Karen's Tuba

by Ann M. Martin

  “Indoor voice, Karen,” Ms. Colman reminded me.

  “Oops. Sorry,” I said. Sometimes I get a little too excited. Then I use my noisy outdoor voice when I am inside and should be using my quiet indoor voice. Adults are always reminding me to settle down.

  Mrs. Dade smiled at me. “Good for you for remembering that slip,” she said. “In a few minutes you can see what is left in the music room.” Mrs. Dade paused. Then she added, “I am afraid it is not much.”

  Well, if that flute was there I would be fine.

  Mrs. Dade led our class down the hall. My friends were carrying their instruments. They were all talking about them. They had had two whole days to try to play them.

  “My violin sounds like this,” said Hannie. “Skreek, skreek, skreek.”

  I giggled.

  “The trombone is hard to play,” said Ricky. “I have not hit a good note yet. My cousin said I sound like a sick goose.”

  I giggled again.

  “Well, my flute sounds perfectly lovely,” said Pamela. “Like an angel singing.”

  No one paid attention to her.

  When we reached the music room I looked for the row of instruments under the blackboard. All I saw were chairs. And a tuba in the corner.

  “Well, what’s left?” I asked Mrs. Dade.

  She pointed to the tuba.

  “That’s it? Where’s the flute? I thought the flute would be here.”

  “Someone in the other second-grade class chose it,” said Mrs. Dade.

  “You mean I have to play the tuba?” I exclaimed.

  “Well — ” Mrs. Dade began to say.

  But I could not hear the rest of her sentence. My classmates were giggling and whispering and talking to each other.

  “Karen, the tuba is perfect for you!” cried Pamela.

  “For you and your big mouth,” added Bully Bobby.

  “Blarin’ Karen, Blarin’ Karen,” Leslie chanted.

  Mrs. Dade clapped her hands. “Boys and girls!” she said loudly. “That is enough. I do not want to hear another word about Karen and the tuba. If I do, you may go right back to your classroom.”

  After that, no one said anything about me and my tuba. But they still giggled and snickered behind their hands.

  “Karen,” said Mrs. Dade. “You may come get your tuba.”

  I stood up. Next to me, Ricky was turning red from trying not to laugh. Behind me, Pamela was holding up a sheet of paper. She was laughing into it. Addie had bent over so she was resting her head and arms on the tray of her wheelchair. Her shoulders shook as she giggled. Even Hannie and Nancy looked as if they were hiding smiles.

  I ignored everybody. I let Mrs. Dade hand me the tuba. (It weighed a ton.) Then I sat down again. Music class began.

  I had a talk with myself. This is what I said: “Karen, you have to play the tuba. No other instrument is left. And you want to play in the band. So you might as well make the best of things.” (I knew Daddy would have said that to me.) Then I told myself, “And if you have to play the tuba, you might as well be good at it.”

  Okay. I will show everyone, I decided. I will become a great tuba player.

  Karen’s Duet

  That afternoon I lugged my tuba home from school. Mrs. Dawes picked up Nancy and me in her car.

  “Goodness, Karen,” she said. “That tuba is almost as big as you are.”

  “I know.” I struggled through the back door. Danny was asleep in his car seat. There was just barely enough room for Danny, the tuba, and me. “But I am going to become a great tuba player,” I told Mrs. Dawes.

  “Good for you,” she replied.

  * * *

  My tuba took another car ride that day. Before supper, Mommy drove Andrew and me to Daddy’s house for the weekend. I brought the tuba with me.

  When we first arrived at the big house, Andrew and I were very busy. Everyone was there to greet us. We talked and talked, and I showed off the tuba. Then it was dinnertime. After that, Daddy and Elizabeth took us out for ice cream. Finally, when we came home, I carried the tuba to my room. I took it out of its case.

  “Okay, tuba,” I said to it. “I hope you sound pretty.”

  It was the very first time I had tried to play my tuba. In music class, Mrs. Dade had talked to us about notes and how to read them. (Musical notes, not notes you pass in class.) We had not even touched our instruments. Now I held the tuba to my mouth.

