were all standing in a straight line. Eight feet between each of them. I scanned the line, noting their weaknesses and strengths.

Ben. A freshman, who had never marched before, but was a strong player. Natalie. A sophomore ex-trumpet player tied to the hip of her best friend. Laken. The best friend, another ex-trumpet player who had an ego the size of the football field. Daniel. A junior, who was a strong marcher but an ex-saxophone player. Sydney. A senior, another saxophonist, who had never marched before.

I sighed. This group was going to be the toughest bunch of people to teach. I ordered them to form a block on the field. Natalie and Laken strutted toward the front, while the rest lingered back in an attempt to escape my line of vision.

“Today is the first day of the season. None of you has played this instrument before, and several of you have never marched. To be able to excel this year, you’re going to have to work hard. You’ll need to practice every day and be extremely focused during rehearsals. Any questions?” They all looked at me like scared little puppies.

This season was going to be a long one.

I never thought that I would be in this position, teaching a section of five mellophones. Just three years ago, I had been the only one. The memories of jumping between sections as a freshman flowed through my head. Walking through the band room door for the first time, I scanned the room for the mellophone section leader, but he wasn’t there. He didn’t exist. Luckily, the section leaders of the trumpets and saxophones were more than willing to take me in, but I was overwhelmed with having to switch between them. I wanted my own section, and I wanted it to feel more like a family. Despite his lack of choice, my band director had chosen me to be the mellophone section leader, and I held that title with pride.

I stood in front of my five recruits. I had to teach them to be the best they could be because there was no other option. But I doubted my ability to lead my section. Daniel cracked every note. Sydney got cut from parts. Laken stopped practicing. Ben was missing rehearsals. Natalie thought she was better than everyone. They were slacking off and didn’t seem to care.

How was I supposed to be a good section leader when everything had already fallen apart?

The band’s drum major must have noticed something was wrong because he walked up to me with a face full of empathy.

“Hey, Maddy, I just wanted to let you know that your section is still the best on the field. Everyone thinks you guys look awesome this year.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. We work hard,” I said in a convincing tone.

Did we actually work hard? Did I work hard? Probably not hard enough.

I needed to change something. He was right. We were pretty darn good, and if I was going to keep this reputation up, I was going to have to stop complaining and step up to the plate.

The rest of the season went by fast, but I had changed my tactics. I became more confident and began giving the team goals to accomplish. Sydney’s and Daniel’s playing had immensely improved, Ben finally understood how to march and play at the same time, and Natalie and Laken managed to set aside their friendship to focus on their personal achievements. Finally, everything seemed right; I felt accomplished as a section leader.

From that moment on, everything came together. I marched across the field during our last practice before championships and watched my section out of the corners of my eyes. They were counting loud and clear as they turned a curvilinear form into a perfectly straight line. Amazed by what I saw, I opened up my ears to listen to the sound coming from their horns. All five of them created the excellent sound of one player.
We strode into Hillsboro Stadium on the night of November 5, and I could feel the adrenaline running through the band before we even stepped on the field.

“Entering the field for the NWAPA championships event, please welcome the Apollo Marching Band!”

I turned around and faced my section. They looked at me the same way they had on the first day of the season. Scared little puppies. I knew that they were no longer puppies, but fierce hounds. I had to let them know how much they had accomplished before we stepped onto the field.

“Tonight is our last performance, and you’re all going to do great. I am so proud of each of you. Some of you had never marched or played mellophone before three months ago. Look where you are now; you should definitely feel accomplished. Go out there and do your best because I know it’ll be amazing no matter what.”

I turned around and led them to the field to set up the opening set of our show.

In what seemed like seconds later, I found myself walking off of the field and filing into the stands with the rest of the band. I sat next to my mellophones, hand in hand, patiently waiting for the announcer to read off the scores.

“In second place …” I squeezed Sydney’s hand tightly, and Natalie did the same to mine. My breath was held tightly inside of my lungs.

“Westview.”
I exhaled.

“In first place …” I grabbed their hands again, with tension
in every muscle. “Our AA class champions are …”

Breathe. Breathe.

“The Apollo Marching Band!”

I yanked Natalie and Sydney’s hands up into the air, causing the entire mellophone section to jump up out of our seats. I was screaming. We were all screaming. Ecstatically, I watched our drum major accept the shiny trophy down on the field below.

I am so proud of my section, my family.