As an ongoing service to other YA writers who may not have ready access to teenage conversations, and to assuage my eavesdropping guilt, I'll provide a transcript of a Sousaphone-related conversation.
Cast of Characters:
J = Jeremy of teen driving fame
S = female section leader of the tuba section
N = tall and skinny freshman Sousaphone player
Mr. ___ = band director
J: That wind was bad today. I was worried about N. I was worried about you too. I saw you moving.
S: I fell over once when I was a freshman.
J: You did?
S: Yeah. And people marched over me. Mr. ___ didn't notice and I had to yell so he'd stop the band. Then I couldn't get up because the Sousaphone was on top of me. Mr. ___ pulled me up, then I almost overbalanced and fell the other way, but he ran around and caught me.
J: That's terrible.
S: And when I got home my mom said, "Your pants are muddy. I'm mad at you." I can never tell if she means it.
Doesn't it seem a lot easier to be a writer?