Tara's Triumph

by Cindy Jeffries

  The next morning at break, everyone was buzzing excitedly about the midterm concert being turned into Tara’s charity concert. All the students seemed to love the idea.

  “We’ll need a great finale,” said Chloe. “Something to round it off so people are reminded why we want tons of donations.”

  “How about your song, Tara?” asked Ed.

  “Good idea!” agreed Danny. “All the performers could come onstage and sing along to it at the end. That would be really cool!”

  “Why don’t we ask some people to come to the Rock Department after dinner for a quick tryout?” asked Pop.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to be practicing anything except your song for the concert?” Tara pointed out sourly.

  Pop blushed and Marmalade laughed. “I wondered where the old, grumpy Tara had gone,” he said. Then it was Tara’s turn to blush.

  “Let’s not fight,” begged Lolly. “Tara deserves as much support as we can give her. If Mr. Player yells at us, that’s just tough.”

  The day was going well, when Tara got a message from Mrs. Sharkey to go and see her after dinner.

  As soon as she arrived at the principal’s office, the secretary told Tara she could go right in. To her surprise, Mrs. Sharkey wasn’t sitting behind her huge desk as usual. Instead, she was pacing up and down by the large window that overlooked the lake. Tara had never seen her so agitated.

  As soon as Tara closed the door behind her, Mrs. Sharkey stopped pacing and turned to face her.

  “Sit down,” she said. Tara sat, feeling bewildered and rather alarmed at Mrs. Sharkey’s tone. “I’ve just received a phone call from the local paper.”

  Alarm bells began to ring. Was this something to do with the e-mail Tara had written? But it was a good e-mail. Tara had been almost certain it would get the publicity she needed.

  Mrs. Sharkey sat down and glared at her. “I am informed by the editor that the school has invited the general public to a concert at Rockley Park in aid of a group of African orphans,” she told Tara. “He tells me that it will be the more the merrier as far as the audience goes. Would you like to explain to me why the first I hear about these arrangements is in a phone call from a newspaper?”

  Tara gulped. It hadn’t occurred to her to show Mrs. Sharkey the e-mail before she’d sent it. But Mrs. Sharkey was waiting for an explanation and Tara would have to say something. “It is for charity,” she said in a small voice.

  “Your reasons are not in question,” Mrs. Sharkey said coldly. “But you should never send e-mails to newspapers before clearing them with me. Apart from it being extremely rude to keep me in the dark about your plans, it is not up to you to decide who is invited onto school property.”

  She rose to her feet and resumed her pacing.

  “I told the editor that he had his facts wrong,” she told Tara. “And I apologized for wasting his time. We are a small, independent school. Even if we wanted to invite outsiders to our concerts, we could not do so. We don’t have anything like a large enough theater. You know very well that there are very few spare seats when the parents come to concerts.”

  She stopped and glared at Tara again.

  “The editor seemed to have some idea that we would be selling tickets,” she went on. “Did you tell him that?”

  Tara shook her head. “No,” she said quietly.

  Mrs. Sharkey folded her arms. “He also had the extraordinary idea that the catering and admin staff would be doing turns, as he put it. Utter nonsense. What sort of school do you think I am running? The midterm concert is an important educational tool, not a free-for-all!”

  Tara shrank in her chair from the blazing anger in the principal’s face. “Whatever you may think,” Mrs. Sharkey told her, “you are not in charge of this school. Although you will no doubt be pleased to hear that the orphans’ charity will be supported in some way by Rockley Park, it will be done in a proper manner, at a later date, without you riding roughshod over every correct procedure. That will be all.”

  She went to the door and held it open. Tara wanted to protest, but she knew it would do no good. It wouldn’t help if she tried to explain that she hadn’t thought she was doing anything wrong. It hadn’t occurred to her that the theater was too small, or that the editor would call the school about her e-mail, or even that Mrs. Sharkey would be angry if he did.

