Boy Swap Read Free Page A

don’t enjoy her as much as I do many, many other people. I’m a junior so this is my third year in band. Rayne is only a freshman but somehow beat me out for first chair. It drives me absolutely crazy, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Okay, I shouldn’t say there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Just nothing I want to do. Mr. Shank keeps telling me if I want to be first chair, then I can challenge Rayne for it. Which at first makes you think what? Pistols at thirty paces? But no, Mr. Shank’s a total whack job. If you want to challenge another musician for their chair, he sets up this freaking American Idol finale night situation in which the entire band attends and you stand up front and go head to head playing the same songs. Then we are like, critiqued by three seniors band members and the entire band gets to vote who should get the higher chair. I mean, come on people, who in their right mind is going to put themself through all that? So needless to say there aren’t many challenges.
    I take my flute out of my case and quickly line up the pieces, adjusting the head piece to stick out just a centimeter further than it is supposed to be. This is my own little secret—I really think it makes the sound better.
    “Hi, Brooke,” Rayne says, giving me a once over and smiling.
    I sigh. “Hi, Rayne.”
    She makes this muffled heh-heh sound and I see her look up at Chris and then at my scarf. Hmph. She seems to have made the connection between the scarf and the club. Is she in Boy Swap? I give her a once over too, searching for a tuft of pink coming out of anywhere. But nope—no scarf. I don’t recall ever seeing her with a pink scarf either. Maybe I’m reading too much into her reaction.
    *      *      *
    Can we just call this BEST DAY EVER? Seriously, it’s only 4th period and my day has been amazing. Everyone is looking at me differently. Everyone is treating me differently. Yesterday, I had my band friends and my French club friends and the kids I sit with at lunch. But that was it. Nobody beyond that had a clue who Brooke Thomas was. But today, well, today my name is buzzing through the air. I’m on the tip of every girl’s lips. And it isn’t just the non-scarf-owning population that is talking about me. The popular girls, those in the Boy Swap Club that is, are all nodding acknowledgement. You know, kinda like how one semi-truck driver acknowledges another on the highway? Or how one dude in a shiny Mustang convertible slows down to let another dude in a shiny Mustang convertible in his lane? It’s like that—they’re acknowledging their own. And wow, I didn’t realize how huge Boy Swap really is. I mean, this morning alone I probably spotted thirty-five scarves. Girls are wearing them in all kinds of styles: in their belt loops, peeking out of a pocket, on a purse handle, or tied around their neck. I even saw one girl with a scarf tied around her ankle.
    I’m busily trying to figure out how to handle my new position in Jefferson High society. I mean, I want to run up to each girl with a scarf and become instant besties but that would give away the whole secret club thing, right? I’ll just have to sit back and observe for a while. See what the other girls do.
    “Hey, Babe,” Chris says, tossing an arm around my shoulder and shaking me out of my thoughts.
    “Hi, Sweetie.” I stand up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. We walk toward the gym—we both have class there next hour.
    “Did I mention that you look really pretty today?” he adds.
    “No, but thank you. You look good too.” I lean into him. Aww. Even Chris is acting differently today. I love this scarf.
    “Practice was crazy this morning, huh? It was so freakin’ cold outside—I can’t believe Skank made us go outside to rehearse.”
    “I know! I was a total Brookesicle.” Especially since I refused to wear a hat and cover my scarf.
    “At least you get to march around,” Chris says. “We just stand up