((Hi yugi!! I didn't know you were on fanfiction! Great to see you here :)
Sorry I haven't been much on neopets lately, been too busy, and too
obsessed with my musicals, haha.
Trisha, you have no idea how useful the expression of "go bugger a raoul" has become. . . I told you I used it for my hoverer and I also used it for that Phantom-hating girl I told you about and confused the heck out of her. That thing with the swordfights still gets me. . . what do they think they are doing with our musical? Ready the lassos and let's go.
The Miserable-Les Mis is a good musical. I can't believe it's off Broadway. . . it shouldn't be. I swear I will never ever see the boy from oz, the musical that's going into the Les Mis theatre. Would you believe that musical already has 5 stars and is not even out yet? And Les Mis only had 4. The nerve of some people. . .
Sadness.just finished reading Order of the Phoenix. *sniff* I can't read any of the other books the same way again.especially with.HIM.*sobs*))
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. . .
Actually, it was nearing final concert time. Many months later, after the winter concert, the time came where we'd have to do our final concert for the year--you guessed it, the spring concert. It was now May, and I shuffled the music in front of me that we were playing.
A lot had changed since that day of my solo. I stayed in the intermediate band (that was the band with my fellow fourth graders, the beginners) but Mrs. B, thinking me good enough, also moved me into the advanced band (well, the fifth grade band). I was very proud of this, too. She thought me good enough to play with the fifth graders! And my friend Steph was in that band, too, so at least I had another fourth grader with me. The flutists (for once again that is who I sat with) accepted me into their band. There were no oboes in the fifth grade band, either--I remained still the only one.
I didn't have anymore solos that year, but I didn't mind. That solo at the Christmas concert satisfied me. . . I felt happy with my oboe-ness, so to speak. But here I was now, five months later, staying in at recess (I missed both lunch and recess on days such as these, because the fourth grade band rehearsed during our lunch, and the fifth grade band rehearsed my recess), glancing over my battered copy of "The Addams Family", one of the songs for our spring concert.
Jianna, a fifth grade flutist from my lesson group (I went for lessons with the older flutists now, too), came down and sat next to me, as usual. She opened her case and put her flute together, smiling at me. "Say, Kathryn, do you have the edits for 'Addams Family'?" She inquired.
"Sure, let me get it out." Mrs. B edited out some of that song to make it shorter. I pulled out my copy of the music and showed it to Jianna, who marked it on her music. "Thanks." She replied, nodding.
"Alright!" Mrs. B came in, getting up on her bandstand and looking at all of us. "Now, onto the spring concert. You know how important this is. It's our final concert of the year, and for all the fifth graders here, your final concert in this school." Awww, poor fifth graders. I still had one year to go, muahahaha. Feel the power. "So you'll all have to go out with a bang, and fourth graders, you'll have to show them how good you've gotten from the beginning of the year until now." Yeah. We will.
"I shall also be giving out the scholarships to Summer Band School. Fifth graders, you know from last year that each year I award two scholarships, one to a fourth grader and one to a fifth, the hardest working and most musical of the bunch. As you also know, I shall be keeping this award a surprise until the end of the concert.
Continuing on. . ." Mrs. B talked about the lesson schedule and all kinds of other boring stuff. I wasn't really paying attention, I just couldn't wait until we started playing. Finally, the signal came. . . "Take out 'Addam's Family', and let's see if we can't get a bit of rehearsal time in today." Yay! Now we would get to play.
****************
Three weeks later was the concert. I was all excited the night before. . . this was going to be a good concert. It wasn't fun like the Arbor Day concert. Every year in our school, we'd have a mini concert for Arbor Day. Every year since I was in kindergarten, I'd stare up at the big kids up there playing their instruments and want to be there. All those years I stared longingly and waited, and then this year my time had come. I couldn't help but look at those little kids and remember when I was staring at then, and thought, "Eat your heart out." I didn't care. . . I was here now.
But now it was the spring concert. This concert took place only a little while, about three weeks, after the Arbor Day one. But anyway, it was the night of the concert now, and I was preparing for it.
"Mom, I like this dress, okay?" I said, wiggling out of my mom's grasp.
"But it's so. . . it's not fancy enough, dear!"
