Reach for the Stars #1

Somehow, Chloe had to swallow the disappointment of her first singing lesson and concentrate on the rest of the school day. There was a full schedule of ordinary classes, as well as all the extra ones, too. After school, there was supervised homework in the homework room at Paddock House, and by bedtime everyone was exhausted.

“Judge Jim Henson, Head of the Rock Department, sat in on my first bass lesson!” bragged Tara. “He might write something for me to play at the concert!”

“Pigs might fly!” Pop shot back. Chloe pulled her quilt up around her ears and closed her eyes. She’d have to get her singing figured out quickly or the others would be ahead of her with their concert preparations.

But after several voice lessons, Chloe had still made no progress, in spite of the breathing exercises Mr. Player had asked her to do. At one lesson, he even brought a drawing in to show her, with lungs, diaphragm, and stomach muscles marked on it.

“Do your breathing exercises again with your hand on your tummy,” he told her patiently. She did as she was told, letting her muscles go slack as she breathed in through her nose, and feeling them tighten as she pushed the last puffs of air back out through her mouth.

But Chloe was getting frustrated. “I can’t do it!” she snapped. “I’m too worried about what I’m going to sing at the concert.”

Mr. Player folded his arms and leaned against the piano. “Getting your voice in shape is far more important than thinking of performing,” he said. “There will be other concerts ... when you’ve learned to use your voice properly.”

Chloe stared at him in horror. “But I have to do the concert,” she told him. “I can’t possibly miss it!”

“Listen to me,” he said. “You have the potential to be an excellent singer, but you’ll only make trouble for yourself if you try to perform now. Get your technique right first; then you can sing in concerts. Now, don’t let me hear any more about it.”

Chloe stumbled through the rest of her lesson in a daze. Not sing at the concert? She had to sing. Everyone was performing. She’d die of shame if Mr. Player wouldn’t allow her to take part. She could imagine what Tara would say. And what about those precious Rising Stars points?

After the lesson was over, she pushed open the door to the little courtyard nearby. She didn’t feel like joining her friends right away, and this place had been a refuge for her before, when everything had gone wrong on audition day.

She was moping so much, she didn’t see the figure on the bench until she was halfway there. Judge Jim Henson, the head of rock, was sitting in his favorite spot, busy working on an old guitar. He looked up and smiled.

She bit her lip. It was no good pretending to Judge Jim, even if she’d wanted to. He’d calmed her down on audition day and figured out what was wrong. If she was going to talk to anyone, Judge Jim was the best person to confide in.

“I’m not doing very well,” she admitted. “But I’ve been wanting to thank you for helping me to get my place here.”

Judge Jim waved his hand dismissively. “You got the place,” he said. “Not me. You want to join me here?” he added. “I’m just restringing this old friend of mine. I’d be happy to have some company.”

Chloe went to the bench and Judge Jim moved up so there was enough room for her to sit down. He ran his wrinkled hand down the neck of the guitar.

“Had this since I wasn’t too much older than you,” he said. “I know she’s not much to look at now, but she’s my oldest friend. When I first earned myself a lot of money, I went out and bought all the best guitars of the day, but somehow this old girl has stayed with me through thick and thin.”

Chloe took a look at the instrument he was holding. It didn’t look like anything special. It was scratched and worn, with lots of painted patterns on it, faded now, but once probably really bright. Its old strings lay discarded on the ground in a springy heap.

“I thought you had your instrument all neat and tidy in your voice box,” Judge Jim said. “You don’t need to buy strings to get that working properly.”

“But I can’t get my voice to work at all,” Chloe said. As she spoke, her voice wobbled, but she was determined not to cry. She had used one of Judge Jim’s huge handkerchiefs to mop up her tears once before, and she didn’t want him to have to find another.

Chloe explained about her voice getting quieter and quieter instead of more and more powerful like Mr. Player wanted. She told him about her elementary school teacher, too—who Mr. Player thought had ruined her confidence.

“And now, if I can’t sing properly, Mr. Player says I won’t be able to take part in the concert !” She stopped short. It was such a dreadful thing to admit.

All the time she was talking, Judge Jim kept working on his guitar. He said nothing while he fitted the last string and tightened it up. At last, he ran his fingers over them and the strings whispered in the silent courtyard.

“You got amplifier problems,” he announced at last. “Like my friend here, you need to hook up to your amplifier before you can perform.”

“Yes,” said Chloe. “And Mr. Player has taught me all about my tummy muscles, but I still can’t do it.”

“Does a baby need to learn how to use its muscles before it can cry?” he asked, his brown eyes meeting hers for the first time.

“Well, then. You got the voice. You got the amplifier. Your body knows how to use them, but your mind is interfering. You need to calm down. Be easy on yourself. You might not think it, but you got all the time in the world.” He smiled.

“Look at my friend here. I can’t tell you the number of times I threw her across the room when I was young ’cause I couldn’t get her to sound how I wanted. I was like you, child. I was so full of ambition, and sometimes it worked against me. It was always better once I’d calmed down and relaxed. Sometimes, I thought my hands had lost their cunning, and forgotten how to play, but it wasn’t that. You can’t make music when you’re all scrunched up with anger, or with fear.”

“But I must get my voice working or I won’t be able to sing in the concert,” Chloe protested.

“In your life there will be many, many times when you can’t have what you want,” he told her. “In this business, as well as needing determination, you sometimes have to learn to let things go. We’re artists, and although any art needs hard work, you can’t force it. The more you try to force your voice, the more it will resist you. Relax, give your voice a break, and it’ll come back.”

Judge Jim raised his eyebrows but didn’t argue. He stood up and grunted, stooping to pick up the old strings. He slung the guitar over his shoulder and looked at her.

He doesn’t understand, she told herself. He doesn’t! I have to do the concert or I’ll have to admit to everyone I can’t sing, and then I’ll die!