by Chudney Ross
“How was the first day?” she said, spinning my chair around.
I couldn’t even get a word out before my eyes filled up and I started to cry. I fell into Mom’s arms, and she held me tight.
“Third grade is terrible. I hate it and I’m never going back.”
“How come? What happened?” Mom led me to the couch.
We snuggled into the cushions. I said, “Carla has a new friend and they don’t want to play with me and they keep laughing and passing notes in the front row, so I can’t concentrate, and Gabrielle wouldn’t let me follow along in the book with my finger like Carla always does.” I gasped to catch my breath between sobs. “And I had to be partners with Stanley and he’s smelly and people laughed because Sam said I like him and Ms. Sullivan got mad at me and now Dad is telling me I have to play the dumb piano.”
“Oh, baby,” Mom said as she hugged me tighter. “You had quite a day.”
I mopped up my tears with my wet sleeve and said, “I hate third grade.”
“Bean, third grade will all get better, I promise. It was just the first day. Sometimes a new year takes some getting used to. And baby, you and Carla have been friends for so long. This will work itself out.”
Work itself out? But how?
“And, Bean, don’t listen to what other people say. If you like Stanley, that’s just fine.”
“I don’t like Stanley,” I said with my most very serious tone of voice.
“All right then, but remember, it’s important to treat people the way you would like to be treated. Okay?”
I do not like to be called names, so I felt bad that I had called Stanley stinky today.
“Do you have homework?” asked Mom.
“A little.”
“Then get to work. It’s almost time for dinner,” she said, and then she disappeared up the stairs to change her clothes. If I got to wear blue scrubs like Mom, I would never take them off. I would wear them to bed and to school and even to parties.
I grabbed my backpack and set up at the kitchen table. I had one sheet of math and the letters A and B in my cursive writing book, and I had to write my spelling words in sentences. I decided to work on the cursive writing first. Uppercase A’s are kinda hard, but I got into a groove with the lowercase ones. Just as I was starting to trace the uppercase B’s . . .
Knock! Knock! Someone was at the door. I tried to ignore it and keep making my letters, but whoever it was kept pounding and pounding.
“Can you get that, Bean?” Mom asked.
I got up with a huff and pulled my chair over to the door. You have to look out the peephole before you open up, you know. I could only see the top of someone’s head. It kinda looked like a head I knew, but it couldn’t be. Could it? I moved the chair away and swung open the door. No way! Stinky Stanley was right there at my back door.
“Hi, Bean,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped as a whiff of yuck filled my nose.
“Hey, Stanley,” Dad said as he came in from the living room. “Ready to get started?”
I turned to Dad and asked, “Started on what?”
“I’m working with Stanley on his saxophone. He has quite a musical talent.”
I stood there with my mouth so wide open that a bird could have flown in. They walked right by me and into the living room, where they set up by the piano. I couldn’t believe Stinky Stanley was in my living room and now my poor ears would have to listen to his terrible saxophone playing.
They started to play, and boy, was I surprised! Stanley was not bad at all. He was actually super-duper good. He sounded almost like they do on Dad’s jazz CDs. I tried to get back to my homework, but all that bebopping in the living room was very distracting.
I finally finished my cursive writing and started to smell dinner. Mmm . . . spaghetti and meatballs . . . and garlic bread. I worked on my spelling, then started on my math. It was easy as pie. Mmm . . . pie would be yummy too! My stomach gurgled. I was starving. I counted the time till dinner. One meatball, two meatballs, three meatballs, four . . .
“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Dad asked Stanley when they came into the kitchen. I held my breath and shut my eyes. No. Say no, Stanley! Say no!
“No, thanks, Mr. Gibson. I’ve gotta get home,” he said. “Bye, Bean. See you tomorrow at school.”
“Bye,” I said with a big smile, and this one was a real one because I was happy he couldn’t stay.
