“I’ve listened to you practice upstairs,” Mom says as she starts the car. “You’re sounding very good these days.”
“Mrs. Rossini says I’m really improving,” I tell her. “It’s getting to be so much fun now that I’m past all the baby basic stuff.”
“I’m proud of how dedicated you are, Sassy. You’ve been doing this for over a year now, and not once have you acted like you’re ready to quit.”
“Quit? No way!” I look out of the window for a minute, then I say to her, “Mom, playing the piccolo is just me!”
“How come?” Mom asks.
“Well, it’s little like me, and it’s got a high voice like me, and it’s silvery and shiny. Playing it makes me happy.”
Mom smiles at me as we back out of the driveway. “Just like Grammy knew it would,” she says with one of those grown-up nods.
My interest in piccolo all started when my grammy took me and Sabin and Sadora to a concert. Sabin plays the violin in his school orchestra, so he likes that kind of stuff. I thought I would be bored, but the musicians played all kinds of cool songs. One of them had a piccolo solo.
“Is that a flute he’s playing?” I had whispered to Grammy. “It’s so little!”
“No,” she had told me. “It’s a piccolo.”
“Piccolo. Piccolo. Piccolo,” I had repeated over and over. The word still makes me giggle.
“I think the word piccolo means ‘tiny,’” Grammy had explained.
Just like me, I thought as the concert ended with a crash of cymbals and roar of trumpets.
A few weeks after the concert, a package wrapped in silver paper arrived at my house. I opened it with excitement. It was from Grammy, which is always a cool thing.
Inside a black leather case, resting gently on blue velvet, was this perfect silver piccolo, divided into two parts. I carefully slipped the two parts together and held the small treasure in my hands. It was barely a foot long.
A note inside the leather case read, Let this be your silver secret. Learn to play it, learn to love it. Let its silver melodies always keep you happy. Love, Grammy.
Mom found a place where I could take lessons, and, even though it was hard at first, I’ve loved every second of learning to play. Blow gently. Use soft, smooth breaths. Lovely tones come out. The music even sounds silvery!
I never told any of the other kids at school — not even Jasmine. Somehow this was something all my own. I didn’t want to share it — at least not yet. I was afraid I wouldn’t be very good at it.
But it turns out I’m pretty good — actually very good. Mrs. Rossini says she’s never seen anyone learn so quickly.
I tell her it’s because I love it. She smiles with understanding.
Since we have no orchestra at school, I have never had the chance to perform for anyone on my piccolo.
Plus, all the instrumental music for the upcoming show will come from iPods.
I’ve thought about it, but I honestly can’t figure out how to add piccolo music to our show. It sure would be nice if I could.
But for now, my shiny silver secret has to stay hidden in my Sassy Sack.
Just before lunch, Mr. Wood posts the names of the people who will sing in the show. Actually, it’s just about everybody who tried out. Carmelita. Travis. Jasmine. Rusty. Ricky. Charles. Abdul. Tandy. Iris. Princess. Misty. Basima. Josephina. Holly gets to dance. Some of the boys are put into trios and will sing and dance, too. Josephina and Jasmine get a duet.
Everybody is excited. Except me. I don’t even check the cast list.
Then Jasmine says, “Did you see your name, Sassy?”
“Why should it be there?” I say a little sadly. “I didn’t even try out.”
“You should check it,” Jasmine tells me with a smile.
I walk over to the bulletin board. Mr. Wood has assigned jobs to kids as poster makers and set designers and even ushers. I sigh. Those are nice jobs, but I don’t want to do any of that.
I’d love to play my piccolo in the musical, but several things will stop that from happening. First of all, nobody knows I have a piccolo and that I know how to play it. Second, since there are no live instruments in the musical, I’d look pretty stupid showing up with a baby flute.
I guess I kept my secret too well.
I find my name at the very bottom of the list, like maybe Mr. Wood checked it and at the last minute remembered that he had forgotten me.
