Chapter Two; MIRRORS~|~SRORRIM

 I barely made it through Spanish. I had my next class, History, with Brad, so we could discuss the cults.

After sort of listening to my homework assignment, I jumped up with the bell and rushed to my History class. Naturally, I nearly collided head on with Brad. He's two inches taller than me, so that would have been awkward. Maybe I would have liked awkward, just a little bit...

    "I need to talk to you." We both said at the same time. I blushed. Brad glanced sideways. "Just, not here." He said, slipping me a sticky note.

 "Don't read that here; I don't want anyone else to know about it." He turned and stormed into class, like we had just argued. That's funny, seeing as I didn't actually say anything. Wait! I didn't get to say anything! Jag.

Ugh. Brad.Too cute for his own good. I shrugged and marched into class, looking triumphant.

 I glanced at Brad, who gave a very slight nod. Good. I understood him right. That's kinda cute.

I scribbled furiously in my notebook, just to look busy. I was really drawing a cat. I couldn't quite name him yet. He was gold with brilliant green eyes. He had a small white smudge on his chest, over his heart. I was so absorbed, someone had to poke me in the back to get my attention.

 "Is Trumpet here today?" My History teacher asked. "I think so." I answered, cocky. My teacher gave me a glance, but said nothing. That's nice, calling me by my nickname and all. But, I was uneasy.

Something told me he saw what happened in the hall. I don't know if I can trust him. The weirdest people could be with the cults. There's a rumor the principal is even in on one...

Most of History passed without incident. I kept glancing at Brad, who never even once looked at me. That hurt a little bit, but I knew members of the Trumpet Cult were in here, as well as a few of the French Horn Cult. They can't be hawking us that closely, can they? Of course they could.

After History, the most boring torture ever conceived by human minds, the day passed by in a blur.

 I didn't talk to anybody. No one spoke to me. Finally, the bell rang, er, screamed bloody murder, for us to go home. I started toward the Band Hall. Maybe I'll see Brad there before we get on the bus and act like we hate each other again.

What's the point? I don't hate him. He's a nice guy! Why am I such a jerk to that cute little trumpet player?

Sadly, I ran into the other Riley before I ran into Brad. The other Riley was the Trumpet Cult leader. I knew he, out of all of the leaders, would hesitate the least to kill me. This kid scared me.

 "Ms. Danger." He nodded, with false politeness. It just dropped from his pores. Repulsive. "Why are you in a hurry?"

 I had to think fast.  C'mon, believable lie! "Because I don't wanna fight the crowd to get my instrument." I lied. Sort of believable. Certainly not inconceivable.

 Riley pursed his lips. The kid was a scarecrow with Native-American roots. He stared at me with his unnerving brown eyes a little longer and said, "The cult will know everything." He vanished into the crowd of semi tame beasts known as middle schoolers.

I made it to the Band Hall with no further incidents. No Brad, either, and his trumpet was gone. I missed him. Great.

I grabbed my instrument, who's name was Jacque, and fought through the river of people to the bus.

Yes, I named my French Horn. You're supposed to name your instrument. Its an unspoken rule in the wide category of Band.

Brad went all out and named his Trumpet. That was kind of awkward, cause of my nickname and all. Kind of sweet, too, but he does play the trumpet.

I burst outside and walked to my bus. I took my usual seat in the back and opened Brad's sticky note. In his slanting handwriting, he wrote:

MEET ME AT DOG CANYON CREEK. DON'T COME UNARMED.

-BRAD

   What did that mean? Don't come unarmed? Were we fighting?

 I puzzled over it all the way to my stop. I got up, grabbed Jacque, and tried to shove him down the bus aisle. I tried to ignore the three or four people that got off behind me. The case bruised my knees as I made my way to my house.

 I'm going to be the first to admit that we live in a rich neighborhood and we aren't cocky about it. The houses are grand and the cars expensive. And we couldn't care less.

I reached my house. It was covered in Ostend Stone and had a black roof. The door was stained dark, dark brown, almost black, and I fumbled for my key. I unlocked the door and slipped inside.

