Going Solo

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Well, then ...” He held his hands up in the air as if he didn’t know where to go from there.

  “I—I guess I’m kind of an exception,” Tiffany said apologetically. “I, uh, I sort of got in because, uh, my father is friends with the man who runs the program.”

  “I see.” Mr. Church frowned. “In other words, the fact that your father was able to pull some strings means that some talented and deserving student was denied a place in this program. Someone who could have truly benefited from this unparalleled opportunity was rejected so that you could participate, for whatever reason your well-connected father saw fit.”

  “I wasn’t that bad, was I?” As soon as Tiffany had asked the question, she regretted it.

  “Miss Forrester, you will be placed at the very back of the cello section. Just between you and me, I would suggest that you spend the rest of your stay here pretending to play during rehearsals, and certainly during concerts. While you won’t be an asset to the orchestra, this way you at least won’t be a liability.”

  Tiffany just stared at him, too shocked by the bluntness of his words to say anything.

  “This audition is over,” Mr. Church said firmly. “As you are leaving, please ask the next person to come in.

  “I hope,” he added, “he or she will have gotten in on merit, rather than connections.”

  Tiffany’s face was beet red as she hurried out. She could hardly see straight; all she knew was she had to get out of there as fast as she could. It wasn’t until she was back in the hall, outside the corridor, leaning against the wall and blinking back the tears that were trying to fall that she realized that this time, instead of blaming her father for having gotten her into this mess, it occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, she had something to do with the horrible way things were going so far.

  Chapter Six

  “Coming to the picnic, Tiffany?” Megan called over her shoulder before dashing out of her dorm room. She was wearing white shorts and a blue T-shirt and carrying a small tote bag containing a bathing suit and a towel. “I’ve heard that Clayton Lake is really beautiful—perfect for swimming. And we’re having a big barbecue with hot dogs and hamburgers and watermelon....”

  “My goodness. You should get a job with the Chamber of Commerce,” Tiffany interrupted dryly. “And to answer your question, yes, I’m going.” Almost to herself, she added, “I guess I can’t spend the entire summer holed up in this room.’’

  “Great!” said Megan. “I just know it’s going to be lots of fun. Hey, I’m meeting Allegra in the bus in a few minutes. Want to sit with us?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Tiffany replied.

  She was brushing her long blond hair, studying herself in the mirror. As usual, she looked like something out of a fashion magazine, dressed as she was in a peach miniskirt and an aqua tank top. She had on big gold hoop earrings and strappy beige sandals. Megan studied her, deciding that her outfit wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she would ever choose to wear to a barbecue. But then again, there wasn’t very much at all that she and Tiffany Forrester had in common.

  It was a beautiful day, hot but with low humidity. The sky was clear, a soft blue that made it look as if it would be incapable of ever supporting even one rain cloud. The sun was bright, and there was a soft breeze. Spirits were high as the two Wildwood buses made their way through the winding back roads surrounding the town of Clayton. The buses were packed since everyone was going on this picnic, the first real social event of the summer.

  Clayton Lake was everything Megan had heard it would be. It was quite large, surrounded by lush greenery but also with enough amenities to make it a comfortable place to spend an entire day. There were canoe and rowboat rentals, as well as special areas of the lake designated just for swimming. At one end of the shore there were facilities for barbecuing, including lots of wooden picnic tables and benches.

  As soon as she got off the bus with all the others, Tiffany realized that having decided to spend the day here at the lake was going to make it difficult for her to keep to herself. She took a look around—then hit upon an idea. In the locker room she changed into her bathing suit, a sleek white tank suit that really showed off her perfect figure, dived into the lake, and swam out to a small island she had spotted not too far off the shore.

  At least here I can have some privacy, Tiffany thought with satisfaction. She took a moment to gaze across the water to the clearing where the rest of the Wildwood students were gathered. She could see them cooking hamburgers, playing Frisbee, jumping into the lake, and heading over to the boat house in groups of three and four. Someone was playing a radio, and practically everyone was smiling and laughing.

