Читать книгу Another Song For Me - Jean Castaing - Страница 3

When messenger boy whisked into Glee Club, handed Miss Anderson the note and leered at me, I knew it was bad news. Messenger boys don’t deliver good news. It’s like in the old black and white movies when people got telegrams. Their hearts would stop.

As I stepped forward in the windowless rehearsal room, I could feel every eye in there focus on my backside. Not how I’d hoped to get recognition. “Busted,” I mumbled, and then hurried to the counselor’s office.

A tight-lipped receptionist ushered me into cubicle C. “Have a seat, Madison,” she said, her voice cold as the chair I sat in. She dropped a manila folder on the desk and left. Where was a shredder when I needed one? The story of my less than six impressive months at Graystone Academy lay before me. Gravestone Academy would have been a more fitting name. I squirmed for several minutes, and then pulled the brochure I’d been studying since yesterday out of my pocket.

Dixie Days High School Jazz Festival!

New Orleans, LA August 23-26, 2005

I figured a Glee Club gig in New Orleans might be cool. Of course any place would be better than Harriman, Tennessee. But I was overcome with a sickening feeling that the chance of my being a part of that adventure was slipping away. I folded the brochure until it was the size of a cracker and crammed it deep into my pocket. The clock ticked as I waited for J. Peters, basketball coach, math teacher, part-time counselor, and full-time jerk. Eight long minutes passed before he squeezed his big body into the stuffy space that now smelled like locker room sweat. He sat down and sucked a stream of air between his teeth. I cringed.

“Well Miss Michael, we meet again.”

Unable to detect a hint of human emotion in the man’s voice, I nodded “It’s Michaels, not Michael.”

He glanced at his nerdy, multi-function watch and flipped open my file. “It’s March 1^st.. You’ve been on academic probation for three months and obviously have made little effort to improve. Looking at your records, it appears that your IQ is adequate.”

Oh how I wanted to stick my face right in front of his and let him know that my brain worked just fine in California, where teachers liked me, knew my name, where kids knew who I was by the way I walked, by the sound of my voice. It had taken six months for anyone at Graystone to acknowledge I even existed. I was Miss Cellophane. Totally invisible. I had begun to feel comfortable in Glee Club, but it was clear that being accepted and belonging were very different things.

“Does anything motivate you?” Peters asked.

I fingered the brochure in my pocket and shrugged. With the exception of Miss Anderson, not a soul in this school had even tried to motivate me.

Peters shook his oversized head. “Does any person inspire you?”

I started to say yes. But it was a long time ago and it still hurt too much to talk about it. Certainly not something I wanted to share with the imposter sitting in front of me. He handed me an envelope.

“Here’s what you need to do if you have any hope of returning in the fall. It’s a contract. Make sure your parents sign it. They haven’t responded to any phone calls.”

My face warmed up. Excuse time again. “They’re hardly ever around. My dad’s a doctor and my mom’s a music professor at the University of Tennessee. She’s in Nashville most of the time.”

I hoped Jerk Peters would feel sorry for me, give me a break. He just sneered. “I’m aware of your father’s position, and while I didn’t know your mother, I do know she had a record of achievements at this school that not many could match. Frankly, we expected much more of you. They must be so proud.”

I glared at this so called counselor and wondered if he understood how much it hurts to live your life as a disappointment. He stood up, hovered over me and fixed his gaze on my moist eyes.

“Forget the pity party,” he said. “I’ve heard it all before. And don’t think your father’s money will buy you out of this,” he said, and then lumbered out of the room.

Stunned at his outrageous comments, it took every ounce of self-control I could muster not to shout, “It’s no wonder our basketball team’s in last place.”

The minute he was out of sight, I grabbed my backpack, and ran outside to wait for Grandpa. A cutting wind snaked up my hoodie as I wiggled onto the low stone wall surrounding the prestigious school. Only 900 students, hand selected for one reason or another. I’d bet Jefferson Davis roamed the hallowed halls of Graystone during the Civil War. Maybe his ghost still lurks around at night.

I knew only too well that my mom had been class valedictorian, cheerleader, and homecoming queen. I knew she’d hoped I’d come around and measure up. But, eight months ago, the morning we boarded the plane at Los Angeles International Airport, it was clear the reason we were moving back to Tennessee had nothing to do with Madison Michaels becoming the new pride of Graystone Academy.

I glanced at my watch. Grandpa said he’d pick me up at three on the nose. He’d be on time. According to my mother, punctuality was her father’s one good quality. Ten minutes to go, so I opened my social studies notebook and tried to make sense of the most unusual assignment any normal teacher could have dreamed up. Of course, no one ever accused Mr. Silver of being normal. Unfortunately, my only hope of bringing up my grades and getting to New Orleans was to pull an A on my term paper.

Assignment: Students to interview an older person, or someone with a significantly different socio-economic background from the student. Goal: to understand how that individual’s life experiences have shaped the person they are today.

Thinking my day couldn’t get worse, I slammed the notebook shut and turned on my Ipod. Since U Been Gone had just started when someone yanked an earphone loose. That part about my day not getting worse. Wrong. Shari Parker sat down next to me.

“Don’t you think that was kind of rude, Shari?”

“I only wanted to tell you those are really cute jeans. Are they a size four?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s just that Daddy set me up with an account at Chloe’s.” Shari grinned. “I wear a two, but four’s the biggest they carry. Is that where you got them?”

“I got them out of my closet.” A two? In your dreams I thought.

Shari studied my jeans, my hoodie, and my shoes. All a size six, except for my shoes. I have big feet. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was constantly doing that, among a million other annoying things.

“Madison, there’s something you need to know. When you got called out of Glee Club this afternoon, Miss Anderson dropped a major bomb. Only ten of us will make the cut for New Orleans. I suggested the group be called The Amazing Ten. And also, we need a GPA of at least 3.0. I guess they don’t want a bunch of dummies representing the school.”

“Ten out of forty? That’s pretty tight,” I said, ignoring the GPA issue.

“Have you ever been to New Orleans?” Shari asked.

“No.”

Shari’s eyes lit up. “I have. Lots of times. If we can ditch the chaperones there’s tons of stuff to do in The French Quarter. Stuff we shouldn’t be doing,” she whispered.

I squinted at Shari. “Sounds like you think you’re on the way.”

“Oh, get real Madison. We all know who’s going to make it. You might even have a chance. Except I did see you locked up with Peters after you blew out of Glee Club. I hope you’re not in trouble again. It would be dreadful to miss a trip like this.”

“Thanks. I never realized you were so compassionate.”

Attempting to show even more compassion, she flashed a fake smile and asked, “How’s it going with Silver’s assignment?”

Shari was also in my Social Studies class. I’m a lucky person to start my day with Herb Silver and Shari Parker.

“Do you have someone in mind?” she asked.

“Sorta.”

“Sorta? You’re kidding. He’s going to start grinding on us Monday morning.”

I zipped my hoodie all the way to my throat, flipped the cap over my head and pulled it down as far as I could. I studied the dark sky. “No one ever told me it gets so cold here.”

Shari pointed to a Mercedes SUV. “There’s my ride. Better not miss Glee Club Monday. Miss Anderson wants to start working on ideas for our program. And oh, good luck finding someone significantly different.”

Shari dashed off, waving like the Queen of England.