Inside, the floors were a rich cherry wood color, and the walls were a nice beige. I walked through the kitchen, which had white tile and blonde wood cabinets.

 I finally got to my room, where the walls were azure and the carpet royal blue. I dumped my French Horn and grabbed my pocket knife. Brad said not to go unarmed.

I wondered what time my mom was getting back from the fire station. She's a firefighter and inherited her money. She risked her life to help people. And because she likes the danger. I guess that's why she loves my dad. She loves Danger. 

 I slipped out of the front door again and locked it. I knew my mom wouldn't be home until late, maybe even tomorrow, but I didn't mind. I liked being alone.

 I whistled as I walked down the sidewalk. When I got to the woods, I followed the familiar trail down to Dog Canyon Creek.

I was silent and listening. The wind whispered around me and my feet bounced on the trail.

Near the rushing waters of the creek, the trail widened into a meadow. Once upon a time, my friends and I hung out here. Then the cults declared it off limits, so most of them stayed away. I could hear voices ahead. I had a feeling Brad wasn't alone. Did he seriously lead me to a trap?

   I stepped off the trail and saw five people. One was unmistakably Brad, with his blonde hair. Another was tall enough to be Sam Bruce, first chair French Horn. I didn't know the other three. "Hey, she came!" One of the people I didn't know, a girl, called out. We met in the middle.

Brad grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside, gesturing for the others to stay back. "You can't let the cults know." He warned. His eyes, his big, blue eyes, were dead serious. "I wouldn't give them the time of day." I said. Brad nodded. "You can let go of my arm now." I announced. Brad let go and my skin felt electric.

"Who are these people?" I asked. "Well," Brad began,"you know Sam. This is Veronica, Jess, and West. Guys, this is Trumpet." Brad pointed to each one in turn. Veronica was the only other girl here. She was slightly big, had glasses, and messy dirty blonde hair. Jess was pale and had hair that was almost bronze. He blinked a lot, so I guessed he was wearing contacts. West was short, tan, and had caramel colored hair.

 "Hi, guys." I said unenthusiasticly. "Why are we here?" I asked, looking at Brad. "Because we're the Resistance." Veronica piped up. "We're going to bring down the cults." Jess added importantly. "With six people?" I asked. "We've got to start somewhere." West grinned. His voice was an odd mix of bear tones and low hums. That was unusual. Then two and two went together and became four. This was that annoying trombone kid! The one that would never leave me alone. 

 "Okay, um, what makes you think you have the power?" I asked. "We have Brad, West, and you. If we can get enough people against the cults using you guys, the cults will lose power because no one is afraid of them." Sam explained. He seemed so sure of himself. He believed it. With all of his heart. 

 I shrugged. "So, what are we doing here?" Brad gulped and looked around nervously. "We have a plan, and a big part rests on you." He said, trying to avoid my gaze. He spoke quickly and turned a little pink. "Maybe she should sit down." Veronica suggested. I gulped. What could be that bad?

 They led me to a log at the water's edge. We all flopped down on it. I felt it shift under our collective weight. "You publicly hate Brad, right?" West asked me. I nodded. Where was this going?

"And the cult doesn't try and stop you." Jess stated. "So," West said in a concluding tone," if you and Brad were in love, that could be a major blow to the system, because you and Brad can't be manipulated easily, so the cults couldn't break you apart. Other people could finally come out of the dark and inter-band relationships could become more common. The cults couldn't stop it anymore." 

If there was one thing the cults hated more than instrument traitors were inter-band love stories. They were greater acts of disloyalty than doubling up. I didn't understand at all. 

 I looked around. "You've got to be joking." I bit my lip. If I wasn't redder than a fire truck, I will never be. "Brad's already agreed to it." Veronica pointed out. He what?! "Anything to get rid of the cults." Brad said quickly. I swallowed. A chance, even a fake chance, to date Brad? What kind of question is that?

My voice wavered on the way out of my lips. I don't even know how I did it. 

 "Alright," I said, "I'll do it."