Drummergirl

By Kim Flowers

Seventeen-year-old drummer Amy Parks has been in band since fifth grade, is now the percussion section leader, and belongs to a garage band called The Maniacs. After her first crush on another girl at the age of ten, she swore to keep that part of herself hidden, even from herself, and never let it out again. Her band director is rumored to be gay, but other than that, Amy knows no other gay people, and thinks the word “lesbian” can’t possibly apply to her, even though her younger sister Erin constantly calls her gay and Amy has a half-naked poster of JLo on her wall. But still, she can’t be gay, right?

Then Amy meets the new girl, fellow band member Becca.

Amy is afraid of the thoughts and feelings she experiences, and thinks if she gets a boyfriend, maybe she’ll stop being so attracted to Becca. When the first boyfriend doesn’t work out, she jumps to the next guy, but is still unsatisfied. Amy begins to go to the lesbian chat room online and befriends a mentor named WhiskeyMind, who tells her for the first time that being a lesbian is about love.

When Amy finally decides to tell Becca how she feels, she must face the choice of being true to herself and losing everything, or hiding in the closet just to keep her friends and her position in The Maniacs. Is coming out the right thing to do? Is Becca really the girl of her dreams, or is there someone else out there for her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Queerteen Press
• Release date: Sep 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646565696

Book preview

12

Chapter 1

I knew something was different about me when I was ten.

I rode the bus to school that morning, very excited. I was finally going to tell my best friend how cute I thought she was. I really didn’t think much about what would happen afterwards, except she would be so happy. She would smile, and…and I didn’t know what would happen after that. But it would be good.

I waited all day, nervous, and finally slipped the note onto her desk just before I left class to go to band, where I was learning how to play percussion. The note said, I think you are very cute. Unsigned, because she would just know it was from me.

I spent band class playing my heart out on my practice pad, gripping the drumsticks tightly and nodding my head to the beat. This was my favorite part about school. Well, except for the times I spent with Emily at recess.

When I came back, flushed and excited, I sat next to Emily expectantly. She was even shorter than I was, with black hair in pigtails.

Amy, she said. Look at this note I got!

I took the note, in my own handwriting, and grinned.

I asked every boy if they wrote it, and they all said no! I have no idea who wrote this!

Wait…she asked every boy? Why?

Emily snatched the note back and as the teacher started talking again I had the feeling that something wasn’t right. It gnawed at the back of my mind for the rest of the day.

Finally, when we were standing in line at the end of the day to go home, I found my voice, standing in the middle of the line, surrounded by other kids.

Emily, I told her in frustration. I wrote that note.

The whole room fell silent. Even the teacher stopped talking. A few kids turned to stare at me.

Something was definitely wrong.

As Emily turned without a word and we all left to get on the busses, I realized something was wrong with me, and I must never let anyone know this secret about me ever again.

And actually, that worked out for me for a while. The next day, Emily…and the rest of the class…didn’t bring up the note any more. No one questioned me, everyone just pretended it didn’t happen, and that was fine with me. That summer Emily moved away and I moved on with my life. I shoved any thoughts of her or any other cute girls deep, deep down in my mind and just tried to act natural. It was easy.

Until I met her.

* * * *

First day of school, 1998. I was seventeen, it was my senior year, and band class was first period. I still played percussion, and band was still my favorite part of school. We were standing around, wondering if we would have to go outside and march, when the director, Mr. Allens, stood at his podium and told everyone to take their seats. Mr. Allens was short but tough; ageless to me, with graying hair. Everyone respected him. Even though he was married to a woman, whom we had all met, there were still unconfirmed rumors that he was gay, which gave me hope because…because of what? Shove those thoughts away. The whole class scattered to their seats, the rest of the drummers and I standing in the back of the room. We’d been having our school’s version of band camp for the past two weeks: nightly practices, and the past weekend we’d already marched in our first parade. So all of us knew exactly where to go already.

Except for a new girl who stood awkwardly at the side of the room, holding an instrument case I didn’t recognize. She was tall and beautiful; long, curly black hair pulled back into a ponytail and blue eyes shy. This was intriguing. Our band was small and any new members were welcome, at least to me.

Everyone this is Becca, Mr. Allens said. She’s a sophomore and will be our first oboe. Go ahead and sit right here in front, between the flutes and clarinets. I have some music for you here; today we’re going to work on some new material for the next parade.

I wonder why she didn’t come to band camp, Jonah whispered to me, and I focused back on those around me.

We only had four drummers this year, one per grade. I was the section leader for the second year in a row, and took this task very seriously. Jonah was a freshman, tall with sandy hair and glasses. He played bass drum when we marched. Sophomore Lilly played crash cymbals, Junior Tiffany played snare drum, and I played the tenors, which were five differently toned drums of various sizes. These would be our roles for parades and football games. But for other songs we would switch up and play all kinds of different instruments, everyone getting a turn to play a different percussion ‘toy.’ Some of the toys included the triangle, cowbell, and woodblock. One of my jobs was to delegate the parts and make sure everything was fair, and to help teach the others if there was a problem. I tried to be a good leader and make sure everyone felt included and appreciated.

I got distracted again, and looked at the new girl, who had now put her oboe together and was shuffling through music. She was wearing a short skirt that looked like it was barely allowed according to the dress code. As a section leader, I felt it my job to be friendly to her, even though she wasn’t in my section nor grade. I could help her feel welcome and tell her if she needed anything she could come to me.

It was just the polite thing to do, really.

After practice, by the time I put all the drummer stuff away, Becca had disappeared and I was surrounded by my fellow drummers asking me questions, so I didn’t have the chance to talk to her, but I knew I would soon