The tension was palpable in the gym hall of Ambleton High School - every student, teacher, contestant and visitor sat on tenterhooks as they awaited the results of the Battle of the Bands.
The members of all six prospective bands were seated in the front row as the headmaster of Ambleton High School spoke into his microphone:
“The votes have been tallied, and the top three acts are as follows; in third place…”
“Not us, not us…” breathed Ricky Hamilton, his scaled fingers crossed in clenched fists.
“Come on man, can’t be us…” whispered Maxxie Black next to him, his yellow eyes wide.
“...Trash Company!” announced the headmaster to general applause, as the three members of Trash Company stood up from their chairs to wave at the crowd.
“Phewf!” Ricky blew out his cheeks as he sighed in relief.
“In second place… Victoria Hampton!”
“What?! NO!!”
There was no audible applause for second place, as it was drowned out by enraged screeching.
Every head swivelled towards the source of the noise: a spaniel girl, clad in her finest pink sequined dress, jumped up onto her chair in fury as she screamed in the direction of the headmaster.
“This isn’t fair! I should be first! I was promised first!”
Victoria Hampton wrung her balled up fists and stomped her high-heeled foot like someone half her own age, while her bandmates tried to supplicate her into calming down.
“Fuckin’ hell, shut up…” Rusty muttered under his breath, making the sleeves of his leather jacket squeak as he crossed his thick arms in annoyance.
An adult male spaniel the same colour as Victoria, a businessman-looking type in a blue suit and tie, came walking around the front row and approached her - judging by the similar fur colour, he was clearly some sort of relation of hers.
“Right, come on now, Victoria…” The elder canine said evenly to his distressed daughter.
“No no no no no!!” Victoria screeched, jumping down from her chair to approach her father. “You said… you said I’d win! You said-”
“Now now, my sweet!” Victoria’s father hurriedly interrupted her, but before he could continue, the headmaster intervened over the microphone:
“Mr Hampton, we’d like to continue.”
There was a moment’s silence in the hall, before:
“Aye, fuck off!”
The words were out of Rusty’s mouth before he had had any chance to even think about them.
“Damn, dude - harsh!” Maxxie winced, pulling a face at the fox’s savage words.
Any remorse Rusty may have had was entirely washed away, however, as laughter erupted from the teenagers in the crowd behind him.
Victoria’s Dad glared at the crowd, before turning his scowl towards Rusty, eyes narrowed - Rusty, bolstered by the amusement of the audience, responded by coolly leaning back in his chair, folding his arms and crossing one meaty leg over the other, never breaking eye contact with the incensed canine.
The spaniel then grabbed his daughter by the arm and tugged her out of the gym hall, to her continued protestation.
“Now, then: as I was saying…”
The headmaster’s voice brought everybody’s attention back to the matter at hand.
As he cleared his throat, both Ricky and Maxxie returned to their previous positions, wringing their hands excitedly and muttering loudly under their breaths.
“Will ye both shoosht!” Rusty hissed.
All four members of Whyte Knuckle were now sat on the edge of their moulded plastic seats, as were the members of every as yet uncalled musical act in the front row - even the usually stolid Geiger was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his knuckles.
“And the winner of the Battle of the Bands is… Whyte Knuckle!!”
“YES!!”
Ricky leapt out of his chair, his fists raised in victory. He was quickly followed by Maxxie, Geiger and Rusty getting to their feet, and all 4 headed over to the stage to the applause, cheering and whistling of the crowd.
The boys all reached the tweed-suited headmaster - Ricky and Maxxie basically mobbed the man, as though they were groupies attacking a celebrity. Once they got off of him, the now slightly dishevelled head reached out his hand for Rusty to shake, only to wince as it was mildly crushed in the huge fox’s grip; he subsequently stuck his other hand out for Geiger to meekly shake.
“Ahem, well… let’s give a big hand to our winners: Whyte Knuckle!”
