The Last Holiday Concert (4 page)

Hart dug into his pocket and then dumped the rubber bands onto the desk.

“How about in your locker?”

Hart shook his head. “No, that's all I have.”

Mr. Richards said, “I'm keeping you after school today. And tomorrow. Come here to the office, and I expect you to bring homework or a book to read. Is that clear?”

Hart nodded. Then he said, “Um … can I call my mom? She doesn't get home until a half hour after I do, and she doesn't like my little sister to be alone after school.”

Mr. Richards glanced at his watch. “Hmm … I see. In that case, you can serve your detentions
starting tomorrow. Tell your parents that you'll be staying after school for one hour both tomorrow and Friday. And tell them why. And no more rubber bands at school. Understood?”

Hart nodded. Then he said, “So … so I can go now?”

Mr. Richards nodded. “Yes, you may go.”

Hart left the principal's office, but as he reached the door to the hallway, Mr. Richards called, “Wait a second, Hart.” Hart stopped and turned back.

Mr. Richards said, “Did you leave any belongings in the music room?”

Hart shook his head. “No. My book bag's in my locker.”

Mr. Richards pointed at the long bench against the wall of the main office. “Then I want you to sit right there until this period is over.”

Hart said, “Okay,” and he walked over and sat down.

After Mr. Richards shut his door, Hart turned and looked up over his shoulder until he could see the clock above him. It was one
forty-four. That meant he had nine minutes to wait. And think.

At first all Hart could think about was the crazed, angry look on Mr. Meinert's face. The guy had totally flipped out. Considering everything, Hart felt like he'd gotten off easy. And he felt like Mr. Richards was a pretty good guy. He felt like the principal had saved him from Mr. Meinert.

The principal was smart, too. Because Hart understood why the man had told him to wait in the office until the period was over. Mr. Richards didn't think it would be a good idea for Hart and Mr. Meinert to be in the same room again, at least not right away.

And Hart agreed. Completely.

A
t seven minutes after three Mr. Meinert stormed into the principal's office.

“Please,
please
tell me I didn't just see that Evans kid getting on a bus to go home, out there laughing and joking around with all his buddies. Tell me I'm seeing things—like a kid who shoots a teacher with a rubber band going home instead of staying after school! Tell me I'm blind. Tell me I'm crazy. Tell me
something
, anything!”

Mr. Richards got up and closed his door. “David, this is the second time today I've had to ask you not to shout in my office. Please, sit down.”

“I don't want to sit down!”

Mr. Richards glared at him. He pointed at one of the blue plastic chairs in front of his desk. “David, sit.”

The principal sat in the other blue chair. “Yes, that was Hart, and you saw him getting
on that bus because both his parents work, and his mom expects him to be at home with his younger sister after school. It would have been difficult for the parents if Hart had stayed for detention today. If a boy misbehaves, we punish the boy, not his parents. So relax. Starting tomorrow Hart will be staying after school for the next two days.”

Mr. Meinert popped up halfway out of his chair. “Two days!?
Only two days
?”

Mr. Richards nodded. “That's right, two days detention. I don't believe Hart hit you on purpose, and he's staying after school two days for shooting rubber bands at school. That's fair, and that's the end of it. So let it go, David. Do you understand me? Let it go.”

“Or what?” asked Mr. Meinert. “You can't fire me twice.”

Mr. Richards paused. He'd had a feeling this was going to come up. In a gentler voice he said, “You haven't been fired, David, and you know it. It's a town budget crisis. All the schools are cutting staff. I told you that a month ago. And I had nothing to do with deciding that the art and music teachers would
be the first ones to go. I know that losing your job is upsetting, but you cannot let your personal situation affect your behavior at school.”

“My
behavior!” Mr. Meinert made it all the way to his feet on that one. “What do you mean,
my
behavior?”

