Notes From An Accidental Band Geek (22 page)

I bowed out of the game and slipped out of my seat. Across the back, Steve and Punk were watching a movie on a laptop, earbuds in and eyes riveted to the screen. Hadn’t Steve said something about not coming back here? I thought as I folded the tiny bathroom door closed behind me. Maybe they’re watching something they’re not supposed to.

When I finished washing my hands, I grabbed the ring that passed for a knob and it came off in my grasp. A square black hole appeared where the knob should have been.

Fighting a wave of panic, I tried to fit the knob-piece back into the hole. It wouldn’t stay. Then I stuck my finger in the hole and rattled the door, trying to get it to budge. No dice. Whatever mechanism locked it was stuck.

I was trapped in the bus bathroom on the highway in the middle of Connecticut. I pounded on the door.

“Guys!! Guys!” I called. “Lemme out!” I waited. Nothing. Punk and Steve were plugged in and tuned out, so I knew they wouldn’t hear me. The seat up against the bathroom was filled with coats and a few pieces of luggage, no help there. I shook the door again, and yelled as loud as I could, over and over again.

“I! Am! Stuck!”

Finally, Punk’s voice came through the tiny hole where the knob used to live.

“Who’s in there?”

“Me! Elsie.”

“Elsie?! Crud.” Punk’s voice grew a little fainter as he moved away from the door. “Steve! Elsie’s locked in the bathroom.”

Steve uttered some pretty creative swears. “I told you not to go in there!” he said.

“
You
did this?!” I screeched. Of course. That’s what they’d been up to—they’d been messing with the knob when we came on the bus. “Fix it and get me out!”

“Okay, okay. Hold your horses,” came Steve’s voice.

“I am stuck in a
bathroom
! ” I shrieked. “I am
not
holding my horses.”

“Elsie? Elsie? Calm down.” Jake’s voice joined the boys’. “Just calm down. We’ll get you out.” I tried to regain control of myself, so he wouldn’t think I was a total lunatic, but I was so embarrassed, I wanted to die.

“Elsie,” came Steve’s fake-happy voice, “we’ve, uh, encountered a little problem.”

“Uh-huh . . .” I said through gritted teeth. “Littler than me being stuck in the bathroom? Because this is a pretty
big
problem, as far as I can tell, Steve.”

I imagined Steve, Jake, and Punk exchanging glances. Oh, who was I kidding? Everyone knew what was going on by now. My face flamed. Zombie Chicken was going to sound like the best nickname ever once they coined ones from this disaster.

“We—
ow!
—okay
, I
broke a screw.” Punk sounded apologetic. “I, uh, think we’re going to have to call for help. Stay right there.”

“Where the
heck
am I going to go?” And what did “call for help” mean? 911? The state police? Were they going to have to use the Jaws of Life to get me out? I’d be on the news, and my mother’s wacky newsmagazine fears would have come true.

“Who are you calling?” I said.

“They went to get Mr. Sebastian,” Hector responded, confirming my suspicions about being the Spectacle of the Trip.

A second later, Mr. Sebastian chimed in.

“Elsie, are you all right?” His concerned tone nearly brought me to tears. I’d been trapped for over twenty minutes.

“Yuh-yes,” I stuttered. I regained some control. “I’m okay.”

“Listen, we’re going to stop at a rest area in about ten minutes and we’re going to get you out. Just hang in there. And
you
two”—I assumed this was directed at Punk and Steve—“you two are in for it.
Big
-time.”

I leaned against the carpet-covered wall of my antiseptic-smelling prison and caught my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were red and blotchy, and my hair was a disaster. I tried to pull myself together for the impending rescue, and found that, despite being completely annoyed at Steve and Punk, I saw a glimmer of humor at the whole situation. Not that I’d let anyone think I found this funny.

Jake, Hector, Sarah, Steve, Punk, and Mr. Sebastian chatted with me through the door until we arrived at the rest area. The bus slowed down, then hit speed bumps pulling into the parking lot. The sink dug into my side. We slowed to a stop, but my heart sped up. How would they get me out?

“They’re letting everyone off the bus for a, err, bathroom break,” Jake said through the door. “I don’t think anyone wants to use this one.”

“I don’t blame them,” I said dryly.

“Elsie,” Mr. Sebastian said. “We’re going to take a new approach. Do you see the window?”

