Family Storms (23 page)

When we stepped into the lobby, it was empty and very quiet. So was the hallway we entered. Where had everyone gone so quickly? Dr. Steiner saw the confused look on my face.

“The bell for beginning of homeroom has rung, but the bells don't ring in my office,” she said. “I have enough outside noise as it is. Loitering in the hallways after the bell rings will get you into detention as quickly as anything else.”

I couldn't help but wonder if Kiera had made it to school on time. After Dr. Steiner showed me my locker and gave me the combination, we continued down the long corridor. We walked to the last room on that wing of the building. When we entered, the dozen or so students all turned to look. Mr. Hoffman, a man Mama would have called as slim as a butter knife, stopped what he was reading and looked at us.

“Mr. Hoffman, here is your new student, Sasha March. Miss Dirk is to be her big sister today.”

A chubby, dark-haired, light-skinned African American girl stood. She looked to Mr. Hoffman, who nodded, and then she came around the end of her row to us. She wasn't much taller than I was, and if it were not for her full, round, bloated face, she could be very pretty, I thought. She had unique-colored eyes that were like a very dark blue. Every-one else continued to watch us as if we were about to begin some traditional ritual of greeting.

“Hi. I'm Lisa,” she said, extending her hand. I took it and nodded. “You're sitting right behind me,” she added loudly, and the boy who was sitting there stood up and moved to the back of the row.

Dr. Steiner watched it all unfold and smiled with satisfaction.

“You're in good hands now, Sasha. Everyone be sure to make Sasha feel at home,” she said, her voice, though still with that nasal quality, sounding very authoritative. She nodded again at Mr. Hoffman, handed me my class-schedule card, and left.

I followed Lisa to my seat.

“Welcome, Sasha. I was just explaining that this home-room period will be extended so we can go through some of the rule changes at the school,” Mr. Hoffman told me, and then said, “Number three.”

The only rule change that made the students around me groan was the prohibition against cell phones being on during classes. Texting during class would result in suspension.

The redheaded boy across from me leaned over to whisper. “That's because Jean Trombly was caught cheating. Someone was texting her the answers on the test.”

I just widened my eyes. And then I realized that the phone Mrs. March had give me was on. I quickly dug into my book bag, took it out, and shut it off. The phone made a musical sound as it went off, and everyone looked at me, most smiling and laughing. Mr. Hoffman didn't crack a smile. I shoved the phone back into my book bag quickly.

“Number four,” he said sharply, and they all turned back to look at him. He went through five more rule changes before finishing.

When the bell to end homeroom finally rang, Lisa spun around quickly.

“Let me see your class schedule,” she said. I handed it to her. “Oh, good, you're in instrumental music next. I was afraid you weren't.”

“Instrumental music?” I hadn't looked at the card. She handed it back to show me.

“Room fourteen,” she said. “It's a bit of a walk. What instrument do you play?”

“I don't,” I said.

She tilted her head and pressed her lips deeper into their corners. “Weren't you playing an instrument in the school you attended before you came here?”

“No. We didn't have a school band.”

“We have an orchestra. Not a band,” she corrected, and I followed her out. “We have three full minutes between classes, so being late is considered serious. Two times late for classes will result in one day's detention. And you don't want to be in detention here. Mr. McWaine runs it, and he doesn't let students do anything for the whole hour. No reading, no homework, nothing but sitting up straight with your hands clasped. Not that I've ever been in detention,” she added. “Have you?”

“No.”

“You might get away with it because of your limp.”

“I don't want to get away with anything because of my limp,” I said sharply, but she didn't notice my annoyance, or if she did, she ignored it.

“That's the way to the cafeteria,” she said, nodding to our left. “On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, they have pizza. It's thick and full of cheese, and you can ask for pepperoni to be put on it if you like. I love pepperoni. The juniors and
seniors have their classes mostly down on this end,” she continued. Then she leaned in to say, “Everyone's going to be asking me all sorts of questions about you. For starters, who was Chinese, your father or your mother?”

“My mother.”

“Did you eat with chopsticks? I hate it. It takes too long to eat. My fingers are too fat and clumsy, anyway.”

“We didn't eat with chopsticks at home,” I said. “But always in an Asian restaurant. You shouldn't eat fast, anyway. It's not good for you.”

“Oh, are you one of those health nuts?”

“No,” I said. “I'm just nuts.”

She looked at me and laughed. “You lived in Santa Barbara?”

I nodded.

“I've been there, of course. It's very nice. Do you miss it?”

“I miss a lot,” I said sharply. I did, of course, only it had mostly to do with Mama.

She saw the tears in my eyes. “Oh, let's hurry. We've only got another thirty seconds.” she began to walk faster. Keeping up with her made me limp more dramatically, and for some reason, I felt pain in my hip.

Just before we turned into the music room, she paused and said, “The music teacher's name is Denacio. Everyone loves him, but they still call him Mussolini. You know who that was?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know not to fool around in here,” she said, and we entered.

Nothing could have made me more curious. Why was I assigned to instrumental music? Didn't I have a choice?

