ATLA is not mine (If only)
Ch.4 "A Taste of Jazz"
"It don't mean a thing if it ain't got swing," Duke Ellington.
Silently I sit in my chair. I'm the next in line to audition. As I glance back at all kids behind me from affluent families, I can't help but wonder if some of their parents would be angry if I beat out their sons or daughters. I drum my fingers quietly against the wall I'm sitting against. My mind is at peace, no nervousness is with me now. My clarinet never makes me nervous; it just gives me pure joy and excitement.
"Katara, it's your turn," Henry Jones abruptly says to me as he comes out of the band room, "But don't even bother trying, because I'm pretty sure Kyle and I got it and there's no way he'll give it to you."
"Thanks for your encouragement," I say dryly, "I'll remember it when I'm auditioning."
I jerk my head to the side and walk into the room, one of my braids smacking his face.
The room is quiet. My teacher sits at a desk on the far side of the room scribbling on a piece of paper. A solitary stand is placed in the middle of the room. With slow deliberate steps I walk towards it.
"Hello Katara," Mr. Knepper, my teacher, says brightly, "I was hoping to see you. Start whenever you're ready."
I scoff at a scale sheet sitting on the stand; someone really serious about this audition would not have to look at the musical notes. Tapping my foot, I start on a deliberate beat. I shape the notes around me as easy as if I were breathing. A feeling of happiness ripples through me as Mr. Knepper smiles vibrantly as I build up to my highest point and hold it. Ending my solo, I fall purposely lazily down the scale.
"Katara that was wonderful," Mr. Knepper says genuinely, "probably the best I've heard today."
"Katara, have you checked to see if you got the solo yet?" Sokka asks me as we eat our candy bars for breakfast the next morning.
"Why?" I ask swallowing a bite of Snickers, a change from my normal Reeses.
"Well, I think you got it."
"How do you know?" I ask trying to hold back the urge to jump into the air giddily.
"I heard one of the boys in my grade complaining that you got the solo and he didn't," Sokka says with a look of sibling pride on his face.
"What is his name?" I ask thinking about my rude introduction into the audition room.
"Harry or Henry or something like that," Sokka says with a look of concentration on his face; a look only Sokka can make. A smirk comes onto my lips. That stupid Henry Jones got what was coming to him; a slap in the face I couldn't give him physically.
Slowly I make my way over to the band room, where the announcements talking about the Jazz division of the coming music week must be. Excitement fills me as I think about the dance, my first high school dance.
An announcement posted on the door reads: September 23 "A taste of Jazz swing dance"
7 p.m – 11 p.m: Come with a friend or with a date and dance to the music played by
North High's own Jazz band and the Philip Henry quartet. The dance with be held in the
south gym, ninth graders through seniors are invited. The soloists performing in the
band shall be Katara Boliski, Michael Piazza, and George Gillinger. North High's band
will be playing for the first hour and after they have completed their repertoire of songs,
the Philip Henry quartet will provide the music for the next three hours of the swing
dance.
"Congratulations," a sly voice behind me says, "If I can say it, then so can you."
I turn slowly behind me and look right up into the clean face of Zuko. A huff escapes my lips and Zuko just smirks, staring straight into my eyes with his intense gaze, a gaze that makes me feel exposed.
"Boliski," he says tauntingly, "Are you Polish?"
"Maybe," I say, "But I'm not answering any questions. It would be unfair." I grin broadly as a confused look comes onto Zuko's face.
"Why would that be unfair?"
"I know nothing about you, so why should I answer any of your questions about me. You know my last name, but I don't know yours or anything about you." I refrain from saying but I do know you're an arrogant stuck up who thinks you're better than everyone else.
"It would probably be better for you if you knew nothing about me," Zuko says darkly, walking abruptly past me and down the hall. Instead of breaking my curiosity, which wasn't even there in the first place, he stimulates it. Zuko's lean frame disappears around a corner, and I walk in the direction of my next class, which ironically is Polish.
"Dzien dobry," my teacher announces brightly as the bell signaling class to start rings. I glance around at the other eight people in my class. Out of all the languages students are available to take Polish is always the least chosen, probably because it's the hardest. But I chose it to learn more about my culture, something many kids don't know anything about. An example would be Sokka, who chose to take German because the teacher is hot.
In one harmonious syllable the students answers back saying, "Czesc."
"To honor the upcoming music week, we will learn some musical phrases," Mr. Borski, my teacher says happily with his usual grin, looking like his favorite thing in the world is to teach Polish 1 to kids who don't even pay attention in the class. "Katara, please pass out our new study sheet. I think you'll enjoy it."
The title at the top reads Robi wy lubicie żeby tańczyć? Do you like to dance?
"Katara! Stop fidgeting, you are going to drop you clarinet," Mr. Knepper says, but I can't take him seriously with so much excitement shining in his eyes. Nervously, I smooth the folds on my black dress. I sway suddenly in my two-inch sleek black high heels at the announcement that we are going to play in ten minutes, but this time not out of nervousness, just excitement.
I flick my long, brown hair out of my face. Tonight it hangs down in a wavy mass of curls, courtesy of Suki. I applied a light shade of blue eye-shadow to my eyes, and Suki lent me her mascara. According to Suki, if my eyes don't attract the boys we're all in trouble, because then no one will.
Slowly and carefully, I maneuver around the row of chairs and stands in front of me and take a seat in my own section. Mr. Knepper walks in front of us, and grinning says, "You ready?" Abruptly, the curtains open and at least two hundred faces stare straight up at the band in front of them.
