Well, while Mom was putting us through the torture of extensive house cleaning to get ready for Thanksgiving and company, this idea randomly entered my mind. I'm not sure how long it will be, but it will definitely be longer than a one-shot.

This idea still makes me snicker when thinking about it. Hehehehe.

Disclaimer: Well... I own all the books (except for one an ex-friend lost. It was my favorite (Eagle Strike), too (tear)), the movie (I'm not sure why...), and the idea behind this fic and everyone in the section, so I'm good! I don't need money anyways, I babysit (cringe).

Alex stared at his history notes sideways as his head rested on his desktop. The letters blurred and the grip he had on his pencil relaxed. Slowly, he drifted off into dreamland after another night of endless catch-up homework. It was only two weeks into the semester and he was already behind, trying to learn all the information he had missed – and failed on the finals.

Ten minutes would hardly matter if he didn't pay attention, he could always ask Tom about the lesson. His last coherent thought was that it was irresponsible to sleep when he was behind.

His unconsciousness drifted towards... smoothies... cherry smoothies... no, it was blood... No! Don't go there... Food sounds good... cheese... Alex... no, that's not food... Alex?!... Alex Rider!!

Alex bolted up in his chair. His history teacher was glaring at him and a counselor had a stern look on her face from the doorway. "I need you to come with me, Alex."

Alex nodded, fighting off fatigue. "Should I bring my stuff?"

The woman shrugged. "I would, there's only ten minutes left of the period." Alex glanced at the clock. He had slept longer than he thought.

The woman led him into the office and down a hallway into her office. She motioned to a chair and turned to the computer to pull up Alex's school file.

Alex sat down and was silent as she regarded him for a moment.

"It seems as though you did okay on your finals, despite the amount of school you've missed from your illnesses. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," she said.

"Okay, then what did you want to talk to me about? I'm missing my lesson," Alex complained.

She humphed. "It didn't seem to bother you much that you were missing it while you were sleeping before I pulled you out."

"Fair point, do go on."

"Well, to graduate, you need a fine arts credit. With each semester, you get half a credit. Now, I think you can manage this, but we'll need to change your schedule so we can put you into a fine arts class this year."

"Why do I need to do it this year?"

"Because next year you'll need to take both personal fitness and language," she stated. Alex inwardly groaned. He had been putting off both. Language because there wasn't much to learn and he dreaded sitting in a classroom bing bored all day, and personal fitness because he was a little... sensitive... about changing in front of all the other boys with his bullet wound and various other scars that adorned his body. "There is the option of taking personal fitness this year, but I'm afraid all of the language classes are full."

Alex nodded. "I'll take a fine arts, then." The longer he could put off personal fitness, the longer his body had time to heal and scars to fade.

"Okay," she clicked her mouse a few times and frowned at the computer. "It seems all the electives except a few are taken."

"What are those few?"

She squinted at the computer screen and said, "chorus, band, sculpting, and horticulture."

Alex's mind reeled. Couldn't he choose something more... easy? Or normal? He ran through the list in his mind. Horticulture, no way. He had seen the pitiful greenhouses on top of the science building and cringed at the thought of tending to little green plants like they were his children. Chorus? He crossed that off too. Whenever he would sing along to songs on the radio, Jack would threaten to beat him over the head with the closest object.

Which left band and sculpting.

"Sculpting," he said. Maybe it would be easy enough.

"Okay," she clicked a few more buttons. "Oh! You can get started right now. The bell's about to ring and the only period with sculpting in it is next. I'll send an email to Mrs. Mullinster about it."

Alex nodded. "Thanks."

She smiled. "No problem."

As the bell signaled the next period, Alex stood up and walked to his fine arts class.

Only a half an hour into the class, Alex wanted to punch something. His clay wouldn't mold itself and his hand sure wouldn't mold it either. Giving up, he mushed the clay back into a block and started over.

It was very hard to work with, so he added some water. And then some more. And more. Before he knew it, the clay was so wet that it was running everywhere.

He raised his hand and Mrs. Mullinster came over to him. "I think I need new clay."

She frowned.

Not soon enough, the period ended and Alex burst out into the hall, his hands stained gray. He made his way to the office and asked to see the same counselor he had talked to before.

He was in luck – she was in.

"What can I help you with?" she asked, looking worried at the pitiful expression on his face. What's this? The world's one and only teenage spy can't even mold clay? Alex felt like hitting himself.

"Uhh..." he hesitated. "ImadeamistakeIchooseband. Ohpleasepleasepleaseswitchmeintothere!"

The counselor blinked. "Say that again – but slower."

Alex took a deep breath. "Can you please change my fine arts into band? I failed at sculpting."

The counselor grinned at him in amusement. "Usually, we don't allow this–," Alex started to protest but she put a hand up to stop him, "but in your case, I think it would be best to switch you to band. I saw the look you were wearing when you first came in here. Even now."

Alex cringed and quickly rearranged his features as the counselor printed out a copy of his new schedule.

He glanced at it, and thanked the counselor quickly.

"Not a problem. But the band director, Mr. Bishop, wants to talk to you after school," she said. Alex nodded and thanked her again. She just laughed.

On his way to the last class of the day, Alex studied his schedule. Most of his classes remained the same, except band was fourth period, when he had lunch. With excitement, he saw that he was moved into the same lunch as Tom.

Feeling pretty good (and not knowing that was about to change), he headed into Algebra.

