“You did?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Which one?”
“Music.”
Alan started laughing from behind me as we walked down the aisle between the rows of seats. “Wait. How doyoufailmusic?”
I paused again and looked at him. “My teacher thought I was cheating.”
“Why?”
I winced. “Well… synesthesia was even less understood when I was your age, and it helped immensely in my learning. Add to that some teenage attitude and cockiness….”
“Wow. That’s embarrassing,” Alan stated.
“Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.”
Alan made a button motion over his lips and headed toward the stairs leading up to the stage. The rest of the band was setting their seats into rows, preparing instruments, and going through some warm-up lessons. The podium for me to stand on had already been dragged out of a storage closet in one of the wings by our tuba player, which I appreciated.
“How’s it look, Mr. M?” one of the students asked, pointing to the rows of chairs.
I hopped onto the platform and motioned with my right hand. “Bring the seats a bit closer in,riiiiight there. Good.”
The side door of the auditorium opened and Cass poked his head inside. “I thought I overheard something about rehearsals,” he said when I made the mistake of making eye contact. He walked toward me, door slamming shut behind him.
“Er, yes. I think the band could use a few extra hours of practice,” I answered, getting down from the stage and joining Cass at the foot.
“For the concert?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“You’re a dedicated little whippersnapper, aren’t you?”
“It’s my job.” God, I hoped he didn’t plan on watching our evening practice.
Cass nodded and looked up at the stage. “Well, I can’t really fault your enthusiasm. Like I said last week, the students seem to like you.”
“Music education is more than being able to recite the names of classical composers,” I said to Cass, looking at his profile. “It teaches self-discipline, endurance, and promotes creativity. I don’t want my students to simply play the notes on their sheet music and be done. I want them to be a part of the process—to be involved,” I continued, pointing at the class organizing their seating. “And I want them to have fun. If they like me because of that, it’s a bonus.”
“You can’t grade fun, Merlin.”
“Maybe there’s not a place for that on report cards,” I agreed, “but if a student has fun, their attendance goes up, their participation rises, and they’re no longer learning for a test. They’re learning for the sake of their own curiosity.”
Cass crossed his arms and turned to me once more. “That’s some school of thought you come from,” he said dryly.
“Bo?”
I turned to see Felix standing close by, a heavy-looking paper bag in his arms.
“Felix, what are you doing here?”
Cass looked at Felix and gave him a begrudging smile. “Evening, Mr. Hansen.”
Felix tugged his scarf down from his mouth. “Cass,” he replied in a tone that basically said “and that’s as far as our conversation goes.” He looked at me again. “I brought some food for you and the band.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