At dinner, my sisters jabbered on about how great their first day of school was. Gardenia was excited because her best friend, Whitney, is in her class and some boy named Kevin who she l-o-v-e LOVES! Rose kept going on about how, in middle school, you get your own locker in the hallway and go to different classrooms with different teachers for every subject. Sounded like a pain to me, but I couldn’t even get a word in edgewise.
“How was your day?” Dad asked Mom, and finally my sisters shut their mouths.
“Oh, my goodness, it was a busy one. It felt like a never-ending flood of babies,” Mom said with a laugh. “Five in all.”
“Wow! That’s a lot of birthdays in one day,” I said.
“Bean, did you tell Mommy about your day?” Dad asked.
“Yep,” I said as I sulked down deep in my chair. I felt so sad that I wasn’t even hungry anymore.
“You and Carla will work it out,” Rose said. She patted my leg under the table.
Mom said the same thing, but I wish someone would tell me how.
“And till then, I’m sure Stanley could be a good friend,” Mom suggested.
“No way!” I shouted. “Are you kidding me?”
“Bean”—Dad looked me straight in the eyes—“Stanley is a very nice boy.”
“But I want to be friends with Carla.”
“There is nothing wrong with making new friends,” Mom said.
“That’s right,” Dad agreed. “It’s just like that song we used to sing when you were little. ‘Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other’s gold.’”
“Whatever.” I groaned.
Dad got up from the table and put his plate in the sink, followed by Rose and Gardenia.
“Grab your instruments, girls—let’s make some music,” Dad sang.
They always practiced at night before bed. I knew soon I would have to play with them too . . . once I figured out which instrument was better than the piano.
“Bean, up to your room to wash up,” said Mom. “It’s almost bedtime for you.”
I hate that I have to go to bed before everyone else just ’cause I’m the youngest, but I marched myself up the stairs anyway. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put on my pajamas. I grabbed my book, Ramona Quimby, Age 8, and climbed into bed. I love the Ramona books because she is funny and gets into trouble a lot and also because we are the very same age, you know. But tonight I couldn’t concentrate because there was too much going on inside my brain.
I could hear a muffled Rose playing the piano and a garbled Gardenia on the flute. Usually, the music lulls me to sleep, but not tonight. I stared at the ceiling fan as it turned and turned and turned. Luckily, Mom stuck her head in the door just as I was starting to get d-i-z-z-y DIZZZZZZY!
“Good night, Bean,” she said. She turned out the lights and closed the door, but she left it open just a crack, so it wouldn’t be too dark.
Chapter 5
The Missing Link
Every day after school, I ran straight to the computer, but not today. When I slid through the door, Dad was waiting in the kitchen.
“So?” he said.
So what? I racked my brain. I had been a good girl the whole first week of school, doing my homework each night without complaining and getting along with my sisters.
“Have you decided which instrument you want to play?” Dad asked with a smile. “Today is the day!”
“Ah,” I sighed. I wasn’t in trouble after all. I still hadn’t thought about which instrument to play, but I knew for sure it wasn
’t gonna be the piano or the flute. I racked my brain some more for something cool and different and special . . . something like me!
Dad drummed his fingers on the table while he waited for my answer.
“I got it!” I shouted. “The cello! I wanna play the cello!”
“The cello?” Dad repeated with a wrinkled brow. “Why the cello?”
“Because it’s b-i-g BIG and cool, and no one else plays it.”
“Okay, if that’s what you want,” Dad said as he shook his head. “Follow me. We’ll find you one in the garage.”
I trailed right behind him out the back door, down the steps, and around the side of the house. We stepped into the dark and spooky garage, and a shiver ran down my spine as Dad swatted away a spiderweb. Eww.
There are no cars in our garage. Only spooks and spiders and oh, yeah . . . that’s where Dad keeps all sorts of instruments. He went to the far-back dark corner and pulled out a huge—and I mean really huge—leather case. It was skinny at the top and really fat at the bottom and very, very dusty.