Room fourteen was a bigger classroom, but the class was half the size of my homeroom. Mr. Denacio was tall and lean, with coal-black hair and a coal-black thick mustache. He had piercing ebony eyes as well. He had his jacket off and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“Let's not waste time,” he said when the bell rang. “I want to see how many of you really practiced over the summer, and don't think any of you can fool me about that.”

The students around me went to their instruments. I stood there, feeling foolish.

“Okay,” he said, nodding at me. “Sasha March?”

“Yes.”

“I'm Mr. Denacio. I understand you're here to learn how to play the clarinet.”

I stared dumbly. Before I could say anything, he reached back and picked up an instrument case.

“It's a pretty good piece,” he said. “Just take your seat over there.” He nodded at an empty desk on my right. “I'll get to you in a little while.”

“I never played the clarinet,” I said.

“No kidding. That's why you're here to learn, Miss March. Look around you. None of these geniuses knew anything much about the instruments they play now when they began here. This is why we call it an educational institution.”

No one laughed, but everyone smiled. He handed me the instrument case, and I went over to my desk. Lisa was at the rear of the classroom, taking out a flute. I opened the case and saw the inscription on the inside cover.

Alena March.

Under that was her address, and at the very bottom was a tiny goldplated plaque that read,
We love you. Dad and Mom.

I closed the case. Why hadn't Mrs. March told me she already had this for me? I had never said I wanted to play the clarinet. Would it be ungrateful of me to refuse?

I watched Mr. Denacio test every student. He complimented only two and told the others they had to make up for ignoring their instruments. Everyone was given something to do, and then he turned to me.

“Now, then,” he began, “it just so happens I can use another clarinet in the senior orchestra. Hey, stop looking so worried. You're making me nervous.” He finally smiled.

“I'm not nervous. I'm just surprised,” I said.

“Surprised? Why?”

“I didn't know this was here waiting for me.”

“Oh. Your aunt brought it in last week. She didn't tell you?”

I shook my head

“Well, I guess it is a surprise, then, but a nice surprise, right?”

I looked at the case and shrugged.

“Enthusiastic, I see. Okay, you're what I call a challenge, and why shouldn't I have one the first day of school? Why should anything come easier to me?”

He opened the case and began to show me how to put the clarinet together, set up the reed, and hold the mouthpiece correctly. He told me to hold it between my teeth, pretend to say “doo,” and blow.

“That's it,” he said. “Blowing long tones will get your abdominal muscles used to the pressure.”

I did it again and again, and he smiled.

“That's a pretty good sound. Something tells me I have my new clarinet player,” he said. He said it as if he had been waiting for me for a long time.

It gave me chills, because sometimes that was just the way Mrs. March made me feel.

I looked back at Lisa, who lowered her flute and smiled. Maybe it was my imagination, but it looked as if everyone was looking at me and smiling.

It was as if everyone from Dr. Steiner down had been waiting for me, as if they had all known that what would happen some rainy night on the Santa Monica highway would deliver me to this very place.

18
Fast Learner

Y
ou were a big hit with Mr. Denacio,” Lisa said after the bell rang. I put the clarinet in the locker assigned to me. She put away her flute, and we were on our way to English class. “I could tell, because he always looks annoyed when he gets a student to start from scratch. He'd like everyone who enters his class to be concert-ready.

“So tell me the truth,” she said almost in a whisper. “You really did play the clarinet at your previous school, right?”

“No. I didn't.”

“Then why was an instrument left here for you?”

“It was meant to be a surprise.”

She nodded as if she understood why I wasn't telling the truth. “Everybody tells little white lies here,” she said.

“I don't.”

She smiled coyly again and continued walking silently. I had little opportunity to speak with any of my other classmates until our lunch break. All the time I was with her in my classes and on the way to them, I could see that Lisa was
using me to make herself look more important. When we entered the cafeteria, that was even clearer. Students who were eager to learn more about me looked up from their tables in expectation. She took her time deciding where and with whom we should sit and finally decided on a table with three other girls.

We set our books down first, and Lisa introduced me to Charlotte Harris, Jessica Taylor, and Sydney Woods. Charlotte and Jessica had light brown hair cut and styled almost identically. Sydney had auburn hair brushed shoulder-length. I didn't think any of them was particularly pretty, but after Lisa introduced them all to me and me to them, they acted and spoke as if they all had won teenage beauty contests.

Lisa began by telling them as much about me as she knew. I was a little more nervous, because all of them had been to Santa Barbara frequently, and I thought they would be asking me detailed questions about stores and places to go. I waited to hear what they liked about it and quickly agreed.

“Isn't there a place you liked more?” Sydney Woods asked me.

I pretended to think about it and then shook my head. “We didn't go out to eat that much, and my father hated the beach.”

That was certainly true about Daddy, I thought. Mama practically had to drag him the few times he did come along, and all he did was complain about hot sand or the water being too cold.

“So, how did you get that limp? Born with it?” Jessica Taylor asked me.