"Mom, it's fine!" This was just yet another fabulous fight of me vs. my mom in dressing. Even back then I couldn't stand dresses ((*snorts* that much hasn't changed)), and if I was going to wear one at all, it would be one that I chose.
"Oh, fine." My mom said, resigning. "But at ~least~ let me do your hair!" Her hands reached out and took a hank of my hair.
"NOOOO!" I yanked out of my mom's grasp once more. If there was one thing I hated more than dresses, it was my mom playing with my hair. And she LOVED doing that. "It's fine, no one's gonna care what my hair looks like. It's just my playin' they'll care about." I said rebelliously. "Just my playing."
My mom sighed. "Fine," she muttered. "But if they think you look like a slob and not a musician, don't come crying to me." ((a/n: five years later, at a concert at the Conservatory where I take lessons, "Fine, but if you dress like a slob and not as a musician, they won't look at you as one")).
"Yes, mom." I replied blithely. It was time to go now!
I grabbed my oboe, my music, and without bothering to check my hair ran out the door. I could hear my mom sigh from inside the house, no doubt wanting to comment on my hair in a messy ponytail, my sneakers under my dress, and the hole in my tights that no one could see. I yanked open the car door and flung myself inside, putting my oboe and music on my lab and waiting for my very slow parents to catch up.
"Really, we have a half an hour, there's no need to rush." My mom said as she and my dad got into the car. Very slowly, too. They liked to do this- torment me on purpose by going extremely slow for things I was waiting for. ((a/n: And they still do. . . when I was going to see "Phantom of the Opera" for my third time, they took forever to get going)) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they started the car and drove off to the school. When we got there, I leaped out of the car with my oboe and my music and not even waiting for my parents, went tearing inside. I darted in the school and went to my classroom where everyone would meet.
Sure enough, everyone was there. The boys had to dress nice and were looking very annoyed and surly at that. The girls had to wear dresses and were looking prim and happy (why, though, I didn't know). I put my oboe down at the desk near my friend, took it out, and put it together. However, I left the reed in its case until the last moment. Wasn't going to risk that again.
The room was filled with avid chatter of the amateur musicians until Mrs. B came in. "Fourth graders," She said. "The time has come. Take your instruments and line up at the door!" Yes! Concert time! I took the reed (still in its case) and my oboe and lined up between the clarinets and the flutes, who were gawking at me as usual. Sigh. I didn't understand what they found so fascinating about oboes, anyway. It wasn't that odd an instrument.
"Let's go!" Mrs. B clapped her hands and we all filed out into the hall and down to the gym. We passed the beaming faces of many parents before we got to our seats (the 5th graders were already there) and could put our music and instruments down at last. I sat excited in my chair, as I always was during concert time. I shuffled my music around, smiling at the flute player next to me (she was a 5th grader). Mrs. B made a short speech to the audience, and then turned and beckoned for us to start.
I took the reed out of my case, stuck it in my mouth for a few seconds, and then put it on my oboe. I raised it to play as Mrs. B went to direct.
The first song went well. So did the second, and the third, and fourth, and so on. Then Mrs. B stopped us, and turned to the audience once more. "Now," She said. "Each year, we have an award to give out to our students. This award is a $50 scholarship towards the tuition of Summer Band School, a program we have here for young musicians. Each year, we award one fourth and one fifth grade student with this award. It's a high honor, mostly given to those who intensely practice and are very into it. Our first award shall be given to. . ."
There was a pause as she went to read the name. I took my reed out and stuck it in my mouth. . . awards were usually boring. Every time we had them in class they were boring.
"Kathryn, the fourth grade oboe player."
What?!
My head jerked up from where I was sitting. Did she just call my name? Or. . . well, there really weren't any other fourth grade oboists named Kathryn, were there? But that's impossible, she really called my name. . . did she?
The flutist next to me poked me. "That was you! Go up!" She hissed.
In shock, I set my oboe down, the reed still in my mouth. . . where was I going to put the reed? Finally, I took it out and left it lying on the music stand, still cautious, for I didn't want anything to happen to my reed. I got up, crawling past the rows of flute players up to the front. The audience was applauding, I barley saw them. . .