  I blew hard.

  HONK!

  “Yikes!” I shrieked.

  I tried again. Honk, honk, honk.

  A few minutes later, Sam came into my room. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Fine. I guess.”

  Sam reminded me that he has played in the band at his high school. And he has tried more than one instrument. “Maybe I could help you,” he added. “Do you need some tips?”

  “I’ll say,” I replied. “I have not had one single lesson. All I can do is this.” I honked a few more times.

  “Well, that is a start,” said Sam. Then he sat down next to me. And that is how Sam gave me my first tuba lesson ever.

  “Thank you very much,” I told him. “I plan to become a world-famous tuba player one day. The best tuba player of all time.”

  “Good luck,” replied Sam.

  * * *

  On Saturday, Hannie came over. She brought along her violin.

  “Let’s play a duet,” I said to her.

  “But we do not know how to play anything yet,” said Hannie.

  “Let’s just try. We have to start somewhere.”

  “Okay.” Hannie held the violin to her chin. She touched the bow to it.

  Skreek.

  I honked away on the tuba.

  A few minutes later Sam came into my room. He listened to the honking and skreeking. “How about a lesson?” Sam asked Hannie.

  Sam gave her a lesson. Then he left us alone. Hannie and I pretended we were famous musicians. We played and played. But when we went downstairs later, I noticed that Nannie was wearing earmuffs. And Shannon and Boo-Boo were hiding in the laundry room.

  Oh, well. At least nobody at the big house had called me Blarin’ Karen. I was excited about my lesson on Monday with Mrs. Dade. So what if I could not play the flute? The tuba was fine with me.

  Practice Makes Perfect

  On Sunday evening, my tuba and I went back to the little house. On Monday we went to school together. Soon I would have my first lesson with Mrs. Dade. I could not wait to show her what Sam had taught me.

  All morning, kids kept leaving Ms. Colman’s room to go see Mrs. Dade. First Addie and Hank left for their saxophone lesson. Then Hannie and Leslie and Natalie left for their violin lesson.

  I sat at my desk and W-A-I-T-E-D.

  Finally Ms. Colman called my name. “You may go to the music room now,” she added. “Have fun.”

  I stood up. I picked up my tuba. I think one person giggled at me, but that was all. (It was probably Pamela.)

  I had to walk to Mrs. Dade’s room all alone, since nobody else was playing the tuba. I told myself I was very special, because I would be able to have a private lesson.

  “Hello, Karen,” Mrs. Dade greeted me. “Are you ready for your first lesson?”

  I sat in a chair across from Mrs. Dade. “I am ready for my second lesson,” I replied. “My big brother Sam gave me a lesson on Friday night. Sam has played in the band in high school. He sort of knows how to play three instruments,” I told her proudly.

  “Does he? Well, let me see what you can do.”

  I honked on the tuba. I blew a little harder than I had meant to. Mrs. Dade jumped.

  “My goodness,” she said. “Well, I see Sam taught you how to hold the tuba properly. That is very good.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Thank you. He showed me where my fingers go.”

  Mrs. Dade and I worked hard during the lesson. Mrs. Dade was patient. I tried to follow her instructions. But by the time the lesson was over, I could still only HONK!


  “Karen,” said Mrs. Dade. “Maybe you would like to play percussion instead. The tuba is a difficult instrument. I am sure I could find a triangle and a tambourine and some castanets for you.”

  “No, thank you,” I replied. I knew those were for kindergartners.

  Mrs. Dade sighed. “All right. You must practice twenty minutes a day on your tuba.”

  Twenty minutes? Was that all? “I will practice for an hour,” I told my teacher. “Practice makes perfect.”

  Karen’s Concert

  Maybe the tuba was a difficult instrument, but there was one good thing about it. It was my instrument. I could not believe Mrs. Dade had tried to talk me into playing the triangle and the tambourine. Anyone could play those. But not just anyone could play the tuba. And I had planned to prove I could play well. (Well enough to travel around the world giving concerts.)

  That was why I decided to practice an hour each day. It was really the only way to become famous.

