((A/n: Thanks for all the reviews so far. . . this still remains my most reviewed story, so it is always welcome. Love you all, you are great chaps!))

After I got the scholarship, school ended and I indeed went to summer band school. It was quite enjoyable, actually. Band was fun (I was in intermediate band already. . . they didn't put me in beginner's just because this was my first time!) and we played cool songs (Except for the song "In The Mood" which the entire band was obsessed with, and played it all the time, and to this day I still can't stand that song), especially the song "Fallbrook March" which sounded really cool and I loved. The teacher there was okay, although she always said I was flat ("You're Bb's! They are flat, bring it up!" She'd often say. Although I always wondered about that-aren't Bb's supposed to be flat? And if your Bb is flat, then is it an A?) and was a bit (heh. . . a bit. . . that's being nice) strange. But she was a bassoon player, and I later learned that bassoon players have a reputation for being strange.

But otherwise, summer band school was fun. With the cool songs and the new stuff I learned, I was moving up in the oboe world.

When I entered 5th grade, I was ready. I had advanced over the summer, and became a better player than I had been last year. And things had changed in the band, too, now that I was in the "advanced" 5th grade band officially. There were new members, lots of returning old members, and even two additions to my own oboe section. One of them didn't last very long; in fact, he dropped the oboe after about two months. The second guy, Harold, stuck with it. He was fairly enthusiastic about it. He seemed like he was going to stay with it (although in the end, he quit after 7th grade). He was okay at it.

5th grade band went by fairly quickly. Nothing remarkable happened, aside from the fact that when we had 5th grade graduation practice (one of the most boring things on earth) I got out of it because of band or lessons or whatever. Now that was good.

But the good thing, the really good thing, didn't come until the very end of 5th grade. It was May, and things were winding to a close. Pent up energy from the year was close to being released, and since we 5th graders only had two months to go before we were out of here, everyone was very hyper (to say the least). But it was one day in band that the announcement came.

"At the end of this month, as you know, the choir will be singing 'Simple Gifts' at the high school." She began. That was true. . . our choir was singing there. They were going to be singing that song while the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra played the song. Now that was exciting. . . a real symphony! I wasn't going to be singing in the choir, because I figured the band would play it.

"No, the entire band won't be playing it together." Mrs. B continued, almost like she read my thoughts. "Instead, I shall be selecting the best player from each section, and they. . ." she paused for dramatic effect, "They will be playing with the symphony."

I drew in a sharp breath. Could you imagine that! Playing with an actual advanced symphony! It was a dream come true! I hoped she'd chose me over Harold, because I was more experienced and I wanted to be professional someday. I would be professional, too. . . as long as I had my oboe and my working reeds, nothing could come between me.

"At each of your lessons, I shall select the person who will be playing. You will get a rehearsal schedule then, and in due course all the information you'll be needing about this performance with the symphony, Oh, and the music, too, which you'll need to have memorized." She added.

I turned around and grinned at my trumpet friend. Hopefully we'd both be chosen. . . how cool would that be? Then we could play together!

I could hardly concentrate for the rest of band.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a week later that she decided to tell everyone. I was at lessons with Harold and the other guy (who was going to quit a week later, but I didn't know that) when she looked us over and made us play a few things. Finally, she turned to me and said,

"Kathryn, how would you like to play with the Symphony?"

Was she asking me? Really asking me? The other guy looked bored, Harold looked confused.

"Y-yes," I stammered. "I'd love to. Are you choosing me?" I asked in the unsubtle way of younger kids.

"Yes." She said with a smile. "Yes, I am choosing you. But only if you want to. . . if you don't, I'm sure Harold wouldn't mind doing it. Would you?"

"Nah." Replied Harold with a shrug. "I'm just in it for the fun."

~Typical boy,~ I thought dryly. See, even then I knew how stupid boys were.

"I want to!" I exclaimed hurriedly. "I'd love to play with them, Mrs. B!" my enthusiasm was taking me over then. It was almost as if I could feel the music already. "When do we start?"

She laughed and reached into her bag. She dug around a bit before pulling out two sheets of music, and handed it to me. 'Simple Gifts-oboe' it read on the top. She handed it to me. "The performance is at the end of May," She said. "And you'll have to have this memorized."

"No problem!" I replied. Memorizing this wouldn't be a problem. It was a short piece, and not that hard.

