I’m the last one in the room, so I fling the door open, hold it with my hip and then back the xylophone out, banging nearly every key on the door jam as I do it. Then it hits me. I don’t know where the gym is.

I don’t know where the gym is!

There’s a natural flow of students walking down a hill, so I follow them. And when I start to see instruments in a few hands, I sigh with relief.

The doors to the gym are within sight. Unfortunately, Demon Spawn and his group of friends are also nearby, almost guarding the door. My inner voice is wishing he won’t notice me, but the awkward new student is hoping one of them will help me inside and hold open the door.

Neither wish is granted, and his eyes land squarely on me, his lip doing that twitching thing again that lets me know he sees me. It also lets me know he isn’t going to be of any help at all.

I’m lifting the front wheels down a level on the sidewalk and am only a dozen or so yards from the entrance when I look at him again to catch him nod a laugh to his friends—just before he kicks his foot toward me, covering my pathway in gravel.

It doesn’t take long for one of the tiny stones to wedge itself into one of the wheels, causing a high-pitched screeching sound and leaving a long, chalk-like skid for the few feet I drag my frozen wheel along the walkway. I stop, bend down, and push the rock out with the back of my mallet, my face burning from the attention. When I stand again, he’s looking at me—laughing.

“You’re an asshole,” I say, which only makes his lip twitch again.

“Hey, sorry, this is hard to haul alone,” Willow says, opening up the door and staring down Demon Spawn. “Not every guy at this school is a douchebag. Most of them help a girl out when she needs it.”

My demon neighbor slowly raises his hand, holding up a middle finger before blowing her a kiss.

“In your dreams, Owen,” she fires back.

Willow grabs the front of my keyboard and helps me guide the xylophone inside, all the way to the far end of the gym where the band is now set up.

“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it. So far, this first day has sucked epic proportions.

“No sweat,” she says, leaning against the wall next to me.

I recognize the principal from my visit to the office this morning to get my schedule. He taps on a microphone a few times and then begins to say a few announcements, something about busses, student parking, lunch hours—none of this applies to me. Of course, an hour ago, a xylophone didn’t apply to me either.

When I look to my right, I notice Demon Spawn, who I guess is really named Owen, shuffle along the front of the bleachers until he and his friends are almost next to me. He chuckles lightly when he’s near me, then turns to climb to the top of the bleachers. Maybe I imagine hearing his arrogant laugh, but I sort of don’t think I do.

“What’s his story?” I whisper to Willow.

“Who, Owen?” she asks.

“I guess. That’s his name?” I respond.

“Yeah. That’s Owen Harper. He’s…well…he’s a dick. Sorry, hope you’re not offended by that word,” she says, covering her mouth, like she’s trying to be demure. I like Willow. She’s direct and funny, and she seems like she’s fine with who she is. She reminds me of Gaby and Morgan.

“I’m from the city. I’ve heard worse,” I smile, and she leans into me.

“Cool. Okay, well then…he’s a major fucking dick!” she laughs, and I join her.

“Right. I think I already had that much figured out. Rocks kicked at me sorta clinched my hunch, but thanks,” I whisper to her, trying not to interrupt the rest of the principal’s speech.

Willow shrugs, then kicks off from the wall to stand in front of the band after the principal tells everyone to rise and remove their hats. I note the key that they’re playing in, and leave my music tucked away. I know the national anthem, so I won’t have to read this one. The fight song is going to be a different story though.

Near the end of the song, I allow myself to glance in Owen’s direction, and he and his friends are all standing still with their hats against their chest, respectful of this, at the very least. I don’t know why, but for some reason I’m relieved that he’s not that much of an asshole.

We play two or three more songs before the football team is announced, and I manage to figure out the fight song quickly, playing along. My dad would throw a fit if he knew this is how my first period of music was going. I’m kind of having fun, though, so I don’t think I’ll tell him.