  * * *

  By Friday, I had had another private lesson with Mrs. Dade. And I had practiced for four hours at the little house. I could play a few different notes. They were the notes I needed for “Mary Had a Little Lamb” and the first part of “Jingle Bells.” Everyone else in my class was learning those notes and those songs on their instruments.

  After recess, my friends and I carried our violins and clarinets and saxophones and trombones to the music room. The chairs there were arranged in two semicircles, one inside the other. Mrs. Dade showed us where to sit.

  “Now,” she said. “Are you ready to be a real band?”

  “Yes!” we cried.

  “All right. Let’s begin with the first line of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ ”

  Honk! Skreet! Hoot! Baroo!

  We sounded horrible! We sounded like a car accident. I did not understand. How had that happened? We had been practicing for four days.

  “Let’s try that again,” said Mrs. Dade patiently.

  Honk! Skreek! Hoot! Baroo!

  I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Karen?”

  “Mrs. Dade, we sound awful.” I glanced around at my friends’ faces. They looked as disappointed as I felt.

  “Don’t worry,” said Mrs. Dade. “Almost every class starts out just like this. In a few weeks, you will be surprised at how good you sound. I promise. In fact, I have so much faith in you that I am planning for you and the other second-graders to put on a concert at school when your band unit is over.”

  A concert? No way. Usually, I just adore performing for an audience. But not with this band. We would never be ready for a concert. Our parents and brothers and sisters would come to hear us, and they would just laugh. Maybe they would even leave before the concert was over.

  Already, the big kids at school were laughing at us second-graders. I heard them talking about our music lessons. They said they had to wear earplugs when they passed Mrs. Dade’s room.

  I was not the only one who was worried about the concert.

  When the bell rang at the end of the day, my friends and I were quiet. We stood up slowly. We put on our coats slowly.

  “We are going to make fools of ourselves,” Ricky said to me.

  “I hope people will not have to pay to hear us,” said Addie. “That concert will not be worth one penny.”

  Well, I was worried, too. But Mrs. Dade had said we were going to put on a concert. So I decided we better make the best of it. It was just like playing my tuba. At least we ought to try to do well. We should work hard.

  I told my friends so.

  “We can do it, you know,” I said to everybody. “We can put on a great concert. We will just have to practice extra hard.”

  I was not sure anyone believed me. I was not even sure I believed myself.

  A Surprise for Ms. Colman

  “Come on, you guys,” I said to Hannie and Nancy. “Let’s go.”

  The Three Musketeers walked slowly out of school. We did not even hurry up when we saw Mommy’s car.

  Andrew waved to my friends and me from the backseat. “Hey, Hannie!” he called. “How come you’re riding with us today?”

  “Hannie is coming over to play,” I told him.

  “Aren’t you happy about that?” he asked me.

  “Yes, but we have a big problem. You are too little to understand it, though.”

  “I am not too little!” cried Andrew.

  “Okay. Settle down,” said Mommy.

  Nancy and Hannie and I were very quiet as we rode home. When we reached the little house, we ran straight to my room.

  “We better practice,” I said.

  We sat on my bed in a row. I was holding my tuba, Nancy was holding her clarinet, Hannie was holding her violin.

  “Okay,” said Nancy. “ ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ And a-one and a-two and a-three and a-four and a-five. Hey, come on, you guys. We are supposed to begin playing.” I started to play. Then Hannie started to play. “No, I mean we are supposed to begin playing at the same time,” said Nancy. “Wait. Let me try something different. Ready, set, GO!” she cried.

  Mary … had … a … little … lamb….

  “That was not bad!” exclaimed Hannie when we had finished.

  We tried the song again. Hannie was right. We did not sound so bad. We sounded a teeny bit better. Like a traffic jam instead of a car wreck.

  We played for a little while longer. Then we laid down our instruments.

  “Ms. Colman snuck down to the music room today,” I said. “I saw her listening to us. She was smiling.”

  “I do not want Ms. Colman to get married and go away,” said Nancy. She sighed. “I will miss her.”

  “She will probably come back,” said Hannie. But she did not sound as if she believed what she had said.

