Courtney Brandt

Myron, all six feet of super cuteness, comes forward. He smiles and I almost die, because he has one adorable dimple. Instead of getting embarrassed about his first name, he offers his hand and says, __all me McDaniel.

Denny gave me a strange look when I showed up in the band room, but I have always believed playing drums is no excuse not to look cute. Besides, if McDaniel shows up, I want to look my best. Oh, crap, I should be paying attention. __id you hear anything I said?__ answer honestly, __o.__enny runs a hand through his spiked hair and asks, __o you really want to learn how to march?___ have to learn to march if I want to be a part of the section, right?___ight.___hen, it doesn__ really matter if I want to do anything. It__ something I have to do.__enny looks confused and partially like he__ completely regretting the decision to add me to his section, but proceeds to teach me drill for the better part of two hours. While we run through the steps, I look longingly over at my quints, which I have secretly decided to name Quincy.

Denny and McDaniel go into the percussion room and grab a bizarre metal contraption. Denny lifts it over his head and I give him a strange look, to which he responds like I__ a five year old, __arr-i-er.

Once more for Britain,â_ I said to the empty room. I might not be the Queen everyone wanted me to be, but I was intelligent and fully capable of breaking the code.

And now we both blushed, because things like changing oneâ__s garments should not be discussed among a Queen and one of her subjects.

My station has barely recovered from the massacre, and we have not held my formal coronation, not to mention the fact I am only eighteen years of age and have no parent present. How on earth do people expect me to find a husband in all of this nonsense?