“Who wants to try out for the choir?” my teacher asked.
The girls all raised their hands. None of the boys did.
“Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘This will be a lot of fun. We’ll learn to sing together, and there’s going to be a big concert for your parents.”
Over the next week, she talked about how cool it will be to be in a choir. By the time of the tryouts, pretty much everyone in class wanted to be in the choir. I even practiced singing at home.
I sang all the songs from “My Fair Lady,” my sister’s and my favorite musical. I pretended I was on stage in front of a huge audience.
Wait until they hear me at school! This could be the start of something really big!
We lined up in front of the music teacher, who sat at a piano.
As usual I wasn’t paying much attention, and it seemed to take forever before it was my turn. What was going on outside the window was a lot more interesting.
The line got shorter.
“Next,” the music teacher said.
A girl came up to the piano. The teacher played a note. The girl sang it. The teacher played another note. She sang that. And a third. The teacher took down the girl’s name.
“Next,” the music teacher said. It was the boy in front of me.
She played a note on the piano. He sang it.
She looked up at him, surprised. She played another note. He sang that one.
She got kind of excited. She played three notes. He sang those. She played a bunch of notes. He sang those.
Now she was really excited. She played a whole tune. He sang that.
She played another tune, a much more complicated one. He sang the whole thing.
She took down his name. Her hand was shaking. She told him to go stand over by the wall, and not to dare leave.
I stepped up. She played a note. I sang it.
“Next,” she said.
Mom picked me up after school that day. In the car on the way home, I told her about the tryouts for choir. I asked her if I was a good singer.
“You’re really good at drawing,” she said.