Boy Swap Read Free Page B

front and freeze.” That’s true. Mr. Shank positions the percussion section in the front of the field and the rest of us do the routine.
    “Poor baby,” I say jokingly, and give his shoulder a little shove with mine.
    “Hey there. Looking good,” a tall, leggy blond says to Chris as she walks by, totally interrupting our couple cuteness. I have no idea who she is, but I suddenly have a strong urge to do this morning’s marching routine all over her face. Who does she think she is telling my boyfriend he looks good right in front of me? Rude much? I feel Chris stiffen, his arm still around my shoulder. Okay, apparently he registered the weirdness factor of this situation too.
    Oh yeah. It’s the scarf. Boy Swap. God, this is like walking around with a freaking vacancy sign flashing over my head. You too can have Chris’s arms wrapped around you! Ew. I don’t even want to picture that. But it is what I signed up for, I guess. And I got the cute scarf. And maybe some cool new friends. And the thrill of torturing Delaney with my mere existence. Not to mention Chris looks about as interested in Blondie’s flirting as he would be in getting a flu shot. So, it will be okay. I force a smile and look up at Chris.
    “I can’t wait for the party tonight,” I say, breaking the awkward silence. Chris looks instantly relieved. Like, one of those, oh-thank-god-we-don’t-have-to-get-into-an-hour-long-fight-over-why-that-girl-just-talked-to-me looks.
    “Me too,” he replies.
     

Chapter 3: Friday Night Fights
    Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Panthers! Panthers! Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Panthers! Panthers!
    The stands are shaking with what looks like the entire student body stomping their feet and screaming. There is so much orange and black clothing in the stands that it looks like Halloween. No one can say the JHS students are not HUGE on school spirit.
    “Ladies and Gentleman,” an announcer booms through the intercom system during half-time, “put your hands together for the Jefferson High School Marching Band, together with the Flag Corps and Dance Squad.” The stands go wild with applause and my heart speeds up as we march quickly out to our marks on the field. The realistic portion of my brain is well aware that the crowd is NOT applauding for the band or the flag corps but rather the dance squad in their micro-minis, but I like to pretend. It motivates me to give the performance my all.
    We play the school song and march into various lines and circles around the field. The dancers are kicking their little brains out and the flags are twirling like windmills around the edges of our large group. The students in the stands are screaming the Panther’s fight song and making the required cat-like scratches to the beat.
    “Go Panthers, Go Panthers
    Growl! Growl!
    Win Panthers, Win Panthers
    Now! Now!
    Fight for us, Win for us
    We’re behind you all the way.
    Go Panthers, Win Panthers
    Save the day!
    Growl!”
    The stand erupts in cheers again as the dance squad leaves the field and we stay on to finish the rest of the half-time show. About 75% of the crowd stands up and moves toward the concession stand or bathrooms for the rest of our performance. Figures.
    Once we are back in the stands and have put our instruments down at our seats, I drop my silly hat with the enormous white feather plume and run down the rows to meet up with Chris for our traditional hot chocolate break. We do this after every home game half-time show. I jump down to the final row where he’s standing and he takes my hand. We walk down the aisle toward the concession stand and I swear a couple of the dance squad girls wink at him. But maybe they are just cold from the lack of clothing and their eyes are all fluttery trying to protect their brains from freezing. There’s something good about our band uniforms after all. With a half-inch of polyester, I’m rather toasty right now.
    Chris orders our hot chocolates with extra whipped