“David, sit down. I'm talking about this afternoon, with Hart. You overreacted. And I had to ask you to let go of the boy's arm. Do you have any idea how big a problem that could have been? … for you
and
for this school district? What if you had made bruises on Hart's arm? What if you had hurt his shoulder? That could have been on the evening news today—and for all we know, it still might be. The kind of anger you displayed today was completely unprofessional. So
that's
the behavior I'm talking about.”

Mr. Meinert turned and looked out the windows. The last two buses were pulling away.

The principal kept talking. “I'm sorry about the town's money problems, and I'm very sorry your job will end on January first. You have a right to be upset about that—it's a rotten Christmas present. You're a terrific music
teacher, David, and I hate losing you. But there's nothing I can do about it. I did get the school board to keep your names out of the local news until the Christmas vacation begins, and I understand why you and the other teachers made that request. It'd be even worse with everyone walking around feeling sorry for you. So … we all just have to make the best of a bad situation.”

“Make the best of it,” said Mr. Meinert, still facing the windows. “Easy for you to say.”

“No,” said Mr. Richards, “it's
not
easy. We went through this eight years ago, the same thing. And there's nothing easy about it—not for me, not for anyone.” Mr. Meinert didn't respond, so the principal added, “If there were anything I could do about this, I'd have done it by now. I'm still hoping the district can come up with the money we need before the end of the year, but that's a long shot. And if I can help with recommendations as you look for other jobs, you know I've got nothing but good things to say about you and your work.”

Mr. Meinert just sat there, his face turned away.

After an awkward silence, Mr. Richards said, “Listen, we've got a faculty meeting in fifteen minutes, and I've got to get ready. So I'll see you there.”

The music teacher stood up. “I won't be at the meeting.”

Mr. Richards said, “Oh. Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

Mr. Meinert nodded and walked out of the office.

H
art's dad was home in time for dinner, plus he had brought two large pizzas, so everyone was in a pretty good mood.

As Hart bit into a big slice of pepperoni with extra cheese, he debated whether or not to tell his parents about his detentions. And the rubber band incident. This was the weekend Zack's dad had promised to take four of the guys to a hockey game at Madison Square Garden—Rangers against the Bruins. It would be a rotten weekend to get grounded.

So maybe I shouldn't tell
.

But he had to serve the two detentions, and his mom was always home from work by three thirty, so that was a problem.

Maybe I could get Kenny Lambert to come over tomorrow after Mom gets home and tell her I had to stay after and do some stuff. Kenny would do that for me. And it wouldn't be a lie. Then I could just take the late bus home at four thirty
.

Hart felt like he could get away with not telling. He took a long drink of grape soda, burped, and then quickly said, “Excuse me.”

Then he thought,
Except what about the second day? Staying late two days in a row is gonna look fishy. Mom'll want all the details. And what about Sarah being alone for half an hour both days? Mom won't like that
.

Hart knew that if he got caught telling anything less than the whole truth, that would mean
big
trouble. He reached for the sausage-and-mushroom pizza, and he thought,
So maybe I should just tell what happened and take my chances
.

Sarah wiped her mouth with her napkin, put it back in her lap, and said, “So Hart—did you have an interesting day at school?”

Hart almost gagged on a gob of cheese. It was Sarah's tone of voice. She knew. She knew everything, and she was about to rat on him.

Hart's private debate was over.

He swallowed fast and nodded. “Yeah. Actually, school was a little
too
interesting today. Because I did something stupid in chorus. I was messing around with a rubber band,
and it accidentally hit Mr. Meinert. And now I have to stay after school tomorrow. And Friday.”

His mom and dad frowned. Sarah smiled.

Hart shrugged and put on a sheepish face. He said, “Yeah, Mr. Meinert got pretty mad, but the principal knew I'd never try to hit anybody on purpose. But I shouldn't have been playing with rubber bands. So that's why I got the detentions. Boy, I'll never do anything like
that
again.”

His mom nodded. “Well, I'm glad to hear you say that. I guess I'll have to leave work early tomorrow and Friday.”

His dad said, “Two days after school?”

