Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Good News First

New to JA? Welcome! If you're feeling a bit lost, you should start from the beginning. Or if you want more general information, read What the heck is this?

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Kate colored in the eighty-third square in the margin of her pre-cal notes. As for actual notes, she had written and underlined the day's date along the right-side of the page, and had put down one bullet point before completely losing interest. Mrs. Moss was tired and kept saying the wrong trig function. Kate figured that paying attention would actually be more detrimental to her GPA than figuring it out from the textbook, and so had spent the last seventeen and half minutes doodling in her margin.

"Mrs. Moss, what are you doing this weekend?," Greg said from the back of Kate's row, unabashedly trying to derail the scatterbrained woman.

"Not now, Greg. I'll let you go five minutes early."

Greg was clearly not overawed by five minutes when there were twenty-five to be had. "Are you going to set up a new hive?"
"Of course not, they say it's going to snow today."
"So...bees don't like snow?"
"Ha, they're all huddled together in their hive for warmth. Did you know that the bees don't allow the temperature to drop below 93 degrees in the section of the hive that holds the brood?"

Kate was mildly impressed at Greg's audacity, but  mostly just relieved that Mrs. Moss let him succeed so easily. Kate wondered if she really was as naive as she seemed, or if Mrs. Moss was a willing conspirator--sick of math and ready for Friday night. Pre-cal was obviously the no-man's land of math courses. Everyone that actually liked math or was particularly good at it was sitting in an actual calculus class. Everyone that actually struggled with math and needed an involved teacher to succeed was in Algebra II. Seventh period Pre-cal was a class filled with thoroughly mediocre seniors that were neither easy nor rewarding to teach. A hellish succession of not-that-bad nightmares that didn't even merit sympathetic gestures from the other teachers in the teacher's lounge.

Kate's weekend however, was another four hours from starting, regardless of whether the beekeeping Mrs. Moss stayed on topic or not. There was another choir concert tonight at King's Cross Episcopal Church, great acoustics, terribly uncomfortable pews. The pews were so uncomfortable that the designers must have taken to heart the sentiment that "all are sinners in the sight of God" and were proffering the pew as a passive penance for the plethora of offenses that Episcopalians were unrepentantly committing daily. By the end of the sermon Anglican buttocks had paid the price for not only changing lanes too abruptly and listening to unpurchased music on their ipods, but had been most egregiously chastised for all of the times the owner of said buttocks had lied in a voicemail. Sorry I haven't called back sooner I've been really busy lately [watching reruns of House].

Kate stood on top of the risers waiting for Ms. Mason to arrive and start the warm-ups. Ms. Mason was a tall, skinny, severe woman with a pointed chin that would've suited a goatee if it belonged to a man. She was probably about the same age as Kate' grandmother, maybe slightly younger, but there was nothing maternal about the woman. She ruled her choir so completely it would make the chairmen of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics jealous. Apparently, the vague promise of a solo if you won Ms. Mason's favor was enough to illicit complete and total submission. Autocrats look like brownie troop leaders next to control demonstrated in Mason's choracracy. The woman was ostensibly not even in the building and there they all stood, Rutherford High School Chorale hugging their music binders to their chests, standing in their places as if they weren't surrounded by a sea of empty seats (albeit, seats that outdo diamonds on the Rockwell scale).

Ms. Mason walked in attired in a black velvet blazer and those wide-leg skirt-pants that all female fine art teachers own. Everyone stood up straight and put their binders by their sides ready to start singing--figuratively wagging their tails.

"Great news, everyone," Ms. Mason said, pausing just to increase their anticipation for what she was going to say next. "I was late because I just received a call from the East Coast Choral Invitational-- in addition to Vermilion, they have invited Chorale to be the featured high school choir for the opening night. We're all going to D.C."

Kate was so excited she hardly even registered annoyance when Lauren Lance walked in late, but received a smile of all things from the fastidiously demanding Ms. Mason. Things were finally looking up for Kate Roy.

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Julian arrived slightly late for mic-checks and rushed on stage. She said a few of her lines, and sang the loudest section of her song so they could calibrate the mic levels for the performance. She didn't dare look to stage right to the Stage Manger's podium. If she was going to be rejected, Julian  didn't want to deal with it before a performance. If she wasn't going to be rejected, Julian certainly didn't want to deal with it before a performance wherein she was supposed to be depressed. Fortunately, the severe sleep deprivation had let Julian fall asleep before she could berate herself too badly for the terrible timing of her gift to Walt. She hoped she could make it through the day--just the matinee and the evening performances--without talking to Walt.

But Julian wasn't relieved when everyone came together backstage for the pre-show ritual, and Walt met her eyes looked away and quickly fit into the circle on the complete opposite side of her. It was like  stepping on a glass splinter--no blood, just a sharp pain that was unforeseen and impossible to remove.   




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