in ninth grade is when i get chosen. the band teacher recognizes me and pulls me out to join the senior ensemble. i have to commute early to school an extra day. my father drops me off in his pajamas and i lug my odd-shaped instrument to the band room, where i take my seat as third horn next to two behemoths, reece and kaoru. one is the older brother of someone in my grade, and the other a japanese music prodigy. i barely speak, a silent alien. this year we're playing second suite in f for military band. it's a piece that i've been dropped into without precedent, advanced magic for older students. i am not particularly talented, but i can play the right notes at the right time. mostly i listen to the more skilled musicians play. i am transfixed by the euphonium solo, a sound so pure it tastes like melted white chocolate, a smoother version of my own instrument. and the piccolo, an ethereal winged fairy, flouncing above the swing of the fourth movement, leading the others in a knowing dance against the alligator jaws of time. the jaws close, and we are relieved to watch it escape.