I glanced at the tiny window way above the toilet. Oh, man. Were they thinking . . .

“It’s an emergency exit.” A gruff, gravelly voice—the bus driver’s, most likely—joined the conversation. “There’s a rubber piece that pulls off around the frame, and you pop the window out. Do you see?”

I saw. A little tag that read “pull in case of emergency” was posted at the base of the window. “You want me to
climb out the window
?” I asked, incredulous. “SERIOUSLY?”

“I’m afraid we have no choice,” Mr. Sebastian said. “Unless you want to ride the rest of the way to New York in there.”

Negatory.

“Give us a minute to get outside, and we’ll get ready for you. Jake will watch us and tell you when to pop the tab. Okay?”

How was this my life?

“It’s not like I have any other options,” I answered.

“You’re doing great,” Jake said through the door. “I’m totally impressed.” Warmth flooded through me at his words, and, in spite of the situation, I smiled.

“Okay, I think they’re ready for you,” he said.

I should’ve spent more time looking at the layout of the bathroom. To knock the window out, I’d have to straddle the lidless toilet seat, then hoist myself up and through the opening. Great.

I stepped onto the slick plastic, bracing myself with one hand against the wall. The neon-blue puddle inside the toilet would leave an unmistakable stain on my white sneakers if I took one wrong step. Before pulling the rubber tab, I glanced out the window.

The entire band was standing there, staring up at me.
Way
up at me.

I’d forgotten that between the luggage bays and big wheels, the charter was extra-tall. The drop looked to be about nine hundred feet—but was probably more like ten.

And Mr. Sebastian stood waiting, arms up to catch me.

36

As soon as the group saw me peek out the window, the chanting began.

“Jump! Jump ! Jump!”

I was going to fall straight into Mr. Sebastian’s waiting arms. Horror, embarrassment, and deadly anger combined inside of me for an emotional cocktail. My hands shook as I pulled the emergency exit seal from around the window. “Push glass to exit,” read the little sign. I pushed, and the rectangular pane popped out and clattered to the pavement below. A big crack bisected the window. The band cheered.

“Okay, Elsie,” Mr. Sebastian called. AJ joined him, so now I had two rescuers. “Just reach out for my arms and we’ll catch you.”

“Oh, man,” I muttered. Could I even
fit
through a window that small? I wasn’t sure I could squeeze my shoulders through. It looked about as big as a postage stamp. Trying to keep my footing on the toilet, I stood on tiptoes and stuck my arms through the window opening. My chest pressed against the frame. I leaned forward as far as I could, bent my elbows, gripped each side of the opening, and heaved.

My bandmates fell silent.

Mr. Sebastian and AJ stepped forward.

My upper body slid through with no problem, and I found myself in this weird position half in, half out of the bathroom: feet dangling above the toilet, arms braced against the outside of the bus, like a crazy figurehead on a ship.

“C’mon, Chicken! Let go! Reach for us!” AJ said. They were just below me. AJ could have stood on his toes and grabbed my wrists. “We’ll pull you out!”

Mouth dry, I did what he said. I bent at the waist, toward the ground, so I wouldn’t fall back into the bathroom. The window ledge cut into my body at my belly button. I had to hang my head down, so all I could see was the dirty gray side of the bus. My heart beat louder than a bass drum. All of this happened in the split second it took AJ to grab my surprisingly freezing and dry palms in his warm hands. He tugged, my stomach scraped against the window frame, and I fell—right into a pair of arms that grabbed me awkwardly at the waist. A cheer went up from the crowd and Mr. Sebastian put me down gently. My knees shook and I fought the urge to hide.

“The chicken flies!” yelled AJ triumphantly. He raised my hands—which he hadn’t let go of—over my head in a victory salute. They all expected me to freak out, to turn chicken and run.

Not today.

“Buck-buck ba-gawk!” I squawked as loud as I could, finally getting it. I was Chicken because I belonged, not because I
didn’t
fit in.

“Yeaaahhh ! !” everyone yelled. Mr. Sebastian cracked up. Hector, Sarah, and Jake appeared at my elbow for hugs and high fives. I thanked Mr. Sebastian and AJ, and looked at the crowd that remained.

“Anyone need to pee?” I called. “Bathroom’s free!”

