Muffled
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I think for a moment. “Am I the squeaky soprano?” I ask.
“No. We’ll blend—I’ll be the melody, and you follow.”
“Sounds good.” I open my lunch bag.
“Ha! Sounds. Get it?” Madge laughs, and I manage a smile.
Noah and Jax land at the table with a thump, which makes me flinch. They both say hi like we’re all friends, but I remember Noah’s squeak joke when he first saw me.
“Here.” Noah breaks his chocolate bar and gives me half.
“Thanks,” I say. This time I accept. Madge was right—a shared snack can be an apology.
After lunch, we head to the playground. Instead of curling in my tube tunnel, I choose a swing next to Madge. And even though the icy wind blows in our faces, I pump my legs to swing high, like Madge. And then Noah and Jax and Tyler want to play tag, and when Madge is it, she chases me, shoelace charms clink-plinking the whole time, which doesn’t bother me as much today.
Mr. Fabian picks Madge and me to pass out worksheets. We use the same-color paper for our collages. We test each other on spelling words. And when the bell rings, I am surprised the day is over.
If I follow Madge’s lead, maybe two opposites can get along.
* * *
The next morning, as I’m putting on my coat and earmuffs, Mom gets a phone call.
“Yes?” She looks over at me. “Let me ask.” She puts the phone against her shirt. “Madge wants to walk to school with you. Do you want to?”
I nod. Maybe Madge and I are friends for good. Mom gets the directions, and I pick up my trombone case and go right around the corner and up two blocks instead of straight.
Madge is waiting at the intersection, red mitten waving, trombone case at her feet. “Oma is glad I have someone to walk with,” she says as we start for school.
Her street is less busy than mine. Fewer cars roar by, and it’s easier to focus on conversation. I hear our two pairs of feet, stepping together, like a two-part rhythm.
Madge and I swing our trombone cases front and back, synchronized. We stop and wait for a light to change.
“This is better.” She grins. “You walk faster than Oma.”
And it is better—better than counting sidewalk lines alone or trailing behind Jax and Deb.
* * *
After silent reading, Mr. Fabian hands back the math quiz. Madge mashes hers into a ball. She throws it toward the trash can. It misses.
“You’re no Mookie Betts!” Jax hoots.
“No throwing paper, Madge!” Mr. Fabian says.
She goes over and picks it up. “I’ll never get division,” she complains.
“We take quizzes to see what we need to study,” he says. He hands out new worksheets. “Find a partner, everyone.”
This time, Madge turns her chair my way. “You may not want to work with me. I can’t even remember my times table,” she warns.
“You remember notes,” I say.
She snorts. “That’s different! That’s music.”
I think of another math trick. “Put your hands up,” I tell Madge, and pull her palms together side by side. “Nine times three.” I push her third finger down on her left hand. “Look at the fingers up—two on one side, seven on the other. That’s two and seven, twenty-seven.”
“That’s the answer? Nine times three is twenty- seven?”
I nod.
She smiles. “Maybe I can get this.”
“It takes practice,” I say.
She laughs. “That’s what Ms. Parker always says.”
Numbers are easier than notes, for me. But maybe multiplication is as much a puzzle to Madge as slide positions are to me. “Can you help me with trombone?” I ask.
Madge laughs. “Math for music? Music for math? Deal.”
And we shake hands and decide to practice together after school.
* * *
This time, after the bell rings at the end of the day, I am not standing outside alone. Madge and I say good-bye to Noah and Jax.
Jax looks at me. “You walking home?”
“She’s coming with me.” Madge takes my arm. “We’re going to practice.”
“Can I come too?”
“You’re not a trombonist,” Madge says. “You don’t even have to practice, since you’re in choir.”
“Yes, I do!” Jax walks off, singing “A Song of Peace” extra loud, which makes Madge laugh.
We walk side by side, me with my earmuffs on. Madge sings too, until we can no longer hear Jax. She notices I am not singing.
I think of something to say. “Did I ever tell you about two female trombone players I met?”