It says, “Sassy Simone Sanford — stage manager.”
Mr. Wood walks over to me then. “You’ve got class, Sassy. And smarts. And great ideas. I really need your help. You know how forgetful I am. Do you think you can do this job?”
“I think so,” I tell him slowly. “What does the stage manager do?”
“She is the one who tells everybody what to do, where to stand, when to come onstage, and when to leave the stage. She tells the curtain puller when to pull it up and when to bring it down. She is in charge.”
“Do I get a clipboard?” I ask.
He chuckles. “How about a pink one?”
“Can I wear one of those purple sparkly dresses?” I hold my breath.
“Well,” Mr. Wood replies. “I only have enough costumes for the performers who will be on the stage. Most of your work will be done behind the scenes — backstage. But you can wear a pretty outfit — anything you like. And we’ll make sure you get to come out and take a bow. How does that sound?”
I sigh, but I agree to do it. He reaches over and shakes my hand. His large hand covers my little one like a giant glove.
“I’ll need several pens and markers as well,” I tell him. “In lots of different colors. I plan to color coordinate the whole show!”
Mr. Wood laughs his big bass chuckle. “I knew I chose the right person for the job!”
Jasmine asks me then, “Are you happy with the part you got in the show?”
“I like being in charge,” I tell her honestly. “But I really want to wear one of those dresses.”
“I know,” she says, putting her arm around my shoulders. “It’s awful you can’t wear one. Mr. Wood should have ordered more costumes!”
“He knows I can’t sing,” I remind her.
“But that’s not your fault! This is just so not fair.”
I breathe deeply and imagine how I’d look in one of the shimmery dresses. I say, “It’s okay.” But it really isn’t.
“You should get to wear one of those dresses just because you’d look so good in it!” Jasmine tells me.
“Yeah, I would,” I admit with a small smile.
Jasmine always knows what to say to make me feel better. We both laugh as we walk down the hall to the cafeteria together.
Sometimes it’s hard to find a seat in our lunchroom. Like the rest of our school, the room is old and well-worn. The linoleum floor is scuffed, and in lots of places it’s easy to see the bare cement underneath. The tables wobble, but the food is usually pretty good.
“Why does our cafeteria always smell like tomato soup?” Jasmine asks as we enter the hot and crowded room.
“I don’t know, because I don’t think they’ve ever even served any kind of soup,” I tell her as I crinkle up my nose.
We pick up our disposable trays, get a cheeseburger, a little cup of fruit, and a juice box each, and head to the table where mostly fourth graders are squeezed together.
I like when Travis sits with us. He makes us laugh. He slurps spaghetti and sucks Jell-O cubes into his mouth from the plate. Plus, he’s the best milk gargler in the fourth grade.
“Ooh, yuck!” Tandy says. “You’ve got milk coming out of your nose!”
Travis snorts and does it again. I think he likes to gross us out.
“Give him a tissue, Sassy,” Princess says. She knows I keep tissues and bandages and rubber bands down in my Sassy Sack.
I decide my pretty pink tissue is too nice for Travis, so I hand him a brown paper towel instead. He doesn’t even notice.
Then Princess looks at
the key chain I have hanging on my Sassy Sack. She touches it with admiration and says, “Wow, Sassy. I think you’ve got the best key chain of all of us!”
“Thanks,” I tell her.
All the girls pull out their key chains then. Princess has a small fuzzy stuffed cat, a picture of her baby sister, and a little container full of lip gloss dangling from hers. We all nod with approval.
“I’ve got miniature ballet shoes, a tiny ballerina doll, and a snood,” Holly announces.
“What’s a snood?” we ask, giggling because it’s a funny word.
“It holds my hair while I dance,” she explains.
Jasmine’s key chain has hearts and flowers and tiny sunshine charms. Her favorite color is orange.