37

Luckily, the rest of the ride to New York was nowhere near as interesting or entertaining. Happy to be sitting in a seat instead of locked in a germy cubicle, I played a few more hands of Pig with Hector, Sarah, and Jake, and then rested my head on Jake’s shoulder to take a nap. Feeling his heat through his shirt, I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep, but I guess being locked in a bathroom takes a lot out of a person, because soon I was asleep.

We arrived in Manhattan a little before seven, just in time for dinner. The buses took us to a big chain restaurant, where we ate fast and got right back on for our ride to the hotel. Since we received our invitation so late, and there were so many people in town for the parade, most of the hotels in the city were booked. We had to stay in New Jersey—although “stay” was putting it lightly. We arrived at nearly ten, and had a one a.m. wake-up call so we could shower and ride back into Manhattan for our middle of the night recording session. Basically, it’d be a glorified nap.

Sarah and I shared a room with two freshmen woodwind players, who thought the jokes they made when I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth were hysterical.

At one point I nudged Sarah. “Thanks for finally accepting my apology,” I said, shy. “I missed hanging out with you.”

“And I missed your clueless and annoying comments,” she said. But she was smiling when she spoke, and I knew she was kidding.

“Anything you want to tell me?” I asked, changing the subject.

She stared at me blankly.

“Anything . . . about my section leader?” I gave her a mischievous grin.

Her face lit up. “
Finally,
Elsie!”

She talked my ear off for an hour about him, until finally the other girls convinced us to watch a cheesy romantic comedy to kill time. I dozed a little, but we were all awake when the phone rang at one. Forty minutes later, we were back on the bus.

“Did you sleep at all?” I asked Jake. This time, I was in the window seat. Neon dotted the darkness. Jake shook his head.

“No way.” He’d shared a room with Hector and two trumpet players. “Steve, Punk, AJ, and Mac were next door to us. Our rooms were connected, so we hung out and played cards.” He yawned. “I beat them at hearts four times, and made them swear they’d never lock you in a bathroom again.”

I grinned. “Thanks. You are too thoughtful.”

“And I’ll be keeping you close by,” he said. He snuggled lower in his seat and regarded me with his big hazel eyes. My heart pounded, and my palms became slick.

“Uh, how close?” I squeaked.

“Close,” he said. He leaned in—close. Closer. Closest . . .

His lips touched mine, and a fizzy, buzzy shock burst through my body. I was so surprised, I sat straight up and broke the kiss. Cool, Elsie. Cool.

He looked hurt. “Are you okay?”

“Yuh-yeah,” I stammered. “Fine. I just . . . it just . . . it was nice,” I finished lamely.

“Nice,” he said.

I nodded. “Very.”

“Nice enough to try that again?”

I pretended to consider his answer while I tried to regain control of my staccato beating heart.

“I suppose,” I said. I scooched down in the seat, leaned toward him, and closed my eyes. This time, I was somewhat prepared for the delicious jolty feeling, and I didn’t freak out. I just did my best to kiss him back. He pulled away, breaking the kiss, and I opened my eyes.

“That okay?” I asked, shy. He slipped his arm through mine.

“I’d say so,” he said.

“Jake,” I said, unsure, “can I ask you a question?” He nodded, and I went on. “It’s just . . . I don’t know why you like me. I mean, I’m glad that you do—you are one of the nicest, most considerate people I know—and I’m so . . . prickly.”

“You forgot good-looking,” he teased. “I’m nice, considerate, and good-looking.” I swatted at him and he grabbed my hands. “Seriously, Elsie? You don’t know?”

I shook my head, suddenly feeling all teary and not knowing why.

“You’re just . . . you’re different. You work harder than anyone I know. You love music. You say what you mean—sometimes that can get you in trouble, but you don’t want to hurt people on purpose. And you have a great smile, for a chicken.”

His words warmed me. I didn’t know what to say back, so I settled for giving him the biggest hug I could. He kissed me on the head, a quick peck. “I think we should try and get some rest before the dress rehearsal,” he said, and yawned again.

I tilted my head onto his shoulder. The bus tires hummed, the engine growled, and Jake’s rhythmic breathing filled my mind as I drifted off.

The next thing I knew, Jake was shaking me and the bus had stopped.

“Time to get into uniform!” Sarah popped over the seat in front of us.