The following Monday, our steps weigh heavy as we make our way to school. The day looms ahead, and we dread the reaction of the IGs when all will be reported back to Mr. Watkins.
A soft ray of sunshine lights up my day for a moment when Peter meets us at the door, a shy smile touching his lips. He looks a little uncertain at first, but after I grin back, he bursts out with his news.
“Did you hear about what happened to the Medical Dental Building?” he asks, walking with us at a safe distance.
“We did,” I say, trying to calm my fluttering heart. How can I ever feel normal around Peter again after that amazing dance?
“I think it’s Travis,” Charlotte says in a low voice, glancing around.
Peter’s forehead creases. “Why Travis? I mean, I know he’s kind of a jerk, but –”
“Well, think about it,” says Charlotte. “The first time they found the dead eagle, it was the day after Travis was suspended. Then, the next weekend, we found the tombstone spray-painted with the word ‘LIAR’ on it. And on Friday, he got in trouble at the dance. Remember? They were forced to leave? And now they’ve found a dead raven and the word ‘REVENGE’ painted on the Medical Dental building like he wanted to get back at everyone.”
“I wonder ...” I touch my lip with a finger.
The bell hums, and we throw our coats in our locker.
We have band first. Charlotte already has her flute and folder with her since she brought it from home, but mine still lies on the dusty storage shelves of the music room as usual.
Tumbling into class, we take our seats just in time to hear Mr. Waring make an announcement.
“Quiz today,” he says really casual like he’s saying good morning.
Groans meet his words.
“But the good news is it’ll be on three selected lines in the Celtic Medley.”
Relieved murmurs travel across the room.
A ripple of fear runs up my body. Never did I think Mr. Waring would throw a pop quiz on the Celtic Medley. After all, marches are his thing, and if there’s one thing I’m good at faking, it’s a march.
“What am I going to do?” I whisper to Charlotte.
“Just sight-read it,” she whispers back. “What else can you do?”
My head spins. Maybe I can slip out and go to the washroom, or pretend I’m sick, or tell Mr. Waring I forgot something in my locker and never come back. I eye the door of the band room, ready to escape, but before I can do anything, he calls on me.
“Let’s start with Kira.” He shoots me an expectant gaze like he knows it’ll be perfect. “Can you play line twelve in the strathspey?”
I break into a sweat. “Ah, sure,” I mumble, sitting up straight.
My fingers trembling, I skim the passage full of complicated, dotted rhythms, but I can’t remember quite how the tune goes since I never really listened to it. Is the rhythm long, short-short-long, long-short-long, or is it short-long, long-short, short-long-long? I’m not sure. Raising my flute, I dive into the first few notes, hopeful I can fake it, but by the third measure I’m all muddled up. Stumbling my way through anyway, I crash-land at the end, and peer up at Mr. Waring, an unspoken apology on my lips.
Mr. Waring stares at me with one eyebrow raised.
Students’ hands fly to their mouths.
“And now, can you please play me measures seventeen to thirty-three in the reel?” he asks.
“Uh, okay.” My hands shake harder.
I shuffle through my music trying to find the right passage, my face getting hotter by the second. When I find it, I begin again. This passage is easier, so at least I make it to the end with only a couple of mistakes. Taking a quick sweep of the class, I notice the other students still sit in shocked silence.
“That was better,” Mr. Waring says. “And now, could you please play me the third line of Danny Boy?”
Danny Boy? Did he say Danny Boy?
By this time, my ears are red-hot and burning. I try to come up with some sort of excuse, but only a squeak comes out. I’m completely paralysed.
Mr. Waring stares at me in disbelief. Students snicker, yet I still can’t move. Mr. Waring and I sit like statues, our eyes locked for what seems minutes.
Finally, he shakes his head and turns to Charlotte. “How about you?”
Charlotte smiles and jumps right into the most perfect performance imaginable. I had no idea she could play that well. Then Mr. Waring asks her to play the other excerpts, all equally perfect.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” he says, glancing back at me, his brows furrowed. “That’s a definite ten out of ten. Now, how about Sydney?”
Strangely, Sydney does a great test too. I can’t believe it! And not just her, but most of the others too. What’s with everyone? These guys never get more than a seven or eight.
Humiliated, I suffer through the rest of class, and then gather up my things while Charlotte skips to the front of the class to talk to Mr. Waring. After a few minutes, she bounces back to me.
“Congratulations on your perfect score,” I say, my voice dull.
“Thanks,” she says, absolutely beaming. “I checked your grade too while I was there.”
“What did I get?” I gulp despite trying to act like I don’t care.
“You got a B. But that’s okay. You’ve been through a lot, right?”
More like I got caught red-handed. First the pub trick and now this. What will Mom say?
For the rest of the day, I go through the motions of school, dreading the moment when Mr. Watkins calls us to the office to talk about the bullying. It finally happens in the middle of last period.
“Would Kira Montgomery and Charlotte Morin please come to the office,” the secretary announces to the whole world. And then to really make matters worse, she repeats it again.
Several kids howl.
I sink down low in my seat.
Charlotte and I hurry out of class and down the hall. The secretary escorts us into Mrs. Richter, the counsellor’s room. Mr. Watkins and the Morins are already there.
“Have a seat,” says Mrs. Richter, a plump and pleasant person whose hair colour changes every month. Today it’s auburn. She’s middle-aged, but nice, and I can’t help but like her.
We sit down on hard, plastic chairs, trying to get comfortable for a long meeting.
“Now.” Mrs. Richter looks directly into Charlotte’s eyes over her glasses, “Tell me what’s been going on?”
Charlotte takes a deep breath and begins. Together, we tell the whole story. Mrs. Richter keeps a straight face, the frown lines between her eyes occasionally growing deeper. Mr. Watkