Wake up.
Begin breathing.
Shower.
Dress.
Eat.
Walk to bus stop.
My brain is not multifunctional in the morning.
But by mid-morning I was waking up and excited. There was another Greater London Youth Symphony Orchestra (GLYSO, for short) that afternoon. After school, Holmes and I almost ran to the theater. Once inside I made my way to the back of the stage, saying hello to the other flautists. From their conversations, I started to learn their names. Jessica was in the first chair, then Molly, Naomi, and Rachel.
The conductor clapped for attention, and we all stopped chattering. "Before we start," Mr. Hailey said, "I would like to introduce a few people to you. This is Ms. Basil, owner and operator of the Caldecott Theater." Mr. Hailey indicated a pretty young woman at his right. She had severely parted dark brown hair, which was pinned up behind her head. Her rectangular glasses and shy, pleasant smile made her look like an overgrown schoolgirl.
"And this is George, our custodian," He pointed to an old man with a gray janitor's uniform on. "And finally - well, what happened..." Mr. Hailey turned around in a circle. "Where's Mr. Johnson?"
"I'm right here," said a cold voice, just over my shoulder.
Everyone jumped and turned and I twisted round in my seat, finding myself under the gaze of - oh, my god, for a minute I could have sworn it was the Phantom of the Opera.
Mr. Johnson was wearing a black suit with one of those wide brimmed hats that shaded his eyes. He was leaning against the back of the stage, arms crossed and one foot pulled up - like some kind of fifties' gangster. I gulped. Was it my imagination, or was he watching me?
Mr. Johnson peeled himself from the wall and walked forward slowly. "I am the theater manager, and I'm not here for fun. Any one of you messes up, you'll have me to answer to. No vandalism. No littering. And most of all -" okay, I wasn't imagining it this time, he was looking me straight in the face, "No snooping around. Is that clear?"
Everyone murmured something along the lines of "yessir", unnerved by the dark, imposing figure of Mr. Johnson. I shivered. Mr. Johnson and George exited the auditorium, but Ms. Basil whispered something to Mr. Hailey and then left by threading through the orchestra students.
But Ms. Basil is the clumsiest person I ever saw. She tipped and turned through the seats, tripping over students and stands and one very annoyed violist. "Oh!" she exclaimed, as she tripped over another stand, winding up in Molly's lap, "Oh, please excuse me," she said, straightening and leaving.
Practice continued normally after that. We played through our pieces again and again, and I must admit Mr. Hailey was very particular. I though that if I had to "take it from measure 38" one more time I was going to throw my flute at him.
Two long hours later, we all began packing up to leave.
"What the...?" Jessica was staring into her empty flute case.
"What is it?" Molly asked.
Jessica bit her lip and pulled a rose from her case. It was short and wickedly thorned, and the petals were a deep, dark... midnight black.
Begin breathing.
Shower.
Dress.
Eat.
Walk to bus stop.
My brain is not multifunctional in the morning.
But by mid-morning I was waking up and excited. There was another Greater London Youth Symphony Orchestra (GLYSO, for short) that afternoon. After school, Holmes and I almost ran to the theater. Once inside I made my way to the back of the stage, saying hello to the other flautists. From their conversations, I started to learn their names. Jessica was in the first chair, then Molly, Naomi, and Rachel.
The conductor clapped for attention, and we all stopped chattering. "Before we start," Mr. Hailey said, "I would like to introduce a few people to you. This is Ms. Basil, owner and operator of the Caldecott Theater." Mr. Hailey indicated a pretty young woman at his right. She had severely parted dark brown hair, which was pinned up behind her head. Her rectangular glasses and shy, pleasant smile made her look like an overgrown schoolgirl.
"And this is George, our custodian," He pointed to an old man with a gray janitor's uniform on. "And finally - well, what happened..." Mr. Hailey turned around in a circle. "Where's Mr. Johnson?"
"I'm right here," said a cold voice, just over my shoulder.
Everyone jumped and turned and I twisted round in my seat, finding myself under the gaze of - oh, my god, for a minute I could have sworn it was the Phantom of the Opera.
Mr. Johnson was wearing a black suit with one of those wide brimmed hats that shaded his eyes. He was leaning against the back of the stage, arms crossed and one foot pulled up - like some kind of fifties' gangster. I gulped. Was it my imagination, or was he watching me?
Mr. Johnson peeled himself from the wall and walked forward slowly. "I am the theater manager, and I'm not here for fun. Any one of you messes up, you'll have me to answer to. No vandalism. No littering. And most of all -" okay, I wasn't imagining it this time, he was looking me straight in the face, "No snooping around. Is that clear?"
Everyone murmured something along the lines of "yessir", unnerved by the dark, imposing figure of Mr. Johnson. I shivered. Mr. Johnson and George exited the auditorium, but Ms. Basil whispered something to Mr. Hailey and then left by threading through the orchestra students.
But Ms. Basil is the clumsiest person I ever saw. She tipped and turned through the seats, tripping over students and stands and one very annoyed violist. "Oh!" she exclaimed, as she tripped over another stand, winding up in Molly's lap, "Oh, please excuse me," she said, straightening and leaving.
Practice continued normally after that. We played through our pieces again and again, and I must admit Mr. Hailey was very particular. I though that if I had to "take it from measure 38" one more time I was going to throw my flute at him.
Two long hours later, we all began packing up to leave.
"What the...?" Jessica was staring into her empty flute case.
"What is it?" Molly asked.
Jessica bit her lip and pulled a rose from her case. It was short and wickedly thorned, and the petals were a deep, dark... midnight black.