"Congratulations, Kathryn. I knew you had it in you." Mrs. B said, smiling, as she handed me what looked like a diploma tied with some blue ribbon. "Good luck." I turned, managing a shocked smile at the audience before sliding back to my seat, clutching the rolled up paper in my hands. She had chosen me for the summer band scholarship! I never thought she would! I wasn't even listening, either. . .
I don't think I heard the next name called. It was some flutist, I knew that much. I stared at the paper in my hands still, as if not daring to believe it. . .
After the awards were done, we were too. We walked back into the classroom to put our instruments away. I was beyond happy, I felt so elated, the joy filling my body as I all but skipped into the classroom. The entire class was talking, although I could tell it was not about the scholarship. Actually, it was about how they thought they saw a phantom behind the curtains somewhere and was labeling it "The phantom of the auditorium" ((a/n: *glares* They were making fun of Phantom back then. . . luckily, I wasn't obsessed then, because if they did it now I'd smack them over the heads with something. No one disses Phantom without answering to me)). I was surprised at this. This scholarship was so important, why did they all seem to be acting as if it was nothing?
"Kathryn!" I heard my mom's voice from the doorway. I put the last of my oboe away and ran, slamming into my mom and giving her a hug. "I won! I won!" I said excitedly. "See?" I held the scholarship up to my mom's eyes, and she took it, smiling at me. My dad was smiling, too. It seemed for the first time ((And perhaps the last?)) that they were proud of me for my accomplishment in music. Of course, I didn't notice this, I was too happy, thinking about the fact that I won!
We drove home, my mom analyzing the scholarship (and no doubt deciding how much she had to pay now for the rest of the tuition) and both of them beaming congratulations at me. I was the happiest person, right now, not a care in the world, and at this moment I felt that as long as I had my oboe, anything in the world was possible.
((A/n: Woo! Finally finished that chapter! Took me long enough, I know. Now that school's finally out (*people run around my living room throwing confetti*) I can actually have time to write! Gasp! Well, at least my freshman year in high school has finished. It was a very confusing year, but now it's. . . OVER! Woo! And Summer Band School for me this year starts next week, I can't wait. Although they haven't given me my schedule yet, and they'd better soon. And I want to know the results of my NJYS tryouts, I haven't gotten those back, and I've been walking on glass ever since the tryouts. Oh well, hope y'all like the story so far, and I'll continue to write))
Trisha, you have no idea how useful the expression of "go bugger a raoul" has become. . . I told you I used it for my hoverer and I also used it for that Phantom-hating girl I told you about and confused the heck out of her. That thing with the swordfights still gets me. . . what do they think they are doing with our musical? Ready the lassos and let's go.
The Miserable-Les Mis is a good musical. I can't believe it's off Broadway. . . it shouldn't be. I swear I will never ever see the boy from oz, the musical that's going into the Les Mis theatre. Would you believe that musical already has 5 stars and is not even out yet? And Les Mis only had 4. The nerve of some people. . .
Sadness.just finished reading Order of the Phoenix. *sniff* I can't read any of the other books the same way again.especially with.HIM.*sobs*))
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. . .
Actually, it was nearing final concert time. Many months later, after the winter concert, the time came where we'd have to do our final concert for the year--you guessed it, the spring concert. It was now May, and I shuffled the music in front of me that we were playing.
A lot had changed since that day of my solo. I stayed in the intermediate band (that was the band with my fellow fourth graders, the beginners) but Mrs. B, thinking me good enough, also moved me into the advanced band (well, the fifth grade band). I was very proud of this, too. She thought me good enough to play with the fifth graders! And my friend Steph was in that band, too, so at least I had another fourth grader with me. The flutists (for once again that is who I sat with) accepted me into their band. There were no oboes in the fifth grade band, either--I remained still the only one.
I didn't have anymore solos that year, but I didn't mind. That solo at the Christmas concert satisfied me. . . I felt happy with my oboe-ness, so to speak. But here I was now, five months later, staying in at recess (I missed both lunch and recess on days such as these, because the fourth grade band rehearsed during our lunch, and the fifth grade band rehearsed my recess), glancing over my battered copy of "The Addams Family", one of the songs for our spring concert.
Jianna, a fifth grade flutist from my lesson group (I went for lessons with the older flutists now, too), came down and sat next to me, as usual. She opened her case and put her flute together, smiling at me. "Say, Kathryn, do you have the edits for 'Addams Family'?" She inquired.
