THE WORLD IS ENDING, Amy thought to the ground as she walked from school to her next destination. THE WORLD IS ENDING AND IT’S DOING IT ON PURPOSE. Maybe she was exaggerating a little bit, but she felt she was allowed to after the day she’d had. She walked briskly, her hands in her jean pockets, staring at the concrete below her and never ahead. If she looked ahead she might see people. She was so tired of people.
People suck. She thought once more. People are always doing things that suck. And they were. Not even five minutes after the morning bell had rung, Joey Lawrence had pointed out that her teeth were too large and that she should consider a possible surgery in which a rabid bear might claw all of them out, because that would make them a whole lot more attractive. In response she asked how that even made sense and how the use of the word “claw” was most likely grammatically incorrect, and maybe he would be better off with an English tutor. She was thoroughly surprised by how many people seemed to be on Joey’s side in the dispute,and newly self-conscious about her pearly-whites.
Other than that, she got a ninety-five on her spelling test (a rarity for her), a rejection from the school musical she had recently tried out for and about a thousand more comments to the same degree as Joey Lawrence’s. Fun day.
But it was supposed to be! In fact, Amy had been looking forward to that day immensely for some time! This was the day she would join the elite “Pennbrook Junior Orchestra” that rehearsed down the street from her school Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. She had been working up to this day since she began Middle School and joined band. She was a skilled viola and flute player, and she more-than-deserved a spot in the orchestra.
She was about two blocks away from the music academy now, and her mind was still elsewhere. Like her teeth. And her glasses. And every other little thing that wasn’t perfect about her. She was still staring at the ground, but after a bicycle whizzed by her much too close for comfort, she decided it was time to look up.
What she saw was a group of Junior High students lined up on the steps outside the academy. Each one sported a case of some kind (her viola case was in her hand) and everyone seemed to be pretty social. All of the kids stood in clumps talking to each-other, and it seemed to Amy like this was probably going to end up as another breeding ground for cliques. Approaching the crowd reluctantly, Amy found a place among the steps where she could stand alone and hopefully not participate in conversing with anyone. Gladly no one did, and after a few minutes, an older woman with a clipboard opened the doors of the academy and directed everyone up a couple flights of stairs to a rehearsal room.
Once everyone was in the room, the doors were shut behind them, and they were told to be quiet. “Hello, my name is Mrs. Wilburn, and I will be your assistant director here at the Pennbrook Junior Orchestra,” the woman quipped energetically, tapping her clipboard for emphasis with each syllable. “If you will please pay close attention I will be calling off names and seating arrangements now.” She first named a section and then went on calling off names and seat numbers throughout the room. Come on. Amy thought. I just want to go home.
Soon enough the word “viola” was called, and Amy waited patiently for her name to be called. Actually, she waited more impatiently, seeing as she had been waiting around and leaning on some boring wall for over twenty-five minutes now. There seemed to be an extremely large number of violas in the orchestra though, because the list never seemed to end, and it didn’t help that Amy’s last name was Zedler. She was sure to be last!
As the minutes dwindled by Amy kept asking herself why she was here. Sure, she was good at playing an instrument and getting acceptable grades, but as far as being social went; she wanted nothing to do with it. She was excited for it months ago, but suddenly not now. This was just one more place she might have to put up with the constant jabber. Never would it be good jabber either. That she could guarantee.
“Maria Benetos, seat forty-seven…” Every-day, she put up with so much. “Paul Magar, seat forty-eight…” Why did she put up with it? “Alicia Nedham, seat forty-nine…” She wanted to be someone else, even if just for a day. “Francesca Pomoroy, seat fifty…” A silence washed over the room as no one identified themselves as this person. “Francesca Pomoroy?” Mrs. Wilburn called once more.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Amy frantically waved her hand up in the air calling, “That’s me! I’m sorry; I didn’t hear you the first time.” Mrs. Wilburn raised an eyebrow at her and sighed as if making a mental note of this strange girl.
“Seat fifty.” She repeated shaking her head.
“Thank you.” Amy replied politely, making her way quickly to her seat. Francesca, huh? She asked herself as she settled in her chair. Really? But it would be okay. She was absent. If you missed the first meeting you were left out of the orchestra, and even if she did get caught she wasn’t completely against the idea of leaving the group.
“I like your name,” the girl sitting next to her, Alicia, whispered. “It’s beautiful!”
“Thanks! Your name is pretty too!” Amy whispered back, flattered by a compliment that wasn’t for her. Seat number fifty-one, a girl named Ruth, complimented her on her name as well and pointed out how well her eyes went with her outfit. Maybe this isn’t so bad. Amy though smugly. Maybe I just needed a new name.
Soon, all of the viola names were called off, and Amy Zedler was marked absent. Francesca however was not. Francesca volunteered to play a solo she had been working on privately for a while for the entire orchestra (something Amy would never do, due to nerves and embarrassment). Francesca discussed nail polish colors with Ruth and Alicia (an activity that was deemed completely remedial and pointless by Amy). Francesca even talked to a boy, Paul Magar, about some football game between two colleges she apparently felt strongly about (“Football is a waste of time.” –Amy Zedler).
Francesca wasn’t shy. Francesca was funny, and beautiful, and unique. Francesca had confidence and a stride in her walk. Francesca didn’t care what other people thought about her. If only I didn’t either. Amy thought. If only.
But it didn’t have to be that way. Amy knew it better then than ever. Orchestra felt for her that afternoon as it would the many other afternoons after it; rejuvenating. For once in her life, Amy had a place she could depend on to lift her spirits and keep her moving forward. She hoped with any luck she would become Amy, not Francesca, and as time passed on she realized she had been Amy all along.