And with that, I was in. Just like that. . . it was that easy. I was chosen for the oboe. I was not alone. . . from the other instrument groups came Grace the Clarinetist, Stephen the Saxophone player, Shawn the Trumpet player, Samantha the Flutist, and. . . well, and me. That was our group.

Each week, aside from band and our regular lessons, the five of us would get together in the band room during recess and practice the song together. We soon had it memorized, because the other people she had chosen were good players. And we sounded pretty good (to my ears, at least).

The time drew nearer every day. I grew more excited as the time wore on. . . this was such an amazing thing! My parents were happy with it, of course, but not nearly as happy I was. As a 5th grader, I believed that I could do anything I wanted. And I wanted to be a musician someday-and this playing with the symphony, even if it was just one song, could help me on my way to that goal ((a/n: *sings* Then I was young, and unafraid. . . and dreams were made, and used, and wasted. . .)).

Eventually, the day came. I was all hyper and ready when it came, too. I had painted my nails so they looked shiny and pretty when I played, I had layed out a nice dress, and heck, I even fixed my hair (gasp!). My reed was working (*bigger gasp*), "Simple Gifts" was memorized, and I was all set and ready to go.

I came into school that morning wearing my dress and my pretty hair, holding my oboe and grinning ear to ear. Everyone was looking at me for wearing a dress (even then, I was not one to dress girly), but hey, I didn't care.

I don't remember any of my school lessons for that day. But at 11:30 when the announcement came on the intercom, "All 5th graders who are going to participate in the playing with the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra at the high school, report to the band room at this time." I jumped out of my seat instantly, grabbed my oboe, and all but ran out of the classroom. I think the teacher called after me something, but I didn't remember it.

I met up with Grace and Samantha, who were just coming out of the other classroom. "Hi!" I called excitedly to them. "Excited about today? I am!"

Grace looked placidly at me. She was a very calm girl with a high grade point average, and not one to get easily excited. "Yes, I'm greatly looking forward to it." She replied. She also liked to talk fancy, like an adult. "It's quite exciting."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "We get out of class, Grace! How cool is that?"

I sighed. My excitement on playing was lost with these two. Grace was never excited about anything, and Samantha was the typical person who was in band so she could get out of class sometimes. On the way up, we met up with Stephen, who was along the same lines as Grace, and Shawn, who was a trumpet player and therefore thought it was his job to act like a total idiot. As we walked up to the band room, he kept leaping in front of us and pulling faces. Grace and Stephen just sighed, Samantha rolled her eyes but tossed her hair at him, and I rolled my eyes in annoyance. Samantha was only a 5th grader, but the idea of boys already appealed to her.

I was the first to enter the band room, the others following behind me. Mrs. B was saying something to the choir director when we came in. "Speaking of our symphony kids," she said, turning to us. "I was just telling Mrs. F the choir director how good a job you are all doing. I'm proud of you for doing this. I know memorizing music and getting up to play in front of all those people is scary."

"'S nothing." Replied Grace with a shrug. Stephen shrugged as well. Samantha grinned and tossed her hair again, now just for the act of being girly. And Shawn let out a raspberry (in which Mrs. B looked at him disapprovingly).

"Alright," Mrs. B said, shooting another look at Shawn. "We're going to warm up, and then head downstairs to wait for the buses." She nodded and indicated for us to set up.

I sat between Samantha and Grace and took out my oboe, squeaking loudly on the reed. Grace looked at me, and Samantha giggled.

We played through the song once with music and twice without, to make sure we memorized it. Then, at around 12:15 or so, Mrs. B ushered us all downstairs to wait.

We waited by the entrance of the school on the steps. Stephen sat on his saxophone case, as did Shawn with his trumpet.

"So here we go, huh?" Stephen said. "Ready?"

"Yes!" I chimed. "I can't wait, I've always wanted to do this. I want to play professional, so I can do this and then I'll be on my way!"

"I'm going to be a mathematician," replied Stephen with a shrug. "But it's going to be fun, I think." ((a/n: This was my first experience playing with one of THEM, but I didn't know what THEM was back then))

"Yeah." Samantha added. "And don't forget, we get out of class!"

I rolled my eyes at Samantha. Was that all this was about for her? Getting out of class? For me, this was so much more. . . it was an experience that I know I'd never forget. And here she had the honor of being chosen, and all she wanted was to get out of class. I'd rather they have chosen Livvy, another flutist, who was good and really nice.