The gym looks dazzling. The lights are dimmed to the perfect brightness, creating the perfect jazzy atmosphere. Large glittering cardboard trumpets, saxophones, clarinets, and trombones are hanging on the walls sparkling around the students. A large dance area is in the middle of a sea of tables draped in black tablecloths. The atmosphere has an air of excitement as dates arrive and boys and girls too shy to ask one another float near each other.
Aang waves at me with a broad smile on his face, standing next to Sokka and Suki, who is wearing a short midnight blue dress. Sokka looks as if he is in a complete trance, with glazed eyes and a dopey smile spread across his face. But as another boy whistles at Suki, he suddenly snaps out of it and glares at him with a deathly gleam in his eyes, and I can't help but giggle.
A few minutes later the lights dim and the principal walks onto the stage in his usual arrogant manner, checking his watch as if he has somewhere more important to be. I have never liked him, and probably never will. He has never been kind to me, and I suspect the reason is my lack of wealth, and family members having influence in any sort of society.
Before, I could stand to look at him, but he hit the ultimate low when he tried to convince Mr. Knepper out of my solo. He tried to have it given to one of the wealthier kids. But Mr. Knepper, thank God, stood strong in the decision he had made of giving it to me. Because of the principal's inexcusable behavior, I have resolved to give the best solo of the three chosen to play.
Mr. Taton, the principal, steps up to a podium placed on the stage specifically for him, and announces his pleasure at arranging this dance, which he didn't even do. He then talks for a whole thirty seconds and introduces the band that will playing after we finish, and he doesn't even mention the high school band. After his obviously not thought out speech, he leaves the stage and the gym altogether. Mr. Knepper, a little bewildered looking, takes his conducting stick and counts off our first song, and we begin.
A few of the braver students take the dance floor, and I can make out Aang in the middle of them, dancing crazily without a partner. After about three songs, most of the students are dancing. Most of them badly, since the only songs they know how to dance to are by fifty cent and Ludacris. I hold back the urge of laughing hysterically as a few girls try to grind to music by Glen Miller.
After about thirty minutes of the performance, the song featuring my solo is the next one we are going to play. We finish String of Pearls, and swiftly pull out the music for Night Train. Mr. Knepper flashes me a grin, and begins the song. Three minutes into it, all the other instruments stop, but the drums and my clarinet. Note by note, beat by beat, my instrument plays.
The whole room feels still as I play. I feel the sensation of floating, as the music fills me like a drug. I fly rapidly up and down the scale. In one breath I play the highest note I can muster, that actually sounds pretty. I blow steadily, keeping it vibrating around the room. The climax of my performance ends, and I finish with a drop down the scale. The room explodes into applauses, and happiness surges through me, filling me to the brim as if I were a jar of lemonade.
Too soon we end playing. "Good job," a boy I've never seen before says to me as I leave the stage and enter the dance floor, "You were the best." He has a cute grin on his face and I smile back. His unruly brown locks strangely don't look out of place with his nice black pants and tie. "Do you want to dance this song with me?"
"Okay," I answer happily. Suki, Aang, and Sokka can wait.
He twirls me to the middle of the gym, and surprisingly is a very good dancer. His body moves gracefully to the music, leading mine to whatever step he wishes. His big brown eyes shine as he twirls me close to his. The final chord plays, and he easily dips me down, holding me untill the music stops.
"Would you like to keep dancing with me?" he asks politely, his emotional eyes peering into mine.
"I really should find my friends," I say smiling, "But it would be very nice if you would help me find them. There are so many people in here."
"That would be great. But first may I know your name?"
"My name is Katara."
"And I'm Jet."
"Nice to meet you Jet," I say grinning. Maneuvering past the mass of people, we locate Sokka and the others at a table in the corner. Aang jumps up and runs toward me as he spots us, but noticing Jet, looks warily at him.
"Are you having fun?" I ask sitting down at the table, and pull up another chair for Jet.
"Oh yes," Suki says breathlessly. She takes a sip of her punch, and starts telling me the tale of her evening so far. Apparently Sokka isn't that great of a dancer, but she doesn't seem to care. Aang, on the other hand, has been the craziest. Consequently, he has been a hit with the ladies. As Moonlight Serenade, a dreamy slow song, floats through the air, Sokka jumps up and leads Suki away.
"Will you dance with me?" A voice behind my chair asks. I turn around, and stare into the face of Zuko, for the first time with a pleading look in his eyes. Jet sits straight up in his chair, like a hard wooden board. Slowly, I take Zuko's hand. Gently, he leads me to the floor. I step close to his body, and place my hands softy around his neck. Timidly, he lays his hands around my waist, and we sway slowly to the music.
"You look really nice," Zuko says quietly.
"Thanks," I gasp, surprised at the sound of Zuko's tone. His voice sounds more frightened than his usually cocky abrupt manner. Even though he always seems to have girl's hanging around him, I can tell he's shy when it comes to actually dancing with them.
Zuko looks even more handsome than usual in his black dress pants, black tie, and a clean white shirt with rolled up sleeves. Tonight I don't even care that any other time I would abuse myself for having such thoughts. The lack of light molds around Zuko's body and mine. His features look mysterious in the dark room, and I can't help but be reminded of my favorite character Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. His hazel eyes sparkle, peering into mine. They aren't intense, just soft and tender. Suddenly the urge to kiss him ripples through my whole body, but I hold back, too frightened he'll push me away.
Too soon the music stops. Zuko looks at me a little embarrassed, and I can't help but giggle. He starts blushing cutely and mumbles something too quiet for me to hear.
Jet claims me for the next dance, but his graceful steps don't occupy my thoughts, it's the person watching me from the corner I can't stop thinking about.
Hoped you liked it!!! I enjoyed writing it.