“Here you go, Bean. This cello is all yours,” he said. He leaned the huge case on my shoulder.
Ugh! It was even heavier than it looked. I tugged and pulled and finally got it just right and ready to drag into the house. I heaved and pulled, but my back felt like it was gonna crack for sure.
“Dad, can you help me carry it?” I asked as I huffed and puffed and pushed and pulled.
“First lesson is that the cello is heavy, and if you are going to play it, you’re going to have to carry it,” he said.
“But—”
“But nothing, baby.”
And with that, he left me in the dark garage alone with the biggest, stupidest cello ever. Maybe if I was a big, muscly weightlifter, I could have played the cello, but since I’m not, I searched the garage for something a little more my size. The trombone? Nope. I didn’t want my cheeks all stretched and puffed. The drums? No way. They are even bigger and heavier that the cello.
Then I saw it in the corner off by itself. The violin! That was it. It’s a string instrument and you play it with a bow, just like the cello, only it’s way, way smaller. I grabbed the case, easy as pie, and ran back into the house to let Dad know.
“Dad, I wanna play the violin instead,” I said, showing him the case proudly.
“What happened to the cello?”
“I changed my mind, but I won’t change it again. I love, love, love the violin.”
I gave the dusty leather case a hug to show how much I really did love it.
“Okay, then, the violin it is.”
I headed into the living room to get to work on my homework. I plopped myself down on the floor by the coffee table just as Mom came in.
“Hello, honey,” she said, greeting Dad with a big hug. Then she stuck her head into the living room and blew kisses to me and my sisters. “And kisses for my favorite flowers in the whole world!” she sang.
Mom took over for Dad, cooking in the kitchen so he could come make sure everyone was doing their homework.
“I’m already done,” said Gardenia. She danced around the living room.
“I’m working on it,” I grumbled as I tried to focus on my spelling words.
“Nice work, ladies.” Dad turned his attention to Gardenia. “Pull out your flute and let’s make some music.”
She grabbed her case and put her flute together piece by piece. Rose came downstairs and sat at the piano, ready to play. But before they could get started, Dad said, “Your sister is going to learn how to play the violin.”
“Really? That’s cool, Bean,” Rose said.
“Once Bean gets going, you guys can all play together.” Dad beamed. “We’ll have the Gibson Family Trio!”
Dad used to play in an orchestra in college and a rock band too. Since he has no time to rock with his old band, he’s always been excited about making a new band here at home. I’ve been the missing link, you know.
“No way, Dad! I’m going to be a solo artist, and I am definitely not gonna play with Bean,” said Gardenia—as if I wasn’t even in the room. “She doesn’t know how.”
“She’s going to learn,” Dad said.
“Yeah! And I’ll be better than you!” I stuck my tongue out at her.
“I doubt it.” She laughed.
“Guess what?” Dad said. “My students are putting on a big holiday musical performance at the college. And I would like all of you to play in the show.”
“Not me, though. Right?” I asked nervously.
“Yes, ma’am! You too,” Dad said.
“But I don’t even know how to play.”
“We’ll have all of Thanksgiving break to practice, and you’ll play something simple. Don’t worry, sweetheart. This is gonna be fun.”
Gardenia practiced with Dad while I did my homework. She may be rotten, but she sounded beautiful. There was no way I would be that good by Christmas.
I finished my homework just as Gardenia finished her lesson. Then it was Rose’s turn. She sat up really straight and started playing. She can play with both hands at once and with all her fingers moving at the same time. She was gonna be the star of the holiday performance, for sure.
I lay on the floor listening to Rose play. She was even better than Gardenia. My stomach twisted and turned into knots. What if the violin was too hard?
Rose finished her lesson, and Dad gave her a high five. “Nice job, Rose!”
“Practice makes perfect,” Rose said with a giggle. She hopped up from the piano. “Your turn, Bean.”