  “Even if she comes back, I will miss her while she is gone,” said Nancy.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “Me three,” said Hannie.

  “You know what?” said Nancy. “We should do something special for Ms. Colman. I mean, our class should. We should plan a surprise for her since she is getting married.”

  “That is a great idea!” I exclaimed. “Now let’s see. What could we do?”

  “We could collect money and buy her a present,” said Hannie.

  “We could bake her a cake,” suggested Nancy. “A wedding cake.”

  “And give her a party,” added Hannie.

  “Wait!” I cried. “I know! I thought of something that will really surprise her. I bet we could learn how to play ‘Here Comes the Bride’ on our instruments. All of us. Our whole class. And we can play it at our band concert. Just for Ms. Colman.”

  “Won’t she hear us practicing the song in the music room?” asked Nancy.

  I shook my head. “Nope. We will learn to play the song in secret. We will not tell anyone about it. Not even Mrs. Dade. We can practice by ourselves at home. Boy, will everyone be surprised when we play it at the concert.”

  “Excellent!” exclaimed Hannie and Nancy.

  That weekend the Three Musketeers called up every kid in Ms. Colman’s class. We told them about our idea. We made sure to say, “Remember. It is a secret. Do not say a word to anyone.”

  The Secret Meeting

  “Pssst. Secret meeting on the playground after lunch. Pass it along,” I whispered to Natalie Springer.

  Natalie pulled Tammy aside. “Psst. Secret meeting on the playground after lunch. Pass it along,” she whispered.

  Tammy leaned over to Terri. Terri passed the secret to Hank. Hank whispered it to Bully Bobby.

  It was Monday morning. My friends and I were in our classroom. Ms. Colman had just arrived. I wanted to make sure everyone knew about the meeting. Everyone except Ms. Colman. We were going to talk about the surprise song for her.

  At lunch my classmates and I ate quickly. Then we ran out of the cafeteria. We met by the monkey bars on the playground.

  I took charge.

  “Everyone knows about the surprise for
Ms. Colman,” I said. “Right?”

  “Right!” cried my friends.

  “SHH! Keep your voices down!” I hissed. “This is a secret. Now — does everyone think it is a good idea?”

  “Yes,” whispered my friends.

  “Do you all promise to keep the secret?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does anybody have a question?” I asked.

  Natalie raised her hand. “How will we learn the song?” she wanted to know.

  “Easy,” I replied. “At least, I think it will be easy. I talked to my big brother Sam. I told him about our secret — ”

  “You told someone?” cried Pamela. “Already?”

  “Blarin’ Karen!” said Bobby gleefully.

  I glared at my friends. “Do you want to make the surprise work or not?” I demanded. “We need help with it. And Sam can help us. He has played in his band at the high school. He knows how to play six instruments.” That was not quite true, but I needed to make Sam sound good. “He has helped me with my tuba, and he has helped Hannie with her violin. He said he can find easy music for ‘Here Comes the Bride.’ He says he thinks we can all learn to play the song. So do not worry. Sam will help us read the notes.”

  “Just remember that we have to do our best,” spoke up Nancy. “This surprise must be extra special. It is our wedding present for Ms. Colman.”

  “It might be our good-bye present,” I added.

  “What do you mean?” asked Addie. Her eyes grew wide.

  I told the kids about teachers who leave and do not come back.

  “But Ms. Colman said she was coming back,” Hank pointed out.

  I nodded. “I know. She says that now. But what if she changes her mind?”

  “If Ms. Colman left, who would be our teacher?” asked Natalie. Her lip was trembling, and her eyes had filled with tears.

  “Mrs. Hoffman, I hope,” I replied. “But we cannot be sure.”

  “We better be sure,” said Ricky. “I don’t want some substitute we never met before to come in and take Ms. Colman’s place.”

  Natalie’s lip stopped quivering. She wiped her eyes. Then she looked at me. “We could make an invitation for Mrs. Hoffman,” she said. “We could invite her to be our permanent teacher after Ms. Colman leaves. I bet she would not turn down a nice invitation.”