“Two?” Madge’s eyes brighten. “Where?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly meet both of them,” I say. “One lived a long time ago, and I read about her at the library. Her name was Melba, and she was the first woman to play trombone with men.”
“Girls are cool!” Madge declares. And we high-five with mittens on, which is quieter and nice.
“The other one I did see in real life, in the subway station,” I continue. She would be surprised to know I play trombone now and practice with a friend.
“I’d like to take the T someday by myself,” Madge says.
“Maybe you can come with me,” I say.
“Maybe.” But she doesn’t sound convinced.
Madge pulls out a key. We’re at her building, which is all concrete and small windows. She and Oma live on the first floor. Inside, the kitchen is warm, and I slide my earmuffs down cautiously. Stew simmers on the stove, and the TV is on.
“Hello, hello,” Oma greets us. I call Dad to tell him I am at Madge’s. Oma serves us homemade bread with butter. While I eat, Madge and her grandmother talk loudly about the day. I scrunch my shoulders up a bit.
“We could chatter forever,” Oma says. She smiles, wagging her fingers at us. “You two make music, go on.”
Now I know where Madge gets her smile. When I mention it to Madge, she grins. “Oma says a smile is a welcome mat for conversation.”
We share one music stand. Madge and I glide our slides together, reaching for C, back up for F. Sometimes when I see her pinched face in perfect embouchure, I start to giggle. Smiling is bad for T-bone playing, and so we have to break to laugh, slides on their stops, bells down.
“Okay, okay,” says Madge, who keeps us on track. “It takes practice to be good.”
“Just like multiplying,” I say.
“One, two, and three and four,” Madge counts, which makes us giggle more.
But then we get serious. We lift our horns, purse our lips, and blow until we play a new song, “Rondeau,” perfectly.
Our trombones are in tune, just like us.
CHAPTER 19
Madge and I arrive at school together, pushing open the doors with our left hands, trombones in our right. When we hang our coats in our cubbies, Madge laughs. “Look, we’re both wearing blue shirts today!”
Noah shouts, “Twins!”
I look down. Mine is sea blue, almost green. Madge is wearing blue-jean blue with buttons. I say, “Almost.”
“Close enough,” Madge says, and drops into her chair, making it creak.
I ease into my chair next to her, proud that I don’t make a sound doing it.
Mr. Fabian reads from the social studies textbook, his words blending together in a long yawn: colonialismrevolutionindependencebillofrights.
Jax fidgets, and Deb pretends to pay attention. I draw a trombone, but it’s hard to do the curves.
Madge sees my trombone doodle, reaches over, and draws a heart near it. I write backward, and turn my notebook so she can see: Senobmort era eht tseb.
“Sen-ob-mort,” Madge whispers, sounding it out, then snorts: “Senobmort!”
I giggle and write, Setulf era rof sdaehria.
It takes Madge only a moment to figure it out, and her laugh explodes as she whispers too loudly: “Airheads!”
We both crack up, and Jax looks like he wants in o
n the joke, and Deb-and-Kiki glare at us like we are so weird, but we don’t care.
“Quiet now,” Mr. Fabian says, but something makes him smile. And then I know. It’s probably the first time he’s asked me, Amelia, to be quiet. I bet he’s making a mental note right now to share with Mr. Skerritt.
* * *
In music class, we practice “Rondeau” by Mouret. I don’t make any mistakes, the same as Madge.
Ms. Parker asks, “Who knows what ‘rondeau’ means?”
My hand is up, and I don’t wait to be called on. “It’s like a round—”
“That repeats a melody.” Madge finishes my sentence.
I add, “The melody is ta-dum—”
“Ta-ta-dum,” says Madge.
Ms. Parker gives us a sweet look. “You two just made a repeating refrain with your words.”
Madge high-fives me, and even though I’m wearing my earmuffs, the clap of our hands against each other makes me quickly shut my eyes.
