Karen's Tuba

by Ann M. Martin

  So we decided to form an invitation committee. These were the people on the committee: the Three Musketeers, Natalie, Ricky, and Hank.

  The Boys’ Wedding

  The secret meeting was held on Monday. Five days went by. I had two more tuba lessons with Mrs. Dade. The band had one more lesson with her. School ended for the week. Andrew and I went to the big house. And on Saturday, the Three Musketeers gathered at Hannie’s house. We were going to rehearse “Here Comes the Bride.”

  When I rang the bell at the Papadakises’ house, Hannie answered it. She let my tuba and me inside.

  “Is Nancy here yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet. But she’s on her way.”

  A few minutes later, the bell rang again.

  “Nancy’s here!” I cried.

  The Three Musketeers charged up the stairs to Hannie’s room. Hannie had set up chairs for us. “Just like in Mrs. Dade’s class,” she said.

  We sat in the chairs. We began our secret song.

  Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-skreeek.

  “Start over,” said Hannie.

  Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-honk.

  “Start over,” I said.

  We kept starting the song over. But every time we tried to play this one high note, somebody made a mistake.

  “Start over,” said Nancy. She was saying it for about the fifteenth time. But this time nobody started playing. We had heard a noise.

  “What is that?” I whispered.

  We peered into the hallway. There were Linny Papadakis and David Michael. David Michael was wearing a suit and his best shoes. (They had been shined.) Linny was wearing a long white dress and a pair of white heels. He was carrying a bouquet of plastic flowers.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Hannie.

  “What does it look like?” replied David Michael. “We are getting married.”

  “I am a bride,” added Linny. “And here I come.” He began to sing our secret song. “Dum, dum da-dum. Here comes the bride.”

  “After we get married, will you quit playing?” asked David Michael. He did not wait for an answer. He turned to Linny. “Come along, my lovely wife. Let us go on our honeymoon.” The boys ran away.

  I looked at Nancy and Hannie. We tried to pretend we were mad at the boys. But we could not. We began to giggle. Then we put away our instruments. We needed a break from practicing.

  The Missing Tuba

  “Daddy, may I start practicing now?” I asked.

  Daddy looked at his watch. “In another half an hour,” he told me. “At nine o’clock. Everyone should be awake by then.”

  “What if they are not?”

  “Well, they should be. You can wake them up with a beautiful tuba solo.”

  It was the next day, Sunday morning. Daddy and Nannie and Andrew and Emily and I had just eaten breakfast. I was ready to practice some more, but now I would have to W-A-I-T. While I W-A-I-T-E-D, I helped Daddy outside in the gardens. But only until nine o’clock. At nine, I ran inside and sat on my bed with my tuba.

  I played a scale. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. I tried to play softly because Sam and Charlie were not awake yet. I played the scale a few more times. Then I switched to “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” I played it slowly. Then I played it faster. Then I played “Here Comes the Bride.”

  Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-honk.

  I heard a snort from down the hallway. Then Sam appeared at my door. He was wearing his pajamas. They were very wrinkled. His hair was standing on end. He did not look happy.

  “Karen, do you know what time it is?” he said.

  “Nine-oh-eight,” I replied. “Daddy said I could start practicing at nine o’clock, so I did. Did I wake you up?”

  “Yes. But I had to get up anyway.” Sam went back down the hall.

  Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum —

  “Are you going to play that song all day?” someone asked.

  I looked up. Now David Michael and Andrew were standing in my doorway.

  “I am going to play it for the next month,” I told them.

  They stuck their tongues out at me. I stuck mine out at them. Then I practiced for an hour. Then I took a break. I took a break until lunch was over. And then I decided Hannie and I should practice together again.

  I went to my room to get my tuba.

  My tuba was not on my bed where I had left it. It was not anywhere.

  My tuba was gone.

  “Dad-dee!” I shrieked. “Elizabeth! Kristy! Nannie! Help!”

  Everyone came running.

  “My tuba is gone!” I wailed.

