The Last Holiday Concert

  As Mr. Richards walked slowly back to his office, he congratulated himself on being so broad-minded and flexible. Who’s afraid of a little messiness? Not me. Education is all about experimentation. That’s what makes this job exciting.

  But in the back of the principal’s mind, another thought was whispering as well. That Meinert—he is creative, but he can be pretty emotional. I sure hope he knows what he’s doing.

  Thirteen

  SMOOTH SAILING

  After his surprise election—and after he had recruited Mr. Meinert to his team—Hart’s first seven class periods as director had been exhilarating. It wasn’t the sixth grade chorus anymore. It was The Chorus According to Hart. No endless rehearsing. No unreasonable demands. And during those first seven classes, no singing. Chorus had become cool, and the holiday concert was going to prove it. The concert was going to be amazing, fantastic, wonderful—even fun.

  Hart urged everybody to think big, think free, think bold. He urged everyone to break out of the mold. This holiday concert was going to be one of a kind, once in a lifetime, one for the ages. Hart told the kids they could do it, and they believed him. He was the fearless captain, steering their ship into uncharted waters. The skies were blue, the winds were fair, and the gentle waves rolled on toward the cheerful horizon. It was smooth sailing. Under Hart’s command, ideas welled up like a rising tide, and each one was welcomed aboard.

  Hart smiled and nodded as Jim Barker explained his exciting plan to rearrange the whole auditorium. Jim had diagrams he’d made on his computer. There would be three runways out to a stage in the very center of the room, and the chorus would be surrounded by the audience, and there would be lights shining in from everywhere, just like on that talent show on TV Jim had found only one problem so far: Every seat in the auditorium was bolted to the concrete floor. Hart told Jim to keep thinking.

  Hart smiled and nodded as Lisa Morton explained how she wanted to fly around the stage on wires like Peter Pan, except dressed up like an angel, or maybe one of Santa’s elves, or maybe a snowflake with arms and legs. Hart helped Lisa do some quick Internet research, which showed that the arrangements for that kind of flying would cost about twelve thousand dollars—not including the cost of special insurance in case of injury or death. Lisa said she’d talk to her dad about the money.

  Hart smiled and nodded as Olivia Lambert and Shannon Roda described their dance routine. They were two of the prettiest girls in sixth grade, and they were in ballet class together, and they wanted to do the dance of the Marzipan Shepherdesses from The Nutcracker. They already had their costumes, and if the sixth grade orchestra couldn’t learn the music in time, they had a CD and a really big boom box. And Shannon’s mom had volunteered to start and stop the music at the right places. It sounded like a lot of messing around, but Hart liked the way Shannon kept smiling at him, so he smiled back and kept on nodding.

  Every day kids came to him with new ideas, all of them interesting, all of them creative. Kids were even calling him at home to ask for his opinion. Jasmine Royce had prepared a gymnastic routine to the music of “Winter Wonderland.” Three guys wanted to come out in costumes and perform “The Chipmunk Song.” Five girls wanted to dress up like a boy band and do a hip-hop version of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” And Captain Hart Evans smiled and nodded and took careful notes in the ship’s log, and he promised to give every idea his careful consideration.

  Hart was glad to have Colleen on board as second in command. She was a practical, no-nonsense person, and she and her staging committee had gotten right to work. They’d come up with good ideas for decorations, simple and doable. There were going to be stars and streamers everywhere—gold and silver, blue and white, red and green, hundreds and hundreds of them—hanging on the curtains, suspended from the ceiling, filling every doorway, covering the walls. The committee had sketches and plans, lists of materials, and a schedule for making everything—it all looked fantastic.

  Allison Kim was on Colleen’s committee, and she had been watching a show on TV about a French circus, Cirque du Soleil. She loved their costumes, so that got her thinking. Some of Allison’s plans were pretty strange, and some of her costumes would have been impossible to make. But Colleen and the committee loved one idea: Everyone in the chorus was going to wear a special hat, this headgear with a long piece of coat-hanger wire sticking up from behind and looping out in front. A glittery star on a string would hang from the end of every wire. Then, as the chorus walked in, all the boys and girls would be following their own stars.