At lunch, I follow behind Madge’s magnetic pull toward her spot with Noah and Jax. She squeezes in between them, and I sit at the table edge. I unwrap my sandwich.
“What were you writing in class?” Jax asks us.
Madge grins. “Flutes are for airheads!”
They laugh, and Noah says, “What are trumpeters, then?”
Madge shouts, “Loudmouths!”
Which makes Jax slap Noah on the back, and Noah punches him in fun, and soon they are wrestling, and Madge shouts “Stop it!” and it’s all too much—
I hunch my shoulders and press my hands on my earmuffs.
Madge notices. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“Maybe you still need your big headphones,” Jax says.
“I don’t,” I insist, then wonder if they believe it. Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought.
After lunch, I follow Madge outside.
“Want to play tag?” she asks.
I shake my head. We watch for a moment, and then she tucks her arm through mine. “Come on,” she says, and we head for my tube tunnel.
We climb in, folding into Cs, Madge squirming to get comfortable, her feet almost touching her head in a full circle.
After a too-short silence Madge says, “It’s quiet in here.”
“That’s why I like it,” I say.
Another short moment passes. I wonder if I should think of something else to say. I consider trombones, Finway, libraries, but nothing seems right. Usually I don’t talk at all in my tube. Madge exhales, squirms some more.
“Boo!” Noah shouts at the mouth of the tunnel.
Surprised, Madge bangs her head on the plastic. “Ouch!”
I press hands on my muffs. Noah and Jax hang on the ladder and laugh.
This time, Madge doesn’t. “Leave us alone—Amelia wants quiet!”
“We can be quiet too,” Jax says, and they climb in.
“I don’t think you can,” Madge says.
Noah teases, “What about you? It’s impossible for you!”
I press my hands harder against my muffs. Four people and four voices are too many in the tube tunnel. I slither out the other end.
Madge says, “Fine. We’re leaving.”
I am walking slowly away when Madge pulls me into a run. “Don’t let them tag us!” she says, as if we’re playing.
It feels good to run, even though Jax and Noah are not chasing us. We reach the brick wall at the end of the playground. I say, “Do you know there is one tree you can climb?”
“Where?”
I point. Breathing hard, Madge heads straight to the stepping-stone crate. Before I can introduce my pine tree, Madge is on top of the wall, grabbing the branch, and climbing up and up. I follow, carefully finding spots to place my hands and feet until I have to stop.
“You’re too high,” I say. Madge’s branch sags. I look down. “The tree is a refuge, not a lookout.”
Madge looks down. “What’s a refuge?”
“A place for when you’re sad,” I say softly.
I don’t think Madge hears, because she shouts, “You can see forever!”
I cover my ears. Madge is too high, too loud. A thought bursts from my brain: Does Madge even know how to be quiet?
* * *
When I wake up on Saturday, I remember it’s time for the dreaded birthday party for Deb. Me and all the girls in room twelve does not sound fun.
“Let’s get ready for Deb’s party!” Mom is excited. She’s coming too, because she offered to help Deb’s mom. Which makes me look even more like a baby, with my mother tagging along.
The only good thing is that Madge will be there.
Even though I know Deb doesn’t love reading, I am giving her a book. Books are always the best present. Mom helps me wrap it in tissue, inside a gift bag we found in the closet.
When it’s time to go, I reach for my earmuffs.
“Do you need those?” Mom looks thoughtful. “I know the holiday show was hard. Maybe a birthday party will be easier.”
I stop. I haven’t gone muff-less that much since the concert. Maybe I could try. How loud could it be? “Can I come back home if it’s too much?”
“Sure,” Mom says.
I hold on to my gift as we ride the elevator up to Deb’s floor together. Sue opens the door. “Come in, come in!”
The apartment is decorated with streamers and a banner that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY in bright letters. It’s already crowded. Kiki and Emma and Lina are playing a game on the carpet and squealing.
I hand the gift bag to Deb. “Happy birthday,” I say.
“Thanks,” she says, and adds it to an overflowing table.