  For just a moment she wondered if perhaps it might be kind of fun to join them. But then she thought better of it, and instead she lay down on a patch of soft green grass to sun herself and enjoy the peace and quiet.

  She didn’t know how much time passed before she heard an annoying splashing sound. Abruptly Tiffany sat up, blinking in the bright sunlight. As soon as she saw who it was that had swum across the lake to her private island, she let out a loud groan.

  “Mark Jackson,” she said, lying back down and closing her eyes, wishing he would take the hint and go away. “You keep turning up, like a bad penny or something.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t resist the chance to come over and chat with the Jacqueline DuPre of Wildwood,” he returned. As he stepped onto the shore, he couldn’t help sprinkling a few drops of cold water on Tiffany.

  “Who?” she asked crossly, not even looking at him.

  “Jacqueline DuPre. Just one of the best cellists of all time, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I see. So I take it you heard all about my horrible cello playing at the seating tryouts.’’

  Mark shrugged and sat down on the grass next to her. “This place is like a small town. Word travels fast. There’s no such thing as keeping a secret.”

  Tiffany looked over at him defiantly. “So what you’re telling me is that everybody at Wildwood is talking about me.’’

  “No, of course not,” Mark assured her. Then, with an impish gleam in his eyes, he added, “I’d say only about half the people here are talking about you. The rest are trying to decide if they prefer hamburgers or hot dogs.’’

  “Well, frankly, I just don’t care,” Tiffany insisted. “It’s not as if I’m the least bit interested in having anything to do with the kids here, anyway.”

  “So it would appear,” Mark observed. “Hey, wasn’t I just reading somewhere that July is Be Kind to Musicians Month? How about giving it a try?”

  “Well, what about me?’’ Tiffany countered. “True, I may not be much of a musician. But maybe you could try being kind to me for a change.”

  “Anything. Just say the word.”

  “How about leaving me alone?”

  Mark just stared at her for a few seconds. And then, completely deadpan, he said, “Gee, Tiffany. I guess that means you don’t want to be in the three-legged race with me.”

  He stood up, dashed to the end of the tiny island, and jumped back into the lake. After swimming out a few yards, he turned back and called to her, “Believe me, Tiff, this is one fish you’re going to regret having thrown back!”

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, back on the shore, the other Wildwood students were more than happy to take advantage of this chance to get to know one another in a really relaxed setting. Allegra and Megan had agreed as soon as they arrived that it would be a mistake for them to spend all their time talking to each other rather than meeting some new people. And so, at least for a little while, they went off on their own separate ways.

  Megan had planned to go for a swim, but then she noticed that Paul Banker, the handsome, conceited boy who had come barging in on her when she had been trying to get ready for the seating tryouts, the one who had insisted upon calling her “Mozart,” was splashing around with his friends and an adoring circle of female admirers.

  So instead she
strolled over to the boat house. There, she hooked up with a pleasant girl named Betsy who played the cello. Once they discovered that they shared the same confusion about the rude behavior of one Tiffany Forrester, they immediately became pals. They rented a canoe together and went off for a quiet ride across Clayton Lake.

  Allegra, meanwhile, strolled along the shore, just watching everyone having fun. She stopped to chat with Jennifer Connors, one of the “houseparents” in the student dorm. Jennifer had volunteered to help set up for lunch, and Allegra joined in as they talked, filling huge bowls with potato chips and ripping open plastic packages of hot-dog rolls and hamburger buns.

  And then, suddenly, she felt something jab her in the hip. She whirled around, trying to figure out what had just happened. It wasn’t until she glanced down and saw a purple Frisbee lying at her feet that she realized what her attacker had been.

  “Sorry about that!” A tall, lanky blond boy, his hair long and shaggy and his eyes bright green, was running toward her. He was wearing well-worn cutoff jeans and a Bach T-shirt. “Hey, are you okay? You didn’t get hurt or anything, did you?”

  “No, I’m all right.”

  Allegra studied the boy as he came over and retrieved the Frisbee. She had noticed him before, of course, but she hadn’t formed any real impression of him. Now that he was close to her, however, she could see that he had a friendly, if kind of crooked, smile.

  “I suppose I could blame it on the wind, but the truth is that I never have been all that great at throwing these things. You’re sure you’re okay, though?”

  “I’m fine. Really.’’ Allegra glanced over her shoulder and saw that Jennifer Connors had wandered away, no doubt in search of more paper napkins. “I, uh, I guess we haven’t really had a chance to meet. You play bassoon, don’t you?”

  “Guilty.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Hey, Steve-O!” one of the other Frisbee players called over just then. “If you’re going to stand around gabbing all day, how about tossing it back to us?”

  The long-haired boy obliged, then turned his attention back to Allegra. She noticed that he had an intense way of looking at people when he spoke to them, as if he was really zeroing in on what they were saying.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “I’m good friends with Megan Davis—you know, she plays the flute?—and I kind of noticed you sitting back there in the woodwind section.”

  “That’s me. How about you?”

  “Violin.” She wrinkled up her nose.

  The boy laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly a trombonist who had the bad luck to be born in a violinist’s body?’’

  “Something like that. Actually, lately I’ve started thinking of myself as a singer who had the bad luck to be born in a violinist’s body.”

  “Singing, huh? What kind of singing? You mean like opera?”

  “Opera? No way. Actually, I’m the lead singer for a rock band in the city.”

  “You’re kidding me.” Steve continued gazing at her intently, but he suddenly had a skeptical look on his face.

  “No, I’m not kidding.” Allegra stuck her chin up in the air, suddenly defensive. “Why, is there something about that that you find particularly interesting?”

  “Oh, I’m interested, all right. Very interested, in fact.” His eyes were still glued to her, almost as if he could see right through them, into her very soul. “I know we’ve all only been up here for a few days, but I’ve already met up with a few people who want to get a group together.”

  “A group?” Allegra blinked.

  “Yeah. We’ve got a couple of guitars, a drummer, and I’m on keyboard. So you think you’re a singer, huh?” he challenged, still acting as if he didn’t believe her.

  “Yes, I am,” Allegra returned, pushing her chin up in the air just a little bit higher. “A darned good one, too.”

  “All right, then. If you’re such a good singer, let’s hear you sing.” Steve turned back to the group he had been playing Frisbee with. “Mike, Kenny, hey, where’s Jake? He’s not around? That’s okay, we’ll manage without him. Come on over. It’s time to make a little music.’’

  Before Allegra had a chance to protest, the others had joined Steve for an impromptu little jam session. Steve had retrieved his Casio keyboard, his friend Mike had brought out a guitar, and the boy named Kenny had grabbed Mike’s guitar case to use as a drum.

  “So what are you going to be performing today?” Steve asked casually, glancing up from the keyboard. The look on his face was still one of “I dare you.”

  Allegra, meanwhile, had no intention of backing down from his challenge. Whether it was because she was determined to prove that she really could sing, or because of the effect this intense young man was already having on her, she couldn’t quite say.

  “Let’s see what we can do with ‘How Do I Get You Alone?’ ” Allegra said.

  A few seconds later she was opening her heart to one of her favorite songs, giving it everything she had, bent on showing everyone who was gathered around that she was more than just another decent string player from the First Violin Section. All around her, the others were making music to accompany her—not the music of Never Too Young, but a unique sound that was all their own.

  Allegra felt as if she were sailing ... or maybe even flying. Her entire body felt electrified as she sang. She was becoming part of the music, and she could feel her own power as all around her people had fallen silent as they watched her, tuning into her voice and experiencing her music.