  She got up and left the room. The door closed behind her with a firm click. It was the end of everything. She’d let everyone down—mostly, of course, the children she was trying to help, but also all the people at school who were looking forward to being part of the fund-raiser. Now she would have to tell them that it wasn’t going to happen.

  How could she possibly face her friends in the Rock Department? They would all be there, waiting for her to

  10. Making the Best of It

  arrive so they could practice her song. For once, Tara’s strength of character deserted her. She knew she should give them the bad news right away, but she just couldn’t.

  Instead, she went over to Paddock House and up to her bedroom. The room was empty. On the wall above Tara’s bed was the blown-up photograph of Nangila with Lolly. Tara looked up into his frightened eyes. For the first time in years, she could do nothing to stop the tears. She sank down onto her bed and began to cry.

  After a while, Tara fumbled for a tissue and blew her nose. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. This was getting her nowhere. What if someone came into the room? She couldn’t let anyone see her like this. Tara Fitzgerald never cried.

  She blew her nose again and went into the bathroom. She washed her face with cold water to try to get rid of the telltale red marks around her eyes.

  You have to go and tell them, she told herself fiercely. Hurry up, before they all leave the rehearsal. You have to let them know what happened.

  It was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but before she could talk herself out of it, she walked firmly downstairs and over toward the Rock Department.

  As she opened the door a great chorus of voices met her, lifted in song. The large main room was full of people singing her words, while Danny, Ed, and Ben played. Judge Jim was standing in for Tara. He gestured for her to take over, but Tara shook her head. She had managed to make herself come here, but no way did she feel able to perform.

  She stood numbly and listened until they’d finished. They were all enjoying themselves so much, and the song sounded fantastic, but it was all for nothing.

  As the last notes faded, Tara ventured farther into the room. Judge Jim put down his guitar and smiled at her before disappearing into his office.

  “You’ve been gone forever!” yelled Pop. “And we’ve been having such a great time!”

  “Did you like your song?” asked Chloe. “It sounds wonderful with us all singing, doesn’t it?”

  Tara nodded. “Yes,” she told them all, forcing her voice to be strong. “It does sound good . . . but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.” In spite of all her efforts, her voice was wobbling badly, but no one seemed to notice.

  “Oh no! What?” asked Ben. “Don’t say you want to change the song. It’s perfect just as it is.”

  “It’s my fault,” Tara continued. “I’ve annoyed Mrs. Sharkey, and now she’s not going to let anyone other than students perform. And she said the concert should be educational, not a free-for-all, so I guess the finale is off, too.”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  “She can’t do that!”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “What about this song? We have to sing it!”

  “Mrs. Sharkey did say that Rockley Park will help support Nangila’s school in the future, but not yet and not using my plan.”

  “Well, at least the charity won’t suffer,” said Lolly, smiling at Tara encouragingly.

  “And this is still a great song,” chipped in Ed. “I bet we’ll be able to use it in the future, Tara. Come on, cheer up.”

  “That’s right,” said Ben,
picking up the melody of the verse again. “Don’t let old Sharkey spoil everything. Let’s play your song again.”

  “I’ve got to go,” said Tara. “Sorry. But keep going.”

  “See you later,” called Lolly.

  Tara made her way back out of the building. They were all on a high in there. But Tara felt bitterly sad and let down by her own behavior. She hadn’t meant to annoy Mrs. Sharkey. She had only tried to help as many children as possible. She couldn’t bear to think that she’d made things worse instead of better.

  It was small consolation that the school was going to adopt the charity. Mrs. Sharkey didn’t seem to have any sense of urgency about it. It could be weeks or months before any fund-raising ideas were tried out. What would happen to Nangila in the meantime?

  A little while later Tara’s roommates came back, chatting excitedly.

  “That was so much fun!” exclaimed Chloe, sinking onto her bed with a sigh of satisfaction. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out, though, Tara. At least the charity will still get some help.”

  “Are you all right?” Lolly added.

  “Of course,” replied Tara quickly.

  “What did you do to upset Mrs. Sharkey so much?” asked Pop curiously.

  Tara looked at her resentfully. She had hoped that no one would ask that.

  “She didn’t like that I tried to get publicity for the concert,” she muttered.

  “Oh, Tara,” said Lolly, sounding so sympathetic that Tara was afraid she might burst into tears again. “That’s such a shame. And you were only trying to help the children.”

  Tara swallowed hard and forced herself to look unmoved.

  “Well, I failed,” she managed, before she had to turn away. She picked up a book and tried to read, but the page blurred, and she couldn’t make out a single word.

  It was almost seven o’clock when Mrs. Pinto put her head around the door.

  “Is it homework time already?” asked Chloe, looking at her watch.

  “You’ve got a few minutes yet,” Mrs. Pinto told her. “No, it’s Tara I was looking for. Tara, Mrs. Sharkey would like to see you right away.”

  Tara stood up. It was very late in the day to be seeing the principal. Something must be terribly wrong. Was it more fallout from her e-mail to the newspaper or was it worse than that? Could it be something to do with her parents? Had there been an accident?

  Tara was in agony as she sprinted over to the main house. “Please let Mom and Dad be all right,” she muttered over and over again as she climbed the stairs up to the principal’s office.

  The door to Mrs. Sharkey’s room was open, and the secretary waved her right in. But Tara could hear voices in there. The principal wasn’t alone. It must have something to do with her parents, and someone had come to give her the awful news. But the secretary didn’t notice how frightened Tara was.

  “Go on,” she urged impatiently from where she sat at her desk. “Don’t keep them waiting.”

  Tara took a deep breath and pushed the door open. With Mrs. Sharkey was Judge Jim and a man Tara had never seen before. He was wearing a dark suit, and looked like a businessman of some sort.

  “Ah! Come in, Tara,” said Mrs. Sharkey. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Judge Jim patted an empty chair next to him and gave Tara a kind smile. She glanced at the strange man for a moment and then did as she was told.

  Judge Jim pushed a small plate and a napkin toward her, and Tara realized that she had interrupted something. A large platter of dainty sandwiches was in the middle of the desk, along with a couple of bowls of chips and nuts. It didn’t look like bad news if the kitchen had been asked to send sandwiches up. What on earth was going on?

  “This is Mr. Boyd,” Mrs. Sharkey told her.

  Mr. Boyd held out his hand, and as Tara shook it, she realized who he was. Mr. Boyd was the editor of the Daily News, the newspaper she’d written to about the concert. What was he doing in the principal’s office? She found it impossible to read his expression.

  “More wine?” offered Mrs. Sharkey. “Or would you rather have coffee?” Judge Jim was already on his feet, waiting to refill Mr. Boyd’s glass. “There’s orange juice,” she told Tara, “or coffee if you’d prefer it.”

  “Orange, please,” said Tara faintly. It seemed she was being invited to join some sort of party. Judge Jim passed her a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

  Everyone except Tara looked very pleased with themselves, but Tara, nibbling on a chip, was still very much in the dark. Was she in trouble or wasn’t she? None of this made any sense. But at last Mrs. Sharkey took pity on her.

  “I expect poor Tara is wondering what all this is about,” she said, taking a sip of coffee and setting the cup down. “I have to tell you that she and I were not on the best of terms after she went over my head by e-mailing you, Mr. Boyd.”

  Mr. Boyd, who was much younger than Tara had imagined the editor to be, nodded understandingly.

  “I’m sorry we all got off to a bad start,” he agreed.

  Mrs. Sharkey smiled at Tara. She looked encouraging.

  “Mr. Boyd has come here this evening because he has a proposal for us,” she told Tara. “And his proposal involves you.”

  Mr. Boyd cleared his throat and smiled at Tara.

  “I was so impressed with your e-mail,” he told her. “I thought such enterprise needed supporting, and I approached Mrs. Sharkey to see if we could help. I hadn’t realized then that your theater couldn’t accommodate more than a few hundred people, or that you hadn’t asked her permission to open the school concert to the public.”

  Tara blushed.

  “After I spoke to your principal, I realized that if we were going to make the most of your excellent idea, you needed much more help than I’d first thought!”

  Tara returned his smile warily. Where on earth was this going?

  “Our parent company,” he said, “the one that owns my newspaper, has a history of supporting events throughout the country. I called the publicity department, and they told me that the outdoor stage is free for one weekend next month.” He looked at Tara as if he expected her to be thrilled. “There’s been a cancellation,” he added, as if that explained everything.

  Tara looked at Judge Jim for help. She had no idea what the editor was talking about.

  “Mr. Boyd has offered Mrs. Sharkey his company’s portable open-air stage for the midterm concert so we can entertain many more people,” he told her gently. “And Mrs. Sharkey has accepted.”

  Mrs. Sharkey was nodding encouragingly.

  “We couldn’t turn down such a generous offer,” she said. “Of course, we will have to apply to the council for a license, and we have to consider things like parking and road access. But Mr. Fallon is hopeful that he can put everything in place in time.”

  “I was very attracted to your idea of including everyone—staff and students,” said Mr. Boyd. “I love the way Rockley Park is like one big family, with everyone eager to help.”

  Tara glanced at Mrs. Sharkey. The principal was looking at her sternly now, so Tara looked away.

  “Mr. Fallon thinks that if we use the large field at the back of Rockley Park House, the capacity will be about two thousand,” Judge Jim said. Tara gasped. Two thousand people! She had never dreamed that the concert could possibly attract so many.

  “I have never wanted to expose our students prematurely to the public eye,” Mrs. Sharkey told Tara. “But Judge Jim assures me that the experience of performing on a large, outdoor stage is too good to miss. The students are already rehearsing hard for the midterm concert, and I know they’ll give their best, for the sake of Rising Stars points and your charity, Tara.” She looked at her with steely eyes. “This doesn’t mean that I’m going to adopt every scheme you throw at me,” she added. Tara nodded meekly.

  “Mr. Timms has already agreed to record the concert, hasn’t he?” said Judge Jim, smiling at Tara. “And you’ll be able to sell copies of the CD afterwa
rd.”

  Tara nodded and managed a small smile. First the fund-raising was on, then it was off, and now it was on again. Earlier today she’d thought that she’d really blown it, but it seemed everything was going to be all

  11. Concert Fever

  right after all.

  Judge Jim and the others were all looking at her, waiting for her to say something, but for once Tara was totally at a loss for words. She managed another small smile, and the adults laughed.

  “I think she likes the idea,” said Mr. Boyd.

  From that moment, the days flew by. One of the jobs was to mark out a stage-size area for the students to practice on. Judge Jim, with Tara and some others to help, paced it out on the front lawn.

  “It’s important to be able to rehearse in the right-size space,” Judge Jim told them. “If you don’t, you’ll look lost when you get up on that open-air stage.”

  “But it’s huge!” said Ben, looking distinctly worried.

  “You have to learn to take charge of the space,” Judge Jim said as he unwound and pegged down a long strip of white tape while they stood, one at each corner. “Come into the middle now, and stand how you usually do when you’re playin’ as a band.”

  There seemed to be acres of space to spare within the tape.

  “Look how big an area you’ll have to move around in,” he showed them. “Pretend you’re playin’ your song, but use the space. Make it yours. Don’t let it intimidate you.”

  It was scary to begin with, but they soon got the hang of it. They moved farther apart, and decided to take turns stepping forward, right to the edge of the stage, to play a few solo bars.

  “It’s not fair!” Danny called out from where he was sitting in the center of the marked-out rectangle. “I’m the only one who has to stay put.”

  “You need your drums on wheels.” Ed laughed.

  “At least you’ll be on a raised platform so everyone can see you,” Judge Jim told him with a smile. “As soon as the stage is set up, everyone will get a chance to do a live run-through, but for the next few days, each performer can use this space to visualize how they’ll behave on the real stage.”