  And Allison and the staging committee even came up with a special name for the concert. They wanted to call it “Winterhope.”

  Hart watched as Ross and two assistants spent those early days at sea carefully writing the names of holiday songs on the wide chalkboards at the front of the room. The list went on and on. Ross had made three big signs—PLEASE SAVE!—so the custodians wouldn’t wash away their work at night.

  The list of songs included old favorites like “Jingle Bells” and “White Christmas” and “Here Comes Santa Claus.” There were Hanukkah songs like “I Have a Little Dreidel” and “Shalom, Children!” There were pop tunes like “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” and “Feliz Navidad,” and traditional carols like “Silent Night” and “The First Noel.” And Heather Park and Jeanie Rhee had written some Korean words on the board. They wanted to sing a duet—a Korean Christmas carol.

  After the third day Hart had said, “Hey, Ross—your list is getting pretty long.”

  Ross grinned proudly. “Yeah, isn’t it great? Over eighty songs, and we’re nowhere near done!”

  Hart wanted to remind Ross that there would only be time for six, seven, maybe eight songs during the whole concert. But part of being a good captain is knowing what to say to the crew. So Hart gave Ross a slap on the shoulder and said, “Great job—great job!”

  Hart smiled and nodded at Tim Miller as he started to pull his act together. Tim spent a lot of his time trying to figure out whether or not Elvis would wear a beard if he dressed up like Santa—some days it was yes, some days it was no.

  Hart smiled and nodded at Mr. Meinert, too—whenever he happened to notice him. Most of the time Hart was too busy. But Mr. Meinert didn’t feel left out now. He could see that Hart enjoyed being in charge, and he was fine with that. For now, Mr. Meinert was perfectly content to observe.

  He watched as Captain Hart Evans set sail, watched as the voyage began. And just like Hart, Mr. Meinert enjoyed those first days at sea. He felt like an invisible stowaway. Whether Mr. Meinert sat at his desk or walked around the room, the kids usually ignored him. They didn’t seem to care if he was listening or not. He got to see and hear everything, and he loved all the energy and enthusiasm. The room was never settled, but it was never completely crazy either.

  These were new waters for him, too, and Mr. Meinert was paying attention. He was learning. And he felt like he was seeing real kids for the first time since he’d become a music teacher.

  The memories of his first days as a student teacher were still fresh in his mind. He’d been thrown into a room with a huge gang of seventh graders. He had been a little too friendly, a little too timid, and the kids sensed that. They had refused to obey him. They went wild, and after fifteen minutes of chaos—fifteen minutes that had felt like ten hours—the regular music teacher had to rush back into the room and restore order. Mr. Meinert had been afraid of losing control of his classroom ever since.

  That’s why his classes had always been so carefully structured—especially the chorus. It was such a large group. Mr. Meinert had always planned every second of every class. He had directed all the activities, and he moved the kids from one task to the next with no breaks, no down time, no slack. He was able to accomplish a lot, but more importantly, he always had complete control.

  The Chorus According to Hart didn’t work like that. Was Hart in control? It didn’t look like that way. Hart was steering the ship, sort of, but the rest
of the kids, they were the ones who kept wind in the sails. And no matter how loud or fast the gale got blowing, Hart never seemed to be afraid.

  Watching the kids had made Mr. Meinert reconsider his attitude about concerts, too. He had always believed that a school concert should be a polished little gem, a half hour of order and perfection, with no loose ends, nothing left to chance. And who was responsible for each and every detail? Simple: Mr. David Meinert, Chorus Director. The concerts had been his concerts. He had always felt the presence of his choral professor, or the principal, or the Director of Fine Arts from the high school. Out there in the audience, someone had always been watching him, judging him.

  And in his own mind the big question had always been the same: How can I control this mob of twitchy kids and make them—force them—to put on this concert for me?

  Hart Evans seemed to have a very different idea, if he actually had an idea at all. This thing that was coming on December 22—it wasn’t going to be a concert. It was going to be more like an event.

  Mr. Meinert hadn’t forgotten his promise to Hart: You can count on me. Even though Hart hadn’t asked for anything yet, Mr. Meinert knew he was already helping. He steadied the ship just by being the grown-up in the room. And Mr. Meinert had spoken with Mr. Richards about the student-run concert, and had found the principal to be surprisingly tolerant of the whole idea, even supportive. So the music teacher knew he was playing an important part in the process.

  True, Hart had loads of natural talent. But after observing for seven class periods, Mr. Meinert felt pretty sure that sooner or later, Hart’s call for help would come.

  Fourteen

  MUTINY

  During those first seven class periods as the newly elected chorus director, Hart Evans had never felt so good about himself, about life in general, even about school. Everything was so much fun. Life was all yes, nothing but yes.

  For one thing, Hart had reached a new level of popularity. Now he was known and admired by all the kids at Palmer Intermediate, not just the kids from his old elementary school. He was getting to be famous. He was doing something interesting. He was running the show in the chorus room, and for those first seven classes everyone had been having a blast. And why not? It was a huge, creative free-for-all. Do whatever you want to. Dream big. Ask Hart anything, and you know what he says? He says, “Great!” or, “Go for it!” or, “Sounds amazing!”

  The news had spread. All over school the guys thought Hart was cool and the girls thought he was cute.

  He was enjoying himself, but in the back of his mind Hart knew it couldn’t go on like this. Everything was too fuzzy, too loose, always slightly out of focus. There were lots of ideas floating around and everyone was having fun, but the concert itself wasn’t coming together. And the class periods kept ticking by.

  Hart saw that part of his problem was human nature itself. Without a teacher to keep all the kids mixed together, the chorus had sorted itself into some basic personality types. And Hart had identified three groups: the doers, the floaters, and the goofers.

  Some kids didn’t fit neatly into those three main groups, so Hart also identified the floaty doers, the half-goofy floaters, and worst of all, the floaty goofers.

  And then there was Tim Miller. Tim was a floaty goofy doer.

  The serious goofers were mostly guys, and they had taken over the back corner of the room next to the windows. For them chorus had turned into goofer heaven. Three or four goofers played cards every day, someone always had a Hacky Sack in the air, and another one or two goofers just plugged into their CD players or iPods or Game Boys and zoned out for an hour. Goofers weren’t productive, but they weren’t disruptive, either.

  The floaty goofers were a problem, but fortunately there were only two of them—Sara Boothe and Kyle Gannon. Sara and Kyle worked as a team, roaming around the room. Who changed those song names on the chalkboard into “Froggy the Snotman,” “Jungle Smell Rock,” and “The Little Dummer Boy?” Kyle and Sara. Who glued Colleen’s backpack to the wall and put silver glitter in Ross’s hair? Guess. At least once each period Mr. Meinert had to give Kyle and Sara the evil eye, and that helped. But floaty goofers need constant discipline, and The Chorus According to Hart wasn’t set up that way.

  The pure floaters and the floaty doers and the half-goofy floaters were fine as long as the doers kept them busy. Colleen was actually a superdoer, and she was also the biggest employer in the room. She had a crew of at least fifteen floaty types cutting out stars and streamers, and she kept them busy and focused all day, every day. Ross had two floaters and one floaty doer helping him get all the songs organized into groups, copied off the chalkboard, and neatly typed into Mr. Meinert’s computer. There were also other doers like Allison Kim and Jim Barker, who had assembled small groups of floaters to help them with their projects. And then there were solo doers like the Nutcracker dancers and Carl Preston the magician who were busily organizing their own little events. Plus Lisa Morton, who was still working on a way to make herself fly around the stage like an angel.

  After a hard look at the calendar at the beginning of the second week of December, Hart knew it was time to get serious. He had to start making decisions. It was time to take charge, time to get things organized. And it was certainly time to begin singing. Half the rehearsal days were gone, and the chorus hadn’t sung a single note yet, at least not together, not as “the chorus.”

