Page 34 of The Sound of Harmony

“I know you did, but everyone else tried their best too. It didn’t go your way this time. That happens in music. And also in life.”

“But why did it have to happen to meee?” Chloe’s voice slid down a full octave on the last word. She cried harder and blew her nose on a disintegrating tissue.

Ben signaled for the kids to take a break, then descended the stepladder he used as a field podium and walked over to them. Kendrick gave him sharp eyes and a half shrug, silently begging for help.

“Chloe,” Ben said, all business. “You’re not having your best day. I get that. But there are three other people not having their best day either. None of them are crying.”

Chloe sniffled and looked out to the field. The kids stood in small knots, grouped by instrument or by grade. The other drum major candidates all seemed fine.

“I need you in the flute section,” Ben told her. “Your friends are counting on you. Are you going to let down all the other flutes today?”

Chloe took a shaking breath. “No.”

“All right. Thank you. Now get a drink of water and get back in formation. We start again in five.”

“Okay, Mr. Oberfield.” It was as if he’d flipped a switch. A calm and tear-free Chloe jogged back to her friends, who swallowed her up with hugs.

Kendrick stared at Ben, slack-jawed. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Never mind.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Ben asked. “I need you to grab the extra piccolo from the instrument closet to help out on Stars and Stripes Forever.”

“Again?” Kendrick asked. “What are you going to do on game day?”

Ben let out a long-suffering sigh. “Hopefully by then, San-jae can play it, but he needs your help today.”

“Got it.” Kendrick jogged back to the school building to find the piccolo, along with a lyre and a flipchart for the sheet music. He jogged back out as the kids were starting to line up. He slid into the front row. San-jae gave him a nod.

He remembered San-jae as a freshman, newly emigrated from Korea, knowing very little English and even less about music. A lot had changed in four years. The kid had grown at least a foot, had become a decent flute player, and had gone from one-word sentences to a vocabulary of smartass and attitude. Kendrick would miss him.

“You really leaving?” San-jae asked.

“Yep.” Kendrick hadn’t made a formal announcement, but the kids all seemed to know. “One of my friends is going to help out, though, in case you still can’t get the trill on that high C.”

“Is he cool?” San-jae asked. “Or is he a yo-yo like you?”

“She. And she’s not a yo-yo.” Kendrick was relieved that he’d found someone to take his place, especially someone like Raine, who in addition to playing in The National Orchestra, already had private students of her own. “Don’t give her any trouble,” Kendrick said.

“Or what?” San-jae did a few cross steps and then got back into formation. “Do you have Snapchat or TikTok or anything? I’ll totally add you.”

“What am I, twelve?” Kendrick asked. “How about Facebook?”

San-jae gave him a look of pity. “What am I, a grandpa?”

“Twitter?” Kendrick asked.

“Twitter works.”

“Do you need my handle?”

San-jae put a hand over his heart. “Please, Mr. Bell, do not insult my Google-fu. I’ll find you.”

Ben gave the downbeat and they were off. Kendrick stuck with San-jae, doubling his part, hitting the notes the kid missed.

It would be nice if San-jae and some of the others found him on Twitter, but they probably wouldn’t bother. Kids’ lives were in a constant state of flux, moving on to the new school year, new classes, new teachers. He was one of many instructors they’d have in their lifetimes. One they would probably never remember.