"Sure, let me get it out." Mrs. B edited out some of that song to make it shorter. I pulled out my copy of the music and showed it to Jianna, who marked it on her music. "Thanks." She replied, nodding.
"Alright!" Mrs. B came in, getting up on her bandstand and looking at all of us. "Now, onto the spring concert. You know how important this is. It's our final concert of the year, and for all the fifth graders here, your final concert in this school." Awww, poor fifth graders. I still had one year to go, muahahaha. Feel the power. "So you'll all have to go out with a bang, and fourth graders, you'll have to show them how good you've gotten from the beginning of the year until now." Yeah. We will.
"I shall also be giving out the scholarships to Summer Band School. Fifth graders, you know from last year that each year I award two scholarships, one to a fourth grader and one to a fifth, the hardest working and most musical of the bunch. As you also know, I shall be keeping this award a surprise until the end of the concert.
Continuing on. . ." Mrs. B talked about the lesson schedule and all kinds of other boring stuff. I wasn't really paying attention, I just couldn't wait until we started playing. Finally, the signal came. . . "Take out 'Addam's Family', and let's see if we can't get a bit of rehearsal time in today." Yay! Now we would get to play.
****************
Three weeks later was the concert. I was all excited the night before. . . this was going to be a good concert. It wasn't fun like the Arbor Day concert. Every year in our school, we'd have a mini concert for Arbor Day. Every year since I was in kindergarten, I'd stare up at the big kids up there playing their instruments and want to be there. All those years I stared longingly and waited, and then this year my time had come. I couldn't help but look at those little kids and remember when I was staring at then, and thought, "Eat your heart out." I didn't care. . . I was here now.
But now it was the spring concert. This concert took place only a little while, about three weeks, after the Arbor Day one. But anyway, it was the night of the concert now, and I was preparing for it.
"Mom, I like this dress, okay?" I said, wiggling out of my mom's grasp.
"But it's so. . . it's not fancy enough, dear!"
"Mom, it's fine!" This was just yet another fabulous fight of me vs. my mom in dressing. Even back then I couldn't stand dresses ((*snorts* that much hasn't changed)), and if I was going to wear one at all, it would be one that I chose.
"Oh, fine." My mom said, resigning. "But at ~least~ let me do your hair!" Her hands reached out and took a hank of my hair.
"NOOOO!" I yanked out of my mom's grasp once more. If there was one thing I hated more than dresses, it was my mom playing with my hair. And she LOVED doing that. "It's fine, no one's gonna care what my hair looks like. It's just my playin' they'll care about." I said rebelliously. "Just my playing."
My mom sighed. "Fine," she muttered. "But if they think you look like a slob and not a musician, don't come crying to me." ((a/n: five years later, at a concert at the Conservatory where I take lessons, "Fine, but if you dress like a slob and not as a musician, they won't look at you as one")).
"Yes, mom." I replied blithely. It was time to go now!
I grabbed my oboe, my music, and without bothering to check my hair ran out the door. I could hear my mom sigh from inside the house, no doubt wanting to comment on my hair in a messy ponytail, my sneakers under my dress, and the hole in my tights that no one could see. I yanked open the car door and flung myself inside, putting my oboe and music on my lab and waiting for my very slow parents to catch up.
"Really, we have a half an hour, there's no need to rush." My mom said as she and my dad got into the car. Very slowly, too. They liked to do this- torment me on purpose by going extremely slow for things I was waiting for. ((a/n: And they still do. . . when I was going to see "Phantom of the Opera" for my third time, they took forever to get going)) Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they started the car and drove off to the school. When we got there, I leaped out of the car with my oboe and my music and not even waiting for my parents, went tearing inside. I darted in the school and went to my classroom where everyone would meet.
Sure enough, everyone was there. The boys had to dress nice and were looking very annoyed and surly at that. The girls had to wear dresses and were looking prim and happy (why, though, I didn't know). I put my oboe down at the desk near my friend, took it out, and put it together. However, I left the reed in its case until the last moment. Wasn't going to risk that again.
The room was filled with avid chatter of the amateur musicians until Mrs. B came in. "Fourth graders," She said. "The time has come. Take your instruments and line up at the door!" Yes! Concert time! I took the reed (still in its case) and my oboe and lined up between the clarinets and the flutes, who were gawking at me as usual. Sigh. I didn't understand what they found so fascinating about oboes, anyway. It wasn't that odd an instrument.
