#i used to play saxophone in school KNOW that reed taste

[aceinacloset]

I would like to provide Ballora a Rico 2.5 clarinet reed to taste test. It is very woody.

Funtime Foxy, whatcha mean she has phantom taste? Can she still taste certain objects? Where does this muscle-memory taste originate from?

Ballora: *licks it* hm...

Ft Foxy: Who do you think gave her that phantom taste? 🤨 and I'm not too sure. All I know is that sometimes she can taste things, so sometimes she has this drive to bite/eat things to see if she can taste them.

Elizabeth: ... 🙋‍♀️

[baritonetcc]

Talent

I can’t believe where I am, I look like a protagonist of a cliche anime scene. Allergy-inducing blossoms and buds rain down around me, in a slow breeze, so more like a caramel rain. My only ride is running late, so I’m forced to remain on school grounds past my scheduled time of death. The school courtyard is empty, since school has been out for long enough for the buses to leave, and athletes were changing for sports practice. I’m sitting under a tree, finishing up a book that I stole from my English teacher’s shelf (thanks, Mr. Bradner). Oh hey, speaking of Mr. Bradner, I should go hang out in his room. The breeze is blowing majestic fronds into my not-so-majestic hair and mouth, so an empty classroom would be a nice chance of pace. I’m sure Savannah has stopped annoying him by now and pissed off to whatever hellhole she crawled out of.

I’m walking up to the building where Mr. Bradner’s room is, and Andrew Pratt bursts out of the doors, clearly late for track practice. 

“Where have you been, Tommie? I’ve been looking for you forever! I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

Oh boy, here we go with his questions. If he asks me for answers for the math review again I swear-

“So some of the band members have been wanting to perform in an ensemble for the talent show, a big band. We wanted to play ‘Feel The Love Go’ by Franz Ferdinand, and we need someone to play the alto solo...?”

He knows that I’m going to say yes, doesn’t he. He couldn’t have asked any other alto sax player? He couldn’t have had another instrument play it? I think it would be really cool on piano. 

Thinking that I wasn’t getting the hint he continued, “So would you be interested in it? We really wanted to give it to you...”

I finally open my mouth, knowing that Andrew’s coach is going to murder him. “Sure. Text me when you can, now go to practice.”

Andrew is so good at life. He gets along with his family, he has an amazing dog, he’s a great trombone player, and he’s a track star. I wish he was better at managing his time.

I sink into a desk in Mr. Bradner’s room, where he’s correcting papers. He likes to work until he’s done with whatever task he assigns himself before going home, so I don’t say much. I go through the tasks I have written in my planner, and it’s quite bare, more than usual. I occasionally look up to see Mr. Bradner scowling at someone’s chicken scratch, or whoever’s in the hallway. Hey. Mr. Heser’s walking by. Eventually, my phone buzzes with a text. 

Andrew P(rat)t: Kyre has all the music for the group, u should go take a look ok?

What a slacker, I hope he trips because he was texting me instead of tying his shoes. I gather my things and head down to the band hall, where Mrs. Kyre resides. I get to thinking about the important questions. Who else is in the group? Why can’t I just NOT be in the talent show? I was hoping I could spend the rest of the year taking it easy, without having to worry about the talent show in June. I find myself in the band room, where Mrs. Kyre conveniently remembers to hand me the music upon seeing me. Andrew set me up for this. I whip up my hair and bust out my saxophone. I stay in the actual band room, since it’s not being used and I’d rather not lock myself in a practice room. I glance at the clock while wrestling the ligature onto the mouthpiece. I can’t believe it’s already almost four, I should’ve just walked home. I warm up quickly, look through the music, and begin trying it. Whoever wrote this isn’t half bad at transcribing, and they thankfully took mercy on the alto saxes. It was probably one of Andrew’s nerdy friends. Wait. I’m one of his nerdy friends. 

I dig into the piece, and I get into the solo part. I honk my soul out with the epicness that Adolf Sax couldn’t even begin to imagine, when I see someone walk in out of the corner of my eye. I’ve never sightread this well in my entire life before. Hell yeah, check out this badassery, Mrs. Kyre! And then I realize it’s not Mrs. Kyre. It’s Miss Avery. In that moment, I forget what key signature I’m in. I don’t know what measure I’m on. I forget how to finger any of these notes. What’s a note? I hopelessly squeak a half-assed attempt at the rhythm written on the page, then stop because I think my ears have actually fallen off.

Miss Avery smiles at me. Of course she does. She doesn’t know half of the effect she has on me. I try to talk to her, but all the words stick to my throat on the way up. Oh, and my saxophone is still in my mouth.

“Wow, that’s some real nice stuff there. You’re so into your whole band thing. I love it.”

I know she’s lying. That was the worst sound I’ve heard since hearing someone MacGyver a thick layer of aluminum foil in between the rollers of a Polaroid camera, then threw it at a running band saw when the shop teacher walked by. I didn’t even know my instrument could make such racket.

“Thanks, Miss. Are you looking for Mrs. Kyre?”

“Yeah, actually. Oh, there she is.”

Miss Avery and Mrs. Kyre set to getting completely distracted with whatever they talk about, and I get through the rest of the song.