  “For heaven’s sake,” said Daddy. “You do not need to make such a fuss.”

  “I thought you had hurt yourself,” added Elizabeth.

  “But it is gone!” I cried. “And Mrs. Dade said we have to take care of our instruments. We are responsible for them.” I paused. “I bet David Michael took it. Or Andrew. They do not like my practicing.”

  “We did not take it!” replied David Michael crossly. He was standing in my doorway, too. “And to prove it, we will help you find it. Everybody, spread out and search,” he ordered.

  Kristy and my brothers and I looked all through the big house. First we looked downstairs. Then we climbed the steps to the second floor.

  “Hey, what is that?” said David Michael. He put his hand to his ear. We stopped to listen. “Moose sounds,” said David Michael. “It sounds like a moose is loose in Emily Michelle’s bedroom.”

  Of course, no moose was in Emily’s room. But my tuba was there. Emily was trying to play it. I guess she wanted a turn.

  “Gee, Karen,” said David Michael. “She plays almost as badly as you do.”

  I ignored my brother. I was just glad to have my tuba back. In fact, I was so glad that I gave Emily a lesson. Honk, honk, honk. She liked playing the tuba.

  The Invitation

  One day after school, the invitation committee had a meeting. We met at Nancy’s house. Nancy, Hannie, Natalie, Hank, Ricky, and I sat around the Daweses’ kitchen table. (Mrs. Dawes had to bring in extra chairs for us.) We drank some juice and ate some fruit.

  Then I said, “Okay. It is time to get started.”

  “How do we start?” asked Hank.

  “Mmm. We need some paper and pencils,” I said.

  Nancy found three pencils, and a pad of paper with wide lines.

  “Perfect,” I told her. “Thank you. Now we have to decide what to say to Mrs. Hoffman. Remember, we want her to like the invitation. We want her to say yes to it. This has to be just right.”

  “I know,” said Natalie. “Start with Dear Mrs. Hoffman, You are our favorite teacher ever. We like you — ”

  “No, we cannot say that,” Hannie interrupted. “Ms. Colman is our favorite teacher ever. Mrs. Hoffman is our second favorite.”

  “But we cannot say that, either,” spoke up Ricky. “We cannot tell Mrs. Hoffman she is our second favorite teacher. That will hurt her feelings and then she will not want to be our teacher at all.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” said Nancy. “Why do we have to say who is our favorite teacher? Let’s just tell Mrs. Hoffman we like her a lot, and we want her to come back and stay with us when Ms. Colman is gone. We want her for the rest of second grade.”

  “Excuse me,” said Natalie, “but doesn’t an invitation have to say what time and what day and what place?”

  “If you are having a party, it does,” I told her. “But this is not about a party. Now, come on, you guys.”

  “All right,” said Hank. “Write down Dear Mrs. Hoffman.”

  I printed it carefully.

  “Now,” said Nancy, “write We like you very much.”

  I printed that, too. Then my friends and I wrote some other things. When we had finished, our invitation looked like this:

  “What should we do about the crossouts?” asked Natalie. She was frowning down at the invitation.

  “Someone better c
opy it over,” said Hannie. “We do not want to send a messy invitation to Mrs. Hoffman. She might not like it.”

  “I will copy it over,” I said. I sighed loudly. “And I will fix the spelling.”

  “And you know what? I think everyone in our class should sign it,” said Ricky. “Then Mrs. Hoffman will know we are serious.”

  “And maybe we should decorate it,” said Nancy. “I could color some flowers around the edges.”

  So we set to work. Three days later, the invitation was really and truly finished. I mailed it myself.

  Bloopers

  “Secret meeting. Pass it along.”

  “Secret meeting. Pass it along.”

  My classmates and I needed another meeting on the playground. It was a Thursday. In one week and one day, the band concert was going to take place. We had to be ready with our surprise for Ms. Colman.

  We held our secret meeting at the monkey bars after lunch.

  “Has everyone been practicing the song?” I asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Has anyone not been practicing it?”

