Batty Penderwick was absolutely, definitely, without a doubt, going to be a musician. She was as sure of it as she'd been of anything in her life. Despite the fact that Penderwicks did not make music, Batty was determined to be the one who did. It had come rushing at her, this wonderful thing called music, during their summer vacation, in Point Moutte, Main. Batty remembered with delight, her afternoons spent with Jeffery at the piano. He would sit on the piano bench, beside her, her legs dangling far too high above the pedals, but too happy to care. He would show her the differences between major and minor chords, which Batty understood at once. Then they would practice scales, and though Batty hadn't particularly enjoyed those, Jeffrey had explained that they trained the ear, and strengthened the fingers. Now, beside the hedge in her front yard, Batty gave a happy little jump.
"One day," she said to Hound (joyfully rollicking in the grass) "I'm going to have my very own piano, and keep it in my bedroom. Then I can play it all day long!" Hound barked, and Batty took this as a good sign. She crouched down, and peered beneath the hedge. From this view, she could only make out the wheels of cars, rushing by. She wasn't allowed to stray beyond this hedge – not without an OAP (oldest available Penderwick) with her. Batty wriggled free of the leaves, humming to herself. She heard the satisfying smack-thwack of a soccer ball being punted, most likely Skye in the back yard. And who knew where Jane had gotten to. Batty was desperately sad that Rosalind, now in eighth grade, had to stay at the middle school until three 'o'clock each afternoon. She could no longer pick Batty up from Goldie's preschool. That job was left to Skye, and sometimes Jane, so Batty had had to adapt to a new routine. But back to music, she thought. She flopped onto the grass, and stared up at the underside of an oak tree, music swirling through her head. Batty lay there in the grass for so long, that the sun had grown noticeably lower by the time Skye marched up. Batty rolled onto her side, and saw a pair of muddy black sneakers, and beside them, a scuffed soccer ball. Sitting up, she smiled up at Skye.
"Hello," she said. Skye was frowning. "Why are you laying there like that? I thought you'd gotten hurt, or something." Batty picked at a blade of grass. "No, I was just thinking about mu – " "No!" howled poor Skye. In Skye's opinion, music making was impossible, and seemed immensely dull. Now, algebra, that was a different story. Skye's mind seared through math problems as quickly as Jane could think up a new story. But music, no. It was out of the question. Batty stood, brushing bits of leaves from her curls. "When is Rosalind coming home?" Skye swung round and studied the street. "Soon, I hope. Jane's driving me nuts with her new Sabrina Starr story." Batty was intrigued. "What's it called?" Skye rolled her blue eyes. "I don't remember. Something like, Sabrina Starr Rescues a Country." Batty considered this. So far, Sabrina Starr had rescued a ground hog, a boy, an archaeologist, and still had time to fall in love. This was impressive. Skye was puffing her cheeks out, a sure sign that she was bored. "I'm hungry," she complained. "Me, too." "Then let's make a snack." The two sisters trudged inside and were net with a very strange sight. Jane was standing precariously on a great pile of pillows. Her back was to them, and her arms were outstretched to some sort of imaginary audience. "My dear friends," Jane began, "It is my deepest sorrow to inform you that-" Jane cut herself of, and scribbled furiously in her blue notebook. "That's a good start," she muttered, then stood tall once more. "To inform you," she continued, "That your country is –"
Skye snickered. Jane whipped around, looking both angry and embarrassed. Skye grinned wickedly and Batty, feeling sorry for Jane, smiled her approval. "That was a good speech," she said. Jane's eyes widened with excitement. "You think so? Of course, it was hardly a speech at all, but I put my whole heart into it." Skye was now full out laughing, and even Jane began to giggle along with her. Batty clambered over the pillow pile, and went into the kitchen. She contemplated the refrigerator. Not in the mood for cold chicken or week-old lasagna, Batty stared hopelessly up at the cupboard. It was much too high to reach, so Batty dragged a chair over to the counter, and pulled herself up. Priding herself on her quick decision-making, she selected a cookie, and hopped from the chair. Soon, she thought, I'll be tall enough to reach that cupboard all on my own. But that would take some time.