I walk over to the window, feeling as lost as my present in the pile.
The doorbell rings again, and this time it’s Madge. “Hi, everyone,” she calls. Deb’s mother takes her coat. Her shoelace charms clink.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Madge says to Deb as she gives her another gift bag.
Madge joins me by the window. I’ve never been so happy to see one more person.
“This is going to be fun!” Madge says. “I love parties.”
“I like the cake part,” I say. Which is the truth.
Sue claps her hands. “Time for a treasure hunt!” She hands Deb a piece of paper. Everyone crowds around to see, but I stand a few steps away.
“What does it say?” Kiki asks.
“It’s written backward.” Madge winks at me. “Need an expert?”
But Deb doesn’t need my help or Madge’s. Deb figures the clue out, and the next, each one leading to somewhere else, hidden in the apartment.
In the end, Deb reaches into a pot in the kitchen and pulls out a fistful of plastic bracelets, which she hands out to everyone. The shouts of “Thanks” and “What color did you get?” make me cover my ears again.
Sue brings out a cake, and everyone sings “Happy Birthday.” Too loudly. Madge notices I am whispering the words, and slips her arm through mine. Mom snaps photos of Deb and Sue as Deb blows out the candles. The cake is the best part—it’s yummy, and people quiet down, until the only sounds are forks scraping on plates, and smacking lips.
And then it’s noisy again as Deb starts opening presents. Everyone pushes in too close. I stand by the window.
Deb opens Kiki’s present first, and it’s a pretty shirt with tiny blue flowers.
“I love it. Thank you!” Deb says to Kiki.
“Open mine next!” Lina calls out.
Deb takes her time with the wrapping paper, lifting tape. She’s probably doing it because her mom wants to be able to reuse it. As Deb slides her finger under the tape, the suspense brings a second of silence, and I’m grateful.
Then Cassie ruins it by shouting, “You’re going too slow!”
Deb slides out a box of Legos. “Thank you,” she says.
All the sounds build—Mom and Sue stacking plates in the kitchen, the scooting closer of chairs, the scrunching up
of paper. I cover my ears again. I don’t want to wait until Deb opens my gift.
Madge is cheering on the unwrapping, along with everyone else, when she sees me holding my hands to my ears. She stands next to me. “I bet things are a lot quieter than this at your home.”
I nod, and then I have an idea. “Want to come over?”
“Now? Do you think we can leave?” she asks.
“The party is mostly over,” I say.
I find Mom in the kitchen, and she says it’s fine. I can tell she lets me go because I’m having a friend over for the first time since Halloween.
We say thank you and good-bye to Deb and take the stairs, giggling all the way to my floor.
* * *
I unlock the door. “Dad’s not home either. So we have the place to ourselves.”
The first thing I see are my earmuffs left on the sofa. I reach for them, and stop. I don’t need them, so why am I about to put them around my neck? Maybe my earmuffs have become my security blanket.
“Your home is as quiet as a fish tank.” Madge walks over to Finway, who swims to the top of his glass world, eager for flakes.
“Just the way I like it.” I shake some food into his bowl.
“Hellooo.” Madge reaches out to tap the glass.
“Don’t,” I say. “Tapping scares Finway and stresses him out.”
Madge pulls her hand back. “Sorry.”
We flop onto the sofa. “Thank you for getting me out of the party,” I say.
“It’s not as much fun when you know someone had to invite you,” Madge says.
We watch Finway nibble, mouth opening in an O. Madge copies him and I make a fish face too. Our eyes meet and our puffed-out cheeks make us both burst out laughing.
In the quiet when we stop, I think about who Madge is—loud, tag-playing, trombone-playing Madge. She didn’t have to leave the party. But I did. Does she really understand why?
“Sometimes I do feel like a fish,” I say.
At first Madge giggles, and then she sees I am serious. “Why?”
“Because I hear everything at once as if I have sensory organs running down my sides, like goldfish.” I pause. “When everyone is talking, it feels like drums in my ears.”