I got up slowly and brought my violin case over to Dad. My hands shook and my fingers felt like Jell-O as I unlatched the buckles and opened the case. I pulled out the shiny wooden violin and the long matching bow. Dad twisted and turned the knobs at the top till the strings were tight. Then he showed me how to hold the violin between my chin and my left shoulder. He also showed me where to put my left fingers on the strings, in what he called “open position.” Then he showed me how to hold the bow in my other hand.
“Now let’s try to make a sound,” Dad said.
He showed me how to pull the bow across one string at a time. I did it just the way Dad showed me, but . . . screeeeeech!
I scrunched up my nose at the awful sound and Gardenia covered her ears. But not Dad. He smiled and seemed to enjoy it.
“Good job, Bean,” he said.
“What? That sounded terrible.”
“We’ve got to start somewhere,” said Dad, “and that was nice and loud.”
“Sure was,” Gardenia said, scrunching up her nose.
I slid the bow across the strings again and again, but each time I pulled the bow, it sounded worse than the last. Like, really terrible!
“Press a little harder on the strings and pull the bow slowly.”
I kept trying and it got a little better, but it was still b-a-d BAD!
“Now, let’s try to make a G,” Dad suggested.
He was talking about musical notes, you know. Dad showed me which string to pull the bow on.
I did it just like he showed me and . . . screeeeeeeeech!
“I can’t do this!”
“It’s going to take some time to get the hang of it,” Dad said. “Try again.”
I tried and tried, till my back hurt from sitting up so straight. My arms ached from holding the violin and the bow in the air.
“Dad, I need a break,” I said. I shook my arms out and stretched my back. “This violin is hard work.”
Dad made me try a couple more times before agreeing to give me a rest.
“You did well for the first day,” he said, giving me a high five. Then he headed to the kitchen to keep Mom company while she made dinner.
Gardenia sat at the computer and said, “You are horrible.”
“I know,” I said as I put the violin and bow back in their leather case.
“You’re gonna get booed right off that stage at the holiday performance.”
I put my
violin case away and collapsed on the couch. Mom told me once that if you think about something going good in your head, it’ll work itself out in real life. I decided to try. As I lay there, I imagined standing in front of crowds and crowds of people. A spotlight came on and circled me as I stood in a pretty dress with my violin in my hand. The audience stared in anticipation as I got ready to play. I took a deep breath and . . . screeeech! My violin made the most terrible, awful, dreadful sound, and everyone howled with laughter.
“Dinnertime!” Mom called.
Thank goodness.
I trudged into the kitchen and plopped myself down at the table. Mom had made mac and cheese, one of my favorites! Even though I was still upset about the silly violin, that didn’t stop me from shoveling spoonful after spoonful into my mouth. Yum!
After dinner, I headed upstairs to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put on my pajamas. Instead of taking out my book, I pulled out the violin case from under my bed. I decided to give this stinkin’ violin one more try. Mom, Dad, Rose, and Gardenia were still downstairs, so no one would hear.
I took the violin out of the case and placed it on my shoulder. I held the neck of the violin gently, with my fingers curved over the strings, just like Dad had shown me. Then I took out the bow, placed it on the second string, and slid. Screeeech!
I felt like I was gonna cry, but I fought to hold the tears in. I really wanted to get this. I kept trying again and again, but it kept screeching and screeching. Then, all of a sudden, to my surprise, one steady, in-tune note sang from the string.
It wasn’t a song or anything, but it was a start . . . a good start. I climbed into bed still smiling, but just as I snuggled under the covers, my bedroom door opened with a creak.
“Bean?” Gardenia whispered.
“What?”
“Screeeeeeeeeeech!” she wailed. And she ran back down the stairs, laughing hysterically.
Chapter 6
Goody, Goody Gumdrops
For Halloween, our class was allowed to put on our costumes during recess. I was a rock star. Mom had bought me the most beautiful sequined dress from the thrift store. Dad let me borrow a microphone from the garage, and Rose gave me some sparkly makeup.