I can’t believe I’m in Andrew’s living room with my saxophone. Honestly, it’s kind of cozy though. All of us practicing together, on these nice pillows and not in the band room. The entire way here, I complained to my friends via text about going to Andrew’s house, but I’m enjoying myself more than I made it seem. It’s a nice tone overall, and it’s a nice change since our drummer isn’t here. It’s a calm and quiet evening, and some jazzy tunes makes it powerful. His mom also makes otherworldly cupcakes. They don’t even have frosting or anything, but they taste like a sweet, buttery blanket of the warmth of innocence. It’s a week before the final show, and we’re really just working on dynamics and expression to really nail the song. Since it’s so close to the show, there’s been a lot of hype. Miss Avery asked me if I was going to see the talent show. I really wanted to surprise her, so I told her I was going, rather than informing her that I was in it, like the good child I usually am.

It’s the night of the show. I’m standing offstage in my snazzy tux (thanks, Andrew’s mom) and holding my saxophone. I usually don’t wear anything like this, which is why I’m borrowing something that Andrew’s mom pulled out of his closet from a couple years ago. He’s tall and skinny, so I didn’t have to steal anything recent from him. Last minute, we figured the stage would be blazing by the time we got on, so we ditched our jackets. The sleeves of my stark white shirt are neatly rolled up, and it’s not a bad look for me. This shirt fits surprisingly well, with the buttons over my chest doing their job, even if Andrew is a stick compared to me. Apparently, one of the trumpet players had a problem with the fact that she wore her nice diamond earrings, and I wore purple gauges. I can’t wait until she finds out that they glow in the dark. They match the album cover of the song we’re playing, so I think I win here.

I peek around the curtain, since nobody really cares at this point. The theatre’s seats are filling in with equal amounts of snickering teenagers and parents with genuine concern for our generation. I silently thank them as my eyes wander. Our theatre has planetarium-style lighting, along with the typical lights lining the wall. It’s calming to see all the bustling shadows of people finding a place to sit. I look up towards the back, and see Miss Avery coming in. She seems like she’s in a rush, and she’s looking around frantically. I dismiss the idea that she’s looking for me...but, is she? She spots a group of other teachers and they wave her over. Probably not, then. 

A couple kids eventually take the stage to thank everyone for coming, and begin intoducing the acts. I suck on my reed absentmindedly.

There’s a few dance groups, which were definitely all entertaining. Someone did a backflip off of a chair. There’s a lot of people who sing, including Savannah, who sang some basic, repetitive pop song. The musical acts are impressive, but maybe I’m just biased. Finally, the curtains close, to open for one last time. A bored looking junior steps on with a microphone, telling the theatre, “The last, but not least act we have is a band ensemble. They will be performing ‘Feeling Love Go’ by Fronz Ferdindand.” Whatever, close enough. “The group consists of various members of our school’s band, and features a saxophone solo, played by Tommie Byers.” That’s me. 

We hurry to get all of our equipment on stage. The most terrifying part was Talon’s fancy Moog keyboard setup, and making sure we were all in the right place. As we’re setting up, ‘Paper Cages’ plays. I’m wondering who’s responsible for shoving Franz Ferdinand down everybody’s throats. It’s probably the drummer. Our bari saxes conveniently bump their stands together, knocking over their music. I stand in my assigned spot perfectly, and the curtain opens. I haven’t even thought about Miss Avery again until now. Did she enjoy the rest of the show? Has she already gotten up to leave early? Once my sight adjusts to the dark sea of humans, I find her, with her eyes trained on the stage. 

The song kicks in, starting with just the rhythm section. The winds then pick up on the melody, and the guitarist strums out funky chords. Talon and his brother work magic on the keyboards. The brass delivers a bright punch, lead by Andrew. I swell with anticipation as I feel my solo come up. For some reason, I look right at Miss Avery, who has no idea what’s going to hit her. I wink. God, that was probably so cringe-worthy. I bust into my solo, starting small at first. Then I’m out there, jumping the octave, and tonguing some banging rhythms. The winds start doing this siren sounding pattern to fill in. Am I dancing? Oh God, I’m dancing. I kick out my legs and do that weird swinging squat swing like every dramatic sax player does. The brass kicks out, except for one trumpet, which follows the siren action. My solo ends after some dizzying sixteenth notes, and I’m still swayed by the music. The rhythm section continues the ride with the winds, until the song ends on a kind of questioning note, almost as if we are prompting the audience to react with whatever they were holding in the whole time.

Everybody loses it, maybe because it’s just the last show and they want to go home. All the show’s participants rejoin on the stage for pictures and such. Some kids were getting flowers from friends and family. I run down into the rapidly emptying theatre, still huffing, still red from the lights, and still holding my saxophone. My neck strap digs into my skin, as I chase after Miss Avery. We make eye contact, and she grins at me. 

“So, what did you think?” “What did I think? Well, I didn’t! That was awesome, kid! When you stepped up with that solo, my mind was blown. You did great up there, and I’m sure every person in this room enjoyed it!”

“Oh, thanks! I...I worked really hard on it, and it was really fun, actually.” “You don’t have to say that, I think we alllll knew how much fun you were having up there,” at this point, Talon’s younger brother came to retrieve my awkwardly dangling saxophone, “and I had no idea! How come you never told me that you guys were getting together to do this?”

I chuckled, “Well, I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“That was amazing, and I’ve never seen you like that before. Come here!”

Before I know it, her arms are around me. I can’t imagine that it’s pleasant to hug a musician so passionately right after their performance, but my endorphins don’t care. Miss Avery gets a parent to take a picture of us together, and my new lock screen is Miss Avery with her arm around me in front of the stage. I’m still wearing my neck strap.