"Let's go!" Mrs. B clapped her hands and we all filed out into the hall and down to the gym. We passed the beaming faces of many parents before we got to our seats (the 5th graders were already there) and could put our music and instruments down at last. I sat excited in my chair, as I always was during concert time. I shuffled my music around, smiling at the flute player next to me (she was a 5th grader). Mrs. B made a short speech to the audience, and then turned and beckoned for us to start.
I took the reed out of my case, stuck it in my mouth for a few seconds, and then put it on my oboe. I raised it to play as Mrs. B went to direct.
The first song went well. So did the second, and the third, and fourth, and so on. Then Mrs. B stopped us, and turned to the audience once more. "Now," She said. "Each year, we have an award to give out to our students. This award is a $50 scholarship towards the tuition of Summer Band School, a program we have here for young musicians. Each year, we award one fourth and one fifth grade student with this award. It's a high honor, mostly given to those who intensely practice and are very into it. Our first award shall be given to. . ."
There was a pause as she went to read the name. I took my reed out and stuck it in my mouth. . . awards were usually boring. Every time we had them in class they were boring.
"Kathryn, the fourth grade oboe player."
What?!
My head jerked up from where I was sitting. Did she just call my name? Or. . . well, there really weren't any other fourth grade oboists named Kathryn, were there? But that's impossible, she really called my name. . . did she?
The flutist next to me poked me. "That was you! Go up!" She hissed.
In shock, I set my oboe down, the reed still in my mouth. . . where was I going to put the reed? Finally, I took it out and left it lying on the music stand, still cautious, for I didn't want anything to happen to my reed. I got up, crawling past the rows of flute players up to the front. The audience was applauding, I barley saw them. . .
"Congratulations, Kathryn. I knew you had it in you." Mrs. B said, smiling, as she handed me what looked like a diploma tied with some blue ribbon. "Good luck." I turned, managing a shocked smile at the audience before sliding back to my seat, clutching the rolled up paper in my hands. She had chosen me for the summer band scholarship! I never thought she would! I wasn't even listening, either. . .
I don't think I heard the next name called. It was some flutist, I knew that much. I stared at the paper in my hands still, as if not daring to believe it. . .
After the awards were done, we were too. We walked back into the classroom to put our instruments away. I was beyond happy, I felt so elated, the joy filling my body as I all but skipped into the classroom. The entire class was talking, although I could tell it was not about the scholarship. Actually, it was about how they thought they saw a phantom behind the curtains somewhere and was labeling it "The phantom of the auditorium" ((a/n: *glares* They were making fun of Phantom back then. . . luckily, I wasn't obsessed then, because if they did it now I'd smack them over the heads with something. No one disses Phantom without answering to me)). I was surprised at this. This scholarship was so important, why did they all seem to be acting as if it was nothing?
"Kathryn!" I heard my mom's voice from the doorway. I put the last of my oboe away and ran, slamming into my mom and giving her a hug. "I won! I won!" I said excitedly. "See?" I held the scholarship up to my mom's eyes, and she took it, smiling at me. My dad was smiling, too. It seemed for the first time ((And perhaps the last?)) that they were proud of me for my accomplishment in music. Of course, I didn't notice this, I was too happy, thinking about the fact that I won!
We drove home, my mom analyzing the scholarship (and no doubt deciding how much she had to pay now for the rest of the tuition) and both of them beaming congratulations at me. I was the happiest person, right now, not a care in the world, and at this moment I felt that as long as I had my oboe, anything in the world was possible.
((A/n: Woo! Finally finished that chapter! Took me long enough, I know. Now that school's finally out (*people run around my living room throwing confetti*) I can actually have time to write! Gasp! Well, at least my freshman year in high school has finished. It was a very confusing year, but now it's. . . OVER! Woo! And Summer Band School for me this year starts next week, I can't wait. Although they haven't given me my schedule yet, and they'd better soon. And I want to know the results of my NJYS tryouts, I haven't gotten those back, and I've been walking on glass ever since the tryouts. Oh well, hope y'all like the story so far, and I'll continue to write))