  Nobody said a word. Was that true? Every single person in my class had been practicing the secret song? Even Bully Bobby? That was great.

  “Is anyone having trouble with it?” I asked.

  A few kids raised their hands.

  I nodded. “We might need a little help now. Also, you know what? We need to practice together — our whole class — at least once before the concert.”

  “How are we going to do that?” asked Leslie.

  “We will have to practice at somebody’s house. Over the weekend, I guess. Maybe we can practice at my father’s house. We could sit in the big backyard if the weather is nice.”

  Addie raised her hand. “I have a question,” she said. “There is something I do not understand. For weeks we have been practicing ‘Here Comes the Bride’ at home. Our families have heard it over and over. I do not think it will be a surprise to them.”

  “Yes, it will,” I replied. “Because they do not know it is a surprise for Ms. Colman. And they do not know we taught it to ourselves. Now, everybody, tell your parents we decided we need an extra rehearsal before the concert, so we will sound our very best. I will ask Daddy if we can rehearse at my house on Saturday afternoon. Okay, this secret meeting is over. Let’s go play.”

  * * *

  And that is how my friends and I arranged for a special rehearsal of “Here Comes the Bride.” By two o’clock on Saturday, every single kid in Ms. Colman’s class was in my backyard. We were sitting in folding chairs. Sam was our bandleader. He said he would give us as much help as we needed. This was very nice of him.

  “Okay,” said Sam to my class. “Let me hear what you can do.”

  I lifted the tuba to my lips. Hannie raised her violin. My class began to play.

  Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-honk, skreek, baroo, eech, bloot.

  “Yikes!” I cried. “That was a blooper.”

  “I’ll say,” said Sam. “Try it again.”

  We played the song again. We sounded just the same. Another blooper.

  Natalie raised her hand. “Excuse me. Sir?” she said.

  “Who, me?” replied Sam. “Yes?”

  “I can never play that note right, sir,” said Natalie. “That high one. I always get stuck on it.”

  “Me, too,” said a whole bunch of my classmates.

  “Why don’t you practice playing that one note for a while,” suggested Sam. “Get used to the way it feels.”

  We played it over and over. (I spotted Nannie in the house. I saw her through the kitchen window. She was wearing the earmuffs again.) But guess what. The next time we played the song, we sounded a little better. And by the end of the rehearsal, we sounded almost … good.

  The Visitor

  On Wednesday, my classmates and I were writing in our reading workbooks. The room was quiet. We were thinking hard.

  My page was about silent vowels. Like the “e” at the end of “house.” I was just wondering why we need to put that “e” at the end of “house,” when I heard a knock at the door.

  I glanced up. So did everyone else in the room.

  Guess who walked through the door. Mrs. Hoffman.

  I leaned over and nudged Ricky. “See?” I whispered. “Ms. Colman isn’t coming back. Mrs. Hoffman must be here to say she liked our invitation, and she will be happy to be our new teacher.”

  “Girls and boys,” said Ms. Colman. “Please put away your workbooks. Eyes up front. We have to discuss something.”

  “Told you so,” I whispered to Ricky.

  Ms. Colman and Mrs. Hoffman were standing side by side in front of the blackboard. Mrs. Hoffman was holding the invitation. Ms. Colman took it from her and held it up.

  “Yesterday,” she said, “Mrs. Hoffman called me. She told me she had received an invitation in the mail from my students. She said she wanted to talk to me about it.”

  I began to feel nervous. Neither Ms. Colman nor Mrs. Hoffman was smiling. Had my friends and I done something wrong? Were we in trouble?

  “It is a lovely invitation,” spoke up Mrs. Hoffman. “When I read it, I felt very flattered. I am happy that I am your best substitute. Also, I am very pleased to be invited to your concert on Friday. My husband and I will be delighted to attend.”

  So far, nobody seemed too mad. I wondered what would happen next.

  “Class,” said Ms. Colman. (She sounded serious.) “I need to tell you something. This is important.”

  “Here we go,” I whispered to Ricky.