  And then the song was over. Everyone burst into spontaneous applause and loud cheering. Allegra began to blush with pleasure. She lowered her eyes, suddenly feeling self-conscious about being the center of attention. She was back to being Allegra Ferrante, a fairly talented violin student with famous parents, a crazed mane of wild black hair, and an embarrassing inability to keep herself from turning red at the drop of a hat. The Rainbow Girl had vanished.

  But she had made her statement. She turned back to Steve, the look on her face one of satisfaction.

  “So, Steve-O,” she said, cocking her head to one side, “what do you think?’’

  “You were right,” he replied. There was sincere admiration in his voice, and his green eyes showed a warmth that made her feel as if she were going to melt. “You really are a darned good singer. What did you say your name was again?”

  ‘‘I didn’t. At least not yet. My name is Allegra Ferrante.’’ With a smile, she added, “But sometimes people call me the Rainbow Girl.”

  * * * *

  Allegra was still flying high the next morning when she sat down on the stage of the Clayton College auditorium for rehearsal. She could scarcely believe that she was going to be part of a rock band again. That in itself would have been enough to keep her from being able to fall asleep all night. But knowing that Steve Sebastian was also going to be part of the group made the whole thing ten times as thrilling.

  She didn’t know how she’d ever be able to concentrate on Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, and Schubert. But she knew she had to try. So when Thomas Albright took his place at the podium and began making a few announcements, she forced herself to listen.

  “Today I have something rather exciting to tell you about,’’ he began.

  Allegra could feel the tension in the room. All one hundred pairs of ears were fully alert after a beginning like that.

  “Wildwood is pleased to announce that we’re going to be starting something new this summer. There will be a concerto competition for the members of this orchestra. Anyone interested will have the opportunity to play the concerto of his or her choice for a panel of judges. The winner will perform the concerto with the orchestra at our concert on August 12, the Saturday night of Parents’ Weekend. And that night, as you all know, this orchestra’s conductor will be none other than Amos Derwood himself.”

  A murmur arose from the crowd. This was big news—the chance to perform a concerto, a piece of music written for a solo instrumen
t with the accompaniment of a full orchestra, with a world-famous conductor on the podium. This truly was the opportunity of a lifetime.

  While Allegra found the whole thing only mildly interesting, the announcement of Wildwood’s first student concerto competition was not wasted on Megan.

  As soon as the orchestra got its first break, she rushed over to Allegra.

  “Oh, Allegra, isn’t it fabulous? The chance to perform a concerto with Derwood conducting. What a thrill. I’d better start practicing right away. I guess I’ll do the Mozart flute concerto, since that’s the one I know best. It’s a nice showy piece, too. It’ll really give me a chance to show off my technique.”

  She paused and glanced over at her friend. At the moment, Allegra was scanning the crowd of students milling around during this fifteen-minute break. She was wondering if she should go over to Steve or wait to see if he was going to come over to her.

  “Allegra?” Megan asked nervously.

  “Hmm?” Allegra barely looked at her.

  “Are you, uh, are you planning to compete?”

  “Me?” Allegra finally turned her full attention back to Megan. “Are you kidding? I’m not interested in performing any violin concerto. If I have things my way, I’m going to spend every spare minute of this summer rehearsing with Steve and the rest of the group. For me, that’s what’s going to make my stay at Wildwood worthwhile.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad.” Megan let out a huge sigh of relief.

  Allegra was puzzled by her reaction. “What?”

  “Allegra, this might sound really terrible, but I’m actually glad you’re not interested in being in the competition.”

  “Really, Megan? Why?” Allegra shook her head in surprise.

  “Because you’re so good, that’s why!” Megan wailed. “I’ve heard you play. I was listening at the door when you were auditioning for seating and I’ve heard you playing during breaks, not to mention warming up and all. I just know that if you were in the competition, I’d never stand a chance.’’

  “Oh, come on, Megan. You’re good, too. You’ve got a real gift. And you have one advantage that I don’t have. That I’ll never have, in fact, not in a million years.”