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“twelve and four this time,” dairon says, clicking the drum sticks together again. they’ve been at this section for far too long, trying to figure out how it’ll work with one less person. they all have to adjust the counts in their mind, now that part of the round is gone, but they’re making do.
they’re making do.
they take a water break, dairon finally satisfied with the change to their counts. it honestly makes more sense with the music now, following the melody of the flutes rather than the barely-audible ensemble harmony.
beauregard is silent throughout.
she checks her phone (no group chat updates, just her homework reminder app yelling at her) and drains what might honestly be half her bottle, and then sets up at her spot for part two.
she honestly doesn’t know how the rest of the guard seems to have moved on so damn quickly. sure, he wasn’t in the guard that long, but he still seemed to be friends with every fucking person, in the guard and out the guard. yet there robbie is, one of his closest friends laughing at a joke rosa made like they haven’t lost anyone.
(well, he wasn’t friends with everyone, part of her mind says, some traitorous part in the far back trying to break her current state of stability. he would still be here if he was friends with everyone.)
(shut up, she tells that part of her mind, gritting her teeth.)
“part two dancers are looking better,” zeenoth says. “we have time for one more run before the band comes back. let’s make it a good one.”
as a group, the guard is doing a fantastic job for where they in the year, and having just had all their drill altered.
(as an individual, beau wants to scream every time she sees the blank spot where molly should be on her right.)
***
the worst part, in beau’s opinion, is the guilt.
logically, she knows there’s nothing she could have done to change it. she wasn’t driving the car when it was hit, nor was she driving the car that hit them.
but still, she keeps thinking of what could’ve gone differently. if she was in the front seat, if she was driving instead of caleb, if they had gotten molly out of the fight earlier, if they had left at a different time, or a million other things that don’t matter because it isn’t what happened. molly died. that’s the end of it.
***
after practice, dairon calls beau over for a quick check-in.
“you seemed a bit… unfocused, during practice,” they start. beau keeps her face still.
“yeah, well.”
(there would’ve been more to that, if she knew what to say.)
“just know me and zeenoth are always here, alright?” dairon says. “or talk to a counselor during school. they’d understand.”
“okay.” a beat. “i’m going to go, my ride is leaving-”
“you can go.”
beau runs off, nearly forgetting to say goodbye and having to yell it over her shoulder.
***
there is a period of about a week where it feels like everyone in the school can only talk about molly’s death.
in the hall, beau will hear scattered mentions of his name, or people will give her a nod of acknowledgement, or random people in class will come up to her and say how sorry they are.
the worst, she thinks, is when her science teacher says it during announcements. it’s bad enough that he’s not in class anymore, bad enough he never will be, bad enough she has to be constantly bombarded by unwanted sympathy, but when miss ross has them go around in class and talk about how it’s made them feel, she damn near feels like screaming.
she doesn’t scream, not exactly, when connor starts talking about how horrible he’s been feeling, how sad he’s been, how much this has affected the whole fucking school.
she stands abruptly, pushing the chair back and slamming her hands down. “shut up!” she shouts, louder than she intended. “shut up! shut the fuck up! you didn’t know him! you weren’t his fucking friend! you didn’t see him when he died, or the day before, or literally any other time! you have one class with him! you did! not! know him!” she stops for a moment, breathing heavily.
“beauregard, sit down,” miss ross says with a start.
beauregard ignores her, and continues at the same intensity. “you do not get to mourn him! you were not there, you didn’t see him. did you know—”
“beauregard—”
“—he was unconscious for three days before he finally died? did you fucking know? were you doing your homework in the hospital waiting room with the rest of your friends waiting for him to wake up? i didn’t see you there. shut the fuck up!”
“beauregard.” miss ross is staring at her sternly. the rest of the class is too, scared and startled. connor looks like he can’t decide whether or not to cry.
beau breathes heavily, and waits for miss ross to send her to the office.
miss ross does just that, and beauregard is still as a stone while the woman in there calls her mother. all her energy was spent in the argument.
***
there is a ghost in the marching band.
in their drill, specifically. the guard drill was altered slightly to make up for any major gaps, but molly spent so much time on the edge of the field there wasn't too much needing changed.
the first game after the crash, no one is quite used to this new drill. beau confidently goes to the wrong spot on multiple occasions, and she nearly hits a sousa in her new passage.
watching the video the next day, she sees the clarinet block on the left side of the field. she remembers molly complaining about how his drill took him right through there. she remembers yussa telling the clarinets to take the more circuitous route, dairon telling molly to skip the work for now until they can figure out a better way to do it.
they never changed it, and it was built into their muscle memory, so now beau watches as the clarinets make way for a dead man.
***
she finds yasha in the stairwell in the middle of fifth period.
it’d be hypocritical to judge, since beau should be in german, so instead she stands there, waiting for permission.
yasha shuffles to the side a little bit, and beau sits next to her. they don’t say anything for a while. just sit in the silence of a million things that hurt too much to say. at one point beau leans her head on yasha’s shoulder.
finally, after minutes or hours, beau speaks. “we should probably go. fifth’ll be out soon, i don’t want to be trampled by the hoard of high schoolers.”
yasha chuckles, just slightly. just quietly. moves her head off beau, stands up slowly.
“i’ll see you at practice, then.”
beau nods her head. “see you then.”