We started talking, not just about the symphony but about random other stuff, until the honk of the buses interrupted us. "It's the buses!" I shouted, leaping up from my spot on the floor. "Let's go!"

"Calm down!" Samantha shouted at me as I ran ahead already. The others followed me outside, and there was Mrs. B waiting by the buses.

She directed us into the buses. I got into a window seat and put my oboe next to me, sitting by myself. Everyone else got seated. We had to wait about 10 minutes for the choir (slow choir!) to get in with us. Then, finally, we were off!

20 minutes later we arrived at the high school. The choir got out first and went into the auditorium. We had to sit outside and wait until we were called in. We waited for another 20 minutes outside before we heard, "Band, come in!"

We ran inside, and they pointed for us to sit in the orchestra pit. ~Yay!~ I thought, sitting in a chair there next to Samantha. I grinned, looking around the high school orchestra pit. I even liked the sound of the words. Orchestra pit! I said the words a few more times, enjoying the way they sounded. . . orchestra pit!

I took my oboe out and prepared. The choir was already up, and behind them. . .

There it was! Set up in a semicircle was the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra. I saw them, and felt my heart rise in my chest. Seeing that symphony, just for a second, made me realize how much I wanted to be here. There was the oboist, too!

In that moment, I suddenly felt a sense of rightness. Seeing that symphony up there, and knowing soon I'd be joining them, something just clicked. In that instant, I realized that I wanted to be up there forever. . . not just with the orchestra, but part of the orchestra. I wanted to be part of them, to play as one with them forever. This is what I wanted to do, and I'd achieve that, too. No matter what it took, I'd be up there someday, having other little oboists admire me like I admired them. I was going to be a professional oboist someday, and it was that moment I realized that. If I did nothing else in my life, I would do that. . . I'd be an orchestra oboist. That is my place in life, that is what I was going to do. And for sure I'd do it.

"Kathryn? What ~are~ you doing?" I jerked my head away from the orchestra to see Grace looking at me. "Gawking at the orchestra, I see?" She said.

I blushed, lowering my head. "Just looking." I murmured. But I didn't look up again.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of waiting, the announcement came: "Any students in the local choir and elementary school bands who are participating in the song "Simple Gifts", please come up to the stage now."

"That's us! That's us!" I cried, leaping up from my chair with my oboe at hand. I stuck the reed carelessly in my mouth, ignoring another disapproving look from Grace as we all went onto the stage. I ran through the music in my head once more, glad to see I had it all down. The only trouble I'd probably have was with the low C, because for some reason I always squeaked on that.

I was put between Samantha and a flutist from another school on the risers. I smiled brightly at both of them, though Samantha ignored me, but the other flutist returned my smile. Mrs. B gave us all encouraging smiles and whispered, "Good luck!" in our ears as we got up.

I stood there now, taking the reed out of my mouth and putting it in my oboe (carefully). The symphony conductor man got up and said a few words (though I don't think I was paying attention at all. . . I don't remember a single thing he said). Then he turned to us, brought his baton up. I raised the oboe to my lips. . .

And we played.

I don't remember hearing the choir sing, though I know they did. I don't remember what the flute player next to me was doing when she stopped, or what the conductor was conducting, or the fact that my mom had stood up in the back of the room with a camera. All I remember is that it was that day, of all days, in which I finally found where I belonged.

Up here on that orchestra, even though I was not sitting with them, I played like I never played before. I felt a part of something for the first time in my oboey life. ~This~ was what I had to do, ~this~ was what I was supposed to do.

This was where I belonged.

As the final measure of the music swirled around me, I let the probably slightly stupid smile fall from my face ((though it's nowhere near the stupid grin I get on my face after I see "Phantom". . . now that's a stupid grin. I look like I'm more empty headed than the football players at my school.)). Looking around, I saw that some of the other people looked tired, bored even, like they didn't want to be here. I didn't understand why they didn't, this was the greatest thing in the world. I felt light, elated, and floating. . . this was my world. The world of music, of orchestras, of my oboe.

~Then I was young, and unafraid. . . and dreams were made, and used, and wasted. . . there was no ransom to be paid, no song unsung, no wine untasted. . .~

And for now, there was only that.