  So on Tuesday, December 7, Hart took his concert notes home. That night after dinner he looked at the long list of possible activities. He looked over Ross’s list of recommended songs. And then Hart began being the director.

  After an hour of thinking and rethinking, he turned on the computer in the family room and began to write, assembling the concert. Then he turned on the printer and made seventy-five copies.

  And at the beginning of chorus period on December 8—with eleven rehearsal days to go—Hart called the chorus to order and passed out the programs.

  “Hey!” yelled Tim Miller. “How come my name’s not on the program?”

  Carl shouted, “And what about my card trick?”

  From the back of the room a girl called out, “Who said we wanted to sing ‘The Little Drummer Boy’? That’s such a stupid song!”

  “Yeah,” said Kyle, “The Little Dummer Boy’!”

  Colleen raised her hand, and Hart pointed at her, expecting a little support from his trusty lieutenant. But the pleasure cruise was over.

  Colleen held up the program and said, “Really, Hart, this looks like a regular old concert. We all walk onto the stage, we sing six songs, then we turn around and leave? I don’t see anything special about this—and that was the whole idea, to make it special. I don’t think—”

  Hart shook his head. “Wait… wait. Let me explain. See, we don’t just walk onstage. ‘Cause this program, right now it’s only a list of the songs, and there’s stuff left out. Like, at the start, when we sing ‘The Little Drummer Boy’? We have three drummers, me and Kenny and Tom, and we beat out the rhythm while everyone marches onto the stage singing the song. That’s different. And maybe some kids could be carrying the big banner, ‘Welcome to Winterhope.’ And then ‘Jingle Bells,’ that’ll be a sing-along, like karaoke, with the words on a screen so everyone in the audience can sing. Everybody loves that song. So that’s different too. And during the dreidel song, Jenna and Max are going to be banging all over in those big rubbery costumes, even out in the audience. That’ll be really funny. And when we sing ‘The First Noel,’ Shannon and Olivia can do some ballet stuff down in front, ‘cause that’d look good, don’t you think? So it’s not just like a regular concert. There’s tons of different stuff!”

  Working it out in his mind the night before, the program had made perfect sense to Captain Hart. The crew didn’t see it that way. Everyone burst out at once.

  “These are the worst songs!”

  “Yeah, and all that other stuff? It’s so lame.”

  “I think the program s
tinks!”

  “Yeah, me too! It’s so … like, like, boring!”

  “Yeah, it’s boring!”

  Carl Preston stood up and said, “How come I can’t do my card trick? It’s really good!”

  Olivia Lambert said, “And I am not going to do any ballet dancing unless I can dance to my own music and be a Marzipan Shepherdess!”

  Shannon Roda nodded and said, “Me either!”

  Hart felt crushed. But also angry. He yelled, “Quiet! Everybody, quiet!” The room calmed down. “We’re not having card tricks and ballet numbers and gymnastic routines. This is not a talent show, okay? It’s a holiday concert, and we’re the chorus. That’s the whole idea. We can do different stuff, but we still have to sing—because … because we’re the chorus.”

  Tim Miller jumped to his feet. “But I still get to be Elvis, right? Dressed up like Santa Claus?”

  Hart nodded. “Yes. But you can’t just bounce around onstage the whole time. You’re gonna be out in front and do a lip sync when we sing the fifth number—that’s ‘Blue Christmas,’ okay?”

  Tim looked shocked. “No—no, that’s not it! I’m gonna be, like, all over the place all the time, you know, like a clown at the circus. I’m gonna be so funny—like really, really funny!” And grabbing his air guitar, Tim swiveled over to Melanie Enson, put his cheek down close to her face, and in his best Tennessee accent said, “How’d you like to give Elvis a big ol’ kiss?”

  That got some kids laughing, but most of the chorus was still upset with the program, and after a couple more loud complaints, Hart had had enough.

  “Listen,” he said. “I’m the director, and for now, this is the concert. So deal with it. We’ve only got eleven days, only eleven days! And we have to get it all pulled together. And we have to rehearse the songs. And everything else, too. So … let’s just do it. We have to do it!”