Hart said, “I know. It's a big punishment, but that rubber band hit Mr. Meinert, Dad, and it could have even hit him in the eye. So that's why Mr. Richards made it two days. And he's right. I shouldn't have had those rubber bands at school.”

His dad nodded. “Sounds like you've learned a good lesson.”

And Hart nodded. “Yeah, I have.”

Hart knew he was home free. He took a bite
of pizza, and glanced sideways at his sister.

Sarah was frowning.

On the other side of town Lucy Meinert was talking with her mouth full.

“You know what I think? I think you should quit.” She stabbed the air with her chopsticks for emphasis. “Right now. Just quit.”

The school day was behind him now, and Mr. Meinert was starting to recover his sense of humor. He smiled as he tipped a white cardboard container and reached in for another helping of stir-fried shrimp.

His wife said, “I'm not kidding, David. I'm making enough money to cover our expenses, and we've got some savings, too. You should walk into that office tomorrow and tell little King Richards that you quit, effective immediately. If the taxpayers in this town want to fire music and art teachers, fine. Let them. Let them go ahead and raise a pack of culturally stunted morons. It'll serve ‘em right!”

Mr. Meinert's wife had studied music too, and they had met at college. But Lucy realized she didn't have the patience to be a teacher,
and she didn't want to try to earn a living as a singer, either. So she'd gotten a job at a computer software company. The skills that made her good at reading and writing music also made her good at reading and writing computer code. Now she was on her way to becoming a software developer, and she had less patience than ever, especially about the way her husband's school was run.

After a long drink of water she started in again. “Idiots! I mean, if a
company
was running low on money, it wouldn't try to cut costs by firing its most creative people! That's just stupid. What you do is ask
everyone
in the company to take a pay cut, and then everyone pulls together, and they think and they work until they find a way to get more money. And if you really
have
to fire people, then you start near the top. You fire administrators and assistant supervisors and people who don't do the most important work. If you ask me,
that's
what ought to be happening at the schools in Brentbury! And what about the rest of the town government? They could figure out how to find some money if they really believed
education was so important. But they're all too stupid and too selfish, so I say you should quit. Tomorrow. Just walk in there and quit.”

It was a tempting idea, but Mr. Meinert shook his head and said, “You know I can't do that.”

“Why not?” said Lucy. “Afraid you won't get a good recommendation to some other school? What happens at your new school in five or six years when the economy shrinks again? I'll tell you what'll happen—they're going to fire you, just like Brentbury did. Honestly, I don't see why you want to keep teaching. There's no future in it.”

He and his wife had had this conversation before, and David Meinert didn't want to argue. It was the only thing his wife didn't quite understand about him.

He had reasons for wanting to be a teacher, personal reasons.

Between the ages of five and sixteen, young Dave Meinert had attended nine different schools in seven different states. As his dad's career advanced, the family had moved to follow the jobs. Dave had spent part of almost
every school year as the new kid. During those years the one thing that had always been the same was his music. He had a great voice and perfect pitch, and he was a whiz on the piano. His band and chorus teachers had always made him feel at home. Music had been the one thing Dave could depend on, no matter where they lived.

Two years ago, when David Meinert had gotten the job teaching music in Brentbury, he was thrilled. The town's music program was recognized for excellence all over the state—even around the nation. He and his wife bought a small condo in Brentbury, and David Meinert felt like he had finally come home. He wanted to stay put. He wanted to have a family someday and never make his kids have to move. He wanted to be the teacher who knew how to make the new kids feel welcome. He wanted to teach his neighbors' children and watch them grow up. He wanted to stick around so he could see which kids turned into real musicians, because he knew some of them would. His wife didn't understand why he went to the concerts at the junior high school.
He went because two years ago those children in the eighth grade chorus had been in the sixth grade chorus. They were still
his
kids. And as soon as there was a staff opening, he hoped to move up to the high school chorus program and begin working with more serious singers and more challenging music.