I’m good.”
“But they don’t start on the drum set when they’re first learning, do they? I thought you used those drum-pad things.”
“Oh, right, the drum pads,” Hunter said, his mouth full of Cheetos. “I still have mine; they can use it.”
“But we might need a lot of them,” I said.
“How many?”
“We don’t know how many kids are signed up,” I said. “We won’t know until we get the permission slips back.”
“True, right, you’re right,” Hunter said. “So let’s find some instruments to rent. Should we just, like, Google places?”
At that point, I realized I was going to have to handle most of that to-do list: the permission slips, the coordination of the bus from the elementary school, the program proposal to the school board.
Sometimes I get so distracted thinking about all the things I haven’t done that I forget about actually teaching. Like right now.
“Kelly,” one of my students says and looks up at me. “Can I stop blowing now? I have a headache.”
One of my redheaded twins has been trying over and over to make a sound with her flute, and she’s light-headed.
Poor girl.
“Yes! Yes, take a break,” I tell her, patting her head. “We’re gonna work on reading music. Everyone take out a crayon! Who remembers what a C looks like?”
Not only have I been doing all the PMS paperwork, I actually have twice as many kids to teach as Hunter does. That’s not his fault, though. And I volunteered to put my name on all the permission slips, and the contract with the bus driver, and the proposal we submitted to Dr. Nicholas. But that was after Hunter told me he wasn’t sure Dr.Nicholas would trust him with a room full of eight-year-olds armed with sticks.
“I don’t think he likes me that much,” Hunter told me hesitantly, the day before we were supposed to talk to Dr. Nicholas. “Last time I was in that office, he threatened to suspend me.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, freshman year I got one of those UNICEF boxes, you know? How you go trick-or-treating for UNICEF and collect money from everyone? I did that, but I didn’t hand in the box. I just totally forgot, because it was under all this crap in my locker, so… then, remember how they brought those, like, drug dogs to school to go through the lockers?”
I guess I had a totally horrified look on my face, because Hunter started crossing his arms in front of himself, like he was canceling what he just said.
“No, no, no,” he said. “Not anything like that, no. They just opened all the lockers, and they found my UNICEF box in there, like, five months later. That was it. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Yeah, you were just embezzling money from kids in the third world.”
“No!” Hunter protested, but when our eyes met, we both started laughing. And in the end, whether Dr. Nicholas likes him or not, Hunter has turned out to be a great teacher.
“So that’s one flam tap, two paradiddles, and a flamtap at the end,” Hunter says. “Are we ready for it? One, two, one-two-three-four…”
Knocking his drumsticks together over his head, Hunter counts off.
“You did it! Awesome! Rock and roll!” Hunter says, giving them high fives.
“Okay, everyone, time to pack up!” I say, standing. “Put your instruments in your cubbies. The bus is already outside.”
After we load the kids into the bus, I return to the band room and notice that the freshman boy with the nice sweaters is holding the door open.
“Hi!” I say to him. “You’re the piccolo!”
“Um…” He smiles. “Yeah. I’m Johann.”
Johann is pretty attractive for a freshman. He definitely looks young, but he’s cute—and probably foreign, with a name like Johann.
“I was hoping I could help out with the music program,” he says, very formally, with his hands in the pockets of his neatly ironed khakis.
“Really? You want to?”
I’m so excited that my voice squeaks, which is embarrassingly amplified because of the band
“But they don’t start on the drum set when they’re first learning, do they? I thought you used those drum-pad things.”
“Oh, right, the drum pads,” Hunter said, his mouth full of Cheetos. “I still have mine; they can use it.”
“But we might need a lot of them,” I said.
“How many?”
“We don’t know how many kids are signed up,” I said. “We won’t know until we get the permission slips back.”
“True, right, you’re right,” Hunter said. “So let’s find some instruments to rent. Should we just, like, Google places?”
At that point, I realized I was going to have to handle most of that to-do list: the permission slips, the coordination of the bus from the elementary school, the program proposal to the school board.
Sometimes I get so distracted thinking about all the things I haven’t done that I forget about actually teaching. Like right now.
“Kelly,” one of my students says and looks up at me. “Can I stop blowing now? I have a headache.”
One of my redheaded twins has been trying over and over to make a sound with her flute, and she’s light-headed.
Poor girl.
“Yes! Yes, take a break,” I tell her, patting her head. “We’re gonna work on reading music. Everyone take out a crayon! Who remembers what a C looks like?”
Not only have I been doing all the PMS paperwork, I actually have twice as many kids to teach as Hunter does. That’s not his fault, though. And I volunteered to put my name on all the permission slips, and the contract with the bus driver, and the proposal we submitted to Dr. Nicholas. But that was after Hunter told me he wasn’t sure Dr.Nicholas would trust him with a room full of eight-year-olds armed with sticks.
“I don’t think he likes me that much,” Hunter told me hesitantly, the day before we were supposed to talk to Dr. Nicholas. “Last time I was in that office, he threatened to suspend me.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, freshman year I got one of those UNICEF boxes, you know? How you go trick-or-treating for UNICEF and collect money from everyone? I did that, but I didn’t hand in the box. I just totally forgot, because it was under all this crap in my locker, so… then, remember how they brought those, like, drug dogs to school to go through the lockers?”
I guess I had a totally horrified look on my face, because Hunter started crossing his arms in front of himself, like he was canceling what he just said.
“No, no, no,” he said. “Not anything like that, no. They just opened all the lockers, and they found my UNICEF box in there, like, five months later. That was it. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“Yeah, you were just embezzling money from kids in the third world.”
“No!” Hunter protested, but when our eyes met, we both started laughing. And in the end, whether Dr. Nicholas likes him or not, Hunter has turned out to be a great teacher.
“So that’s one flam tap, two paradiddles, and a flamtap at the end,” Hunter says. “Are we ready for it? One, two, one-two-three-four…”
Knocking his drumsticks together over his head, Hunter counts off.
“You did it! Awesome! Rock and roll!” Hunter says, giving them high fives.
“Okay, everyone, time to pack up!” I say, standing. “Put your instruments in your cubbies. The bus is already outside.”
After we load the kids into the bus, I return to the band room and notice that the freshman boy with the nice sweaters is holding the door open.
“Hi!” I say to him. “You’re the piccolo!”
“Um…” He smiles. “Yeah. I’m Johann.”
Johann is pretty attractive for a freshman. He definitely looks young, but he’s cute—and probably foreign, with a name like Johann.
“I was hoping I could help out with the music program,” he says, very formally, with his hands in the pockets of his neatly ironed khakis.
“Really? You want to?”
I’m so excited that my voice squeaks, which is embarrassingly amplified because of the band
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