When he got out of maths class, he headed to the band room – which he had never set foot into in his life. "You're Alex?" a voice behind him asked.

Alex turned around to see a man in his upper thirties smirking down at him. "Mr. Bishop?" Alex asked. The man nodded.

"Let's go into my office," he said, and led Alex into a small room off of the spacious band room. To say it was cluttered would be an understatement, this room was a wreck.

Alex sat down in a vacant chair and Mr. Bishop made himself comfortable in his plush rolly chair. "So, Alex. Have you ever played an instrument before?" Alex shook his head. "In this case, I'd have you go into a beginning band class, but unfortunately, the class was taken away because not enough people signed up for the class. Do you have an instrument of choice?"

Alex shook his head. Truthfully, he didn't care. He just needed to get through two semesters of it and then he'd be done.

"Okay, flute, then."

Alex stared at him in horror. "What?!"

Mr. Bishop shrugged. "Flute. You said you had no preference, and right now, that's the section where we're lacking the most players, surprisingly."

"Are you sure I can't do trumpet or something?"

"Our trumpet section has twelve people. Believe me, that's enough."

"What about...?" Alex racked his brains for another instrument, but his mind came up blank. He had to admit that he didn't know of any other instruments off hand. Embarrassed, he slouched in his chair. "Okay, then, flute it is."

The word flute seemed odd against his tongue. It didn't roll right.

"I think it's safe to assume you don't have access to one or want to purchase one, am I right?"

Alex thought hard. "Actually, I think my guardian has one somewhere in our attic. I'll find it."

Mr. Bishop nodded. "Good. Here's a list of private instructors that I'd suggest maybe having a lesson at least twice every week. More would be better. Especially this week since you've never played before. Chair placement tests are coming up, too, actually. The scales are B flat, E flat, A flat, F, and chromatic plus a sight reading piece."

Alex nodded though he had absolutely no idea what the words meant. He wordlessly took the list of names and telephone numbers and stored it in his backpack for safekeeping.

"Thanks," Alex said, standing up.

"Not a problem, oh, and if anyone makes stupid comments about you playing flute, ignore them. The flute is as asexual as the clarinet."

Alex felt his eye twitch, but thanked his again and left. He unlocked his bike from the shed and rode home silently, brooding about this new form of torture that life had instilled upon him.

"Jack?" Alex called when he entered his silent house.

"In here, Alex!"

"Where's here?" he asked, walking into the kitchen and found her staring intently at a vase.

"Very funny."

"Uh... Jack..."

"Yeah?" She hadn't taken her eyes off the vase.

Alex chickened out. "Why are you staring at the vase. Are you trying to use telekinesis or something."

"You're hilarious. And no, I was trying to figure out how to clean the dust from the inside of it. The neck it too small to get my rag down it."

"You could try just washing it," Alex pointed out.

"Then I can't dry the inside for the same reason."

"Let it air-dry."

"It'll be streaky."

"Fine then," Alex said and went upstairs with a smile. After dumping his backpack onto his bed, he ascended into the attic and began his search for the lost flute. He wasn't even sure what the case would look like.

After a half hour of searching and finding no musical instrument, he gave up and went to his room to work on homework until Jack called him down for dinner.

"Anything exciting happen at school today?" Jack asked as she shoveled rice into her mouth.

"Well..."

"Tell me."

"Fine. I had to go see the counselor because I need to take a fine arts class this semester," Alex explained. "And only chorus, band, sculpting, and horticulture were left."

Jack cringed for his benefit. "That's harsh. And I hope for the sake of the poor school's eardrums that you didn't pick chorus."

Alex mock-glared at his sister-like caretaker and continued. "I ruled out horticulture and chorus, don't worry. So I chose sculpting. But... that didn't work so well..." he explained what had happened during class and at the end, Jack was about to roll of the floor from laughter.

"So," Alex said loudly to regain Jack's attention, "I went back to her office and asked to be switched to band."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "How are you going to magically have musical knowledge?"

"Well... Mr. Bishop gave me the numbers of a couple instructors that I can learn from."

Jack nodded. "And what instrument, exactly, are you going to be playing?"

This was what Alex had been dreading. "Uhh... guess," was his lame reply.

Jack tapped her chin in thought. "Is it woodwind or brass?" Alex gave her a look like she belonged in an asylum. "Never mind, then. Just tell me."

"Uh... no."

"Alex," Jack said. "I will personally take that vase sitting over there on the counter and beat your head until it implodes."

Alex rolled his eyes. "You'll laugh."

Jack rolled her eyes back at him. "I promise I won't."

Alex sighed. "Fine, then. It's flute."

Jack choked on the piece of stake she was chewing and began coughing, using it to mask her obvious need to begin laughing like a maniac. "That's a," cough, "very good," cough, "choice." She managed to swallow her steak and wiped her mouth with a napkin to hide her growing grin. In a bigger attempt to cover it up, she took a drink of her apple juice but ended up choking on it as well.

"If you're done," Alex said, not at all amused, "I'd like help finding your old flute. The one you bought when you decided to take up the flute and then quit after a month of lessons."

Jack managed to keep a straight face as she picked up the dinner dishes, but Alex could hear her laughing over the sound of the running faucet.

How was it? I've never actually sculpted, so I don't know how hard or easy it might be, but I can just imagine Alex failing miserably at it. As for flute, I play it, so it will be fun to write about Alex and his section.

Mr. Bishop was actually my band director in middle school, though I've changed his character a bit.

Give me some feedback!