All hands in, let's play! Welcome to Key's Music School, where talented young musicians practice becoming the best pianists and musicians they can be. Jada and Michael are the key players in the Key's School competition. Their talent has won them the opportunity to compete to become the school's next piano champion. Both dream of achieving this honor. Unfortunately, only one will do what it takes to make their dream a reality. Practice is Key will encourage and inspire your budding champion to practice, practice, practice!
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Gaby DeGroat. PRACTICE IS KEY!
Introduction: Jada Williams, the defeated piano prodigy
Chapter 1. Keys Piano School
Chapter 2. Mrs. Williams, the prodigy star’s mom
Chapter 3. Jada’s piano audition
Chapter 4. Michael Hall, the practice kid
Chapter 5. Pushing forward
Chapter 6. Keys School concert pianists
Chapter 7. The prodigy demands a new piano!
Chapter 8. Ms. Carr
Chapter 9. Mr. Antonio
Chapter 10. Mom is my practice coach
Chapter 11. The highly anticipated Keys School concert
Chapter 12. The Practice Kid digs deep for the gold
About the Author
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Keys Piano School is a couple of blocks from my apartment. It’s the most prestigious piano school in the city. Gifted young pianists dream of auditioning and taking lessons here. Only a small percent of hopefuls make the Keys cut. Some of the Keys School staff call us piano champions. I’ll take that title any day! The tuition is high, so some families have to apply for a scholarship.
The School is easy to find. The brownstone building has a shiny, black piano painted on its façade and big planters with flowers, shrubs, and small maple trees surround the school’s entrance. It’s easy to find because it’s the best-looking, best-maintained brownstone on the block. The inside of the school looks amazing too. It’s got white marble floors, lighted paintings all around, and statues of famous pianists and composers. The place screams “music money”! Even our cafeteria is always clean, and it smells good. Since Keys Schools accepts kids from other countries, we have an American and an international menu. Some of the food doesn’t look bad, but I only like pizza. My mom says I have a sensitive stomach. She usually makes me cheese sandwiches or fruits and salad for lunch.
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“It’s me, Jada, hurry up, come here!” she bellows. The urgency in her voice worries me.
“Are you okay?” I yell back. Just my luck. I bang my toe hard on the bed while flying out of my room to check on my mom. “Damn,” I whisper, holding my throbbing foot in pain. “What happened, Mom?” I ask her, confused. She seems fine, but she has crazy eyes as she shoves the letter in my face.