The crowd erupted again in whoops and cheers and the four boys reacted:
Maxxie raised both arms and gave the audience the double devil horns; Ricky sank down into a half-split in imitation of that sexy wrestler guy he’d seen on the TV; Rusty flexed a bicep impressively, until the arm of his leather jacket creaked alarmingly; Geiger simply raised his metal hand in a kind of sheepish half wave.
The headmaster laughed nervously into his microphone:
“Well, well done boys… wasn't the result I'd been expecting, but congratulations anyhow! Maybe next time tone it down a little, it might put some people off!”
While the boys made their way past the headmaster and off of the stage, Ricky, quick as a flash, snatched the microphone from his hands:
“Yeah, well, I don’t see any of them here!”
This got another laugh from the mostly-teenaged audience as the rattlesnake chucked the microphone back to the fumbling hands of the headteacher, and he laughed as caught up to his bandmates.
--------------------------------
Whyte Knuckle’s prize for placing first in the Battle of the Bands was waiting for them in the boy’s locker room.
Sat on one of the wooden benches in front of the steel-grey lockers was a 20-something greyhound, with a notepad and a tape recorder on the bench beside him.
Upon seeing the four lads enter the locker room, the dog stood up, allowing them to see how the cheap suit he was sporting absolutely hung off of his thin frame.
“Ah, hello! Matthew Burnleigh, junior reporter for the Great Rockton Gazette!”
“‘Sup, dude?”
Maxxie’s fist hung in the air, awaiting a fist bump from the grey dog that never came: instead, Matthew Burnleigh awkwardly took the black cat’s fist and shook it.
“Um, yes. I’m here to report on your win at Ambleton’s first Battle of the Bands contest in 15 years - please, have a seat!”
The junior reporter gestured to the benches beside the one where he was sitting, and the members of Whyte Knuckle sat; Maxxie practically parked his denim-clad ass on Ricky’s lap on the bench next to Matthew, while Geiger and Rusty sat on the bench opposite.
Once they all were settled, the greyhound clicked the record button on his tape recorder before launching straight into his first question:
“Now then: I couldn’t help but notice that what you brought to the contest tonight was quite distinct to what the other competitors did, and that may have been what won you the whole thing. What drove you to perform a song like tha-”
”YOOOUUUUUU!!”
The shriek cut through the air in the locker room, causing almost everybody present to jump in a mixture of pain and surprise. The five of them turned towards the door and beheld Victoria Hampton in the doorway.
The little spaniel looked exactly as she had when she had been escorted out of the gym hall by her father - clad in her finest pink sequined dress and heels - but her face now sported some wicked black streaks of mascara mixed with tears.
The overall impression was of a jilted prom queen that had just been stood up by her date.
“You!”
Behind his blond hair, Ricky raised his brows in surprise as Victoria started towards him - since he was a singer in the contest like herself, she pointed an accusatory finger at him, as though it were a sword that she planned to run him through with.
“Victoria! No, get back here!”
Victoria’s father now bounced through the same door that Victoria had appeared, wrapping an arm around his daughter and attempting to drag her back out of the room.
It was none too soon, as, in a bid to protect his adopted brother, Rusty had stood up from his seat on the bench, the leather jacket-wearing fox absolutely towering compared to the two spaniels.
Rusty and Mr Hampton exchanged spiteful glares at each other for a moment, before the elder man relented, focusing himself on dragging Victoria away.
The little spaniel girl swung her fists and kicked her heels in Whyte Knuckle’s direction, squealing and spitting out all manner of unintelligible oaths as her father pulled her back out of the locker room.
But, even when the two dogs had vanished from view, they were still privy to Victoria’s voice screeching down the outside hallway:
“I hate you! I hate yoooouuuuuu-!!”
Silence reigned in the locker room in the wake of the outburst, with nobody knowing how to react…
…until Geiger, of all people, spoke up:
“Detention for that one, I think.”