  “After I get married,” began Ms. Colman, “my husband and I are going on a short honeymoon. Then I absolutely, positively will return to Stoneybrook Academy and to you. I will be your teacher for all of second grade.”

  “Really?” I cried out.

  “Really,” said Ms. Colman. “Mr. Simmons and I have talked about this. Teaching is my career. That is what I do.”

  “But what if you have a baby?” asked Pamela.

  “If Mr. Simmons and I have a baby, we will both take some time off to be with the baby after he or she is born. Then we will return to work.”

  I raised my hand. “Will Mrs. Hoffman be our substitute while you are on your honeymoon?” I asked.

  “Yes, she will,” replied Ms. Colman. “So have fun with her then. Because after two weeks, I will be back. And Mrs. Hoffman will leave.”

  I breathed a gigundo sigh of relief. So did the other kids.

  Mrs. Hoffman smiled at us. “Thanks again for the invitation,” she said. “I am looking forward to being your substitute soon. And I will see you at the concert in two days.”

  After Mrs. Hoffman left, Ms. Colman smiled at us again. I knew she was not mad. I felt extra happy.

  Butterflies

  The bell rang.

  School was over for the day. In fact, it was over for the week.

  It was Friday afternoon. That evening we were going to have … our band concert.

  I was a little tiny bit nervous.

  “See you tonight!” I called to my friends as we ran out of school.

  Here is what was going to happen at the concert. First, the other second-grade class was going to play their songs. Then some of the big kids were going to play solos. They were the kids who were already extra good. They had been taking music lessons for a few years. Last of all, our class was going to perform. And just when everyone thought we had finished, we were going to play “Here Comes the Bride.” Our surprise for Ms. Colman, our special teacher.

  That afternoon, I could not settle down. As soon as Mrs. Dawes dropped me off, I ran inside. I ran to the kitchen to say hi to Mommy and Andrew. I ran to my bedroom to say hi to my rat. I ran downstairs again to ask Mommy a question. I ran over to Nancy’s house. I ran back home.

  “Karen,” said Mommy. “You are making me dizzy. Please settle down.”

  I tried to. I really did. I sat at the table in the kitchen. “Let’s color,” I said
to Andrew. I colored part of a fish. Then I leaped up. “All finished!” I cried.

  “I’m not,” said Andrew.

  “Why don’t you set the table for supper, Karen?” suggested Mommy.

  I set the table too fast. I broke a plate.

  “How about practicing the tuba?” said Mommy.

  Honk, honk, honk. I sounded like I had not had a single lesson.

  Finally Seth came home. We sat down to an early dinner. Mrs. Dade had said to be back at school by seven o’clock.

  I ate one bite of baked potato. Then I jumped up. “Done!” I announced.

  “Karen,” said Mommy. “You only ate one bite.”

  And Seth added, “That is not how we excuse ourselves from the table.”

  I sat down again. I ate two more bites. Then I said politely, “May I please be excused?” When Mommy and Seth said yes, I ran to my room. It was time to get dressed for the concert.

  I had already decided what I was going to wear. I had a new sweater that looked like an Easter egg. I put it on with a pair of stretchy black pants and my fancy black shoes. The shoes are slip-ons. They do not need a strap to stay on your feet. When I was dressed, I brushed my hair and tied a green ribbon in it.

  I was ready for the concert.

  Mommy drove Andrew and Seth and my tuba and me to school. Guess who we saw walking into school. Daddy and Elizabeth and my big-house family.

  “Hi, everybody! Hi, Kristy!” I called. I ran to my sister. Then I whispered, “Did you bring the flowers?” I had given Kristy an important secret job.

  “They are in my bag,” Kristy whispered back. She pointed to the tote bag she was carrying.

  “Oh, thank you!” I said. “Do you know what to do?”

  “Yup. We will be sitting near the front.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  It was time to find my classmates. While Mommy and I looked for them, I worried. I worried that my friends and I would make bloopers. I worried about our surprise. I worried that people would laugh at us. Worry, worry, worry.