But mine is the coolest. I’ve got a tiny pink sparkly book that I can actually write in and three kinds of minishoes — a dressy one with a spiked heel, a sparkly tennis sneaker, and a pink flip-flop that smells like cherries. I’ve also got a pink dolphin, a heart-shaped charm that says I LOVE PURPLE, two flashlights, some bells on a ribbon, and my change purse that has SASSY written in sparkly letters. And keys. All of us have keys.
“We’ve got enough keys to drive to Alaska!” I joke.
“And none of us can drive!” Princess cracks up.
“I’ve got my daddy’s car keys from his old car,” Holly explains.
“Me, too!” I say. “His new car, too. But I don’t think he knows it.”
Princess touches my purse gently. “Your Sassy Sack is so cool,” she says. “I wish I had one just like it.”
“My grammy made it for me,” I explain, “so it’s one of a kind.”
“How did she get all those sparkles and sequins on there?”
“She placed them herself — one at a time. She told me every time she sewed a stitch, she thought of me.”
“Awesome,” Jasmine whispers.
“What’s inside it?” Travis asks, bending his head so he can look inside.
I close the top flap. “Secrets. Specials. Necessaries,” I tell him in a whisper.
All of the girls laugh as we glance at each other and nod. We understand.
I’m in a pretty good mood as we return our trays. Being with my friends always makes me feel better.
Our school does a pretty good job of recycling. The disposable cardboard trays, along with glass and plastic juice bottles, go into a big bin with a giant letter R painted on the front. Every classroom has a recycling bin as well. Little stuff like that is important to me.
Just before it is time to go back to class, we hear bing-bong-bing. That’s the sound that says an announcement is coming over the public address system.
Our principal, Mrs. Bell, has a squeaky voice. When she speaks, it’s almost like listening to fingernails on a blackboard.
“Attention, children and teachers,” she says. “I have an important announcement that is both good news and bad news.” She pauses. “Well, it’s not really bad news, but we might have to make some adjustments around here for a few months.”
“Maybe they’re closing the school for a while,” Rusty says with a laugh.
“Not hardly,” I tell him.
Mrs. Bell continues. “The good news is that the board of education has finally approved the funds for several improvements to our school. I know it’s very crowded around here, and we really need the new space. They are going to spruce up our old building with new floors and new classroom furniture. Plus, they plan to build two new science labs, several new classrooms, and a new music room.”
Some of the teachers in the cafeteria stand up and cheer. Mr. Wood is one of them.
Mrs. Bell says then, “The bad news is that construction will start in the next week. Halls will be blocked off, workers will be all over the place making lots of noise, and lots of heavy equipment will fill our parking lot.”
Travis and Rusty cheer this time. “Cool, man. Nothing better than a bulldozer!” Travis says.
“Parents will be given notices of all the changes going on in our building. We want you to be safe during this construction and confusion.”
Bing-bong-bing. The public address system goes quiet. Then the bell rings and we head for English class with Miss Armstrong.
“I bet she makes us write a poem about all this,” Jasmine whispers as we head to class.
“What’s poetic about jackhammers and cranes?” I ask.
“Not a thing!” Jasmine replies with a laugh. “Not one single thing!”
Construction brings lots of noise and confusion and dirt. Huge trucks sometimes block the driveway when parents are dropping their kids off at school. Big wooden planks cover some of the walkways that have been dug up. A large pile of dirt sits in front of the school, and on rainy days everything is covered with brown, yucky mud that gets tracked into the halls and classrooms.
Fairly disgusting.
Today they are installing new plumbing. Because of this, some of the toilets do not flush.
Really disgusting.
Men and women with dirty yellow hard hats sometimes walk down the halls with us. They are supposed to stay on the side where the new area is being built, but sometimes they need to use the phones or the bathrooms. Good luck on that one!
Sometimes they get their lunch from our cafeteria. Why would anybody want to eat our cafeteria food on purpose? I don’t get it.
We are not allowed to go anywhere near the construction zone. Barriers and fences have been set up. We can’t even get close. But we can watch the progress from a distance, especially when we are outside for recess.
Jasmine, Princess, Holly, Carmelita, and I are sitting on a bench, watching the new building in progress. Lots of other kids have their noses close to the fence that separates the kids from the builders.
“It looks like a giant skeleton,” I tell Jasmine. “The boards are skinny like bones, and the nails connect them all together like joints.”
“It smells good,” Jasmine says as she sniffs the air. “I like the smell of sawdust. It smells so new.”
“When is all this supposed to be finished?” Holly asks as we watch a crane move stuff from a pile to a truck.
“My father says the new wing of the building should be ready by the time school starts next fall,” Jasmine replies. “He’s on the building committee, and he says they are in a hurry to get it done.”
“Next fall? I thought it would be ready in time for our musical,” Holly says.
“Not a chance. They are going to work all through summer vacation,” Princess comments.
We are interrupted by the loud zing of an electric saw.
When it finally stops, Holly asks, “Why can’t the workers do this at night?”
“It’s dark! Duh!” Carmelita replies.
“I suppose they could use really bright lights,” Holly suggests.
“I think they’re working day and night,” Jasmine says.
“Mr. Wood really needs that music room,” I tell them. “Is it true we’re going to be able to have an orchestra?”
“Instruments are hard to learn. Singing is easy — all you have to do is open your mouth,” Jasmine says.
“Easy for you to say,” I reply with a giggle.
“We need to give Sassy a big horn!” Carmelita says.
I laugh with them. “If we do get to have an orchestra, and you could pick any instrument you wanted, which would you choose?”
Holly says, “The piano. Because that’s the instrument we dance to in ballet class.”
“Kinda hard to put it in your book bag!” I tell her. I bend over and pretend I’m walking with a piano on my back.
“I’d choose the harp,” Princess says. “I think it sounds like angel music.” That’s a good choice. Princess has long, flowing blond hair. It ripples down her back like a golden stream. I think she looks like one of those angels on decorations during the Christmas season.
“All those strings,” Carmelita says. “I bet your fingertips would get sore. Me, I’d pick something easy,
like a drum. Just hit it with a stick and be done with it.”
We crack up.
Jasmine then says, “I’d choose a trumpet because it’s loud, and everyone would notice me.”
She pretends to toot a horn. Then Carmelita beats on her pretend drum, while Princess strums her imaginary harp, and Holly moves her fingers over invisible piano keys. They’ve got quite a band going.
“What about you, Sassy? What instrument would you choose?” Jasmine asks me when they stop.
I pause a moment, then I say very quietly, “I’d choose the piccolo.”
“What’s a piccolo?” Princess asks. “It sounds like something good to eat.”
“It’s a tiny flute, and it plays pretty music way up high. It sounds like birds in the morning in springtime when you do it right.”
“You sound like you know quite a bit about it,” Holly says.
“I do.” I finally decide to tell my friends what I’ve been up to. “I’ve been taking lessons since last year. Holly, just like you go to dance lessons, I go to a studio where I play the piccolo!”
“So this is the big secret?” Jasmine asks with her hands on her hips. “You could have told me, Sassy. I think it’s really cool.”
I give her a big smile of thanks. Then I tell everybody, “At first I was scared I wouldn’t be any good at it — like my singing. So I never said anything to anybody.”
“Not even your best friend?” Jasmine looks a little upset with me.
“I decided to wait and tell people if I ever got to be any good at it,” I try to explain.
“So are you better at the piccolo than you are at singing?” Princess asks.
“Much, much better,” I tell her.
“Prove it!” Jasmine says. Her voice says she’s still not happy with me.
“Okay. I’ll show you.” I reach down into my Sassy Sack and pull out the black leather case.
“Ooh,” they say with admiration in their voices.
“Only Sassy could find an instrument that’s small enough to fit into that purse of hers,” Carmelita says. The rest of the girls nod in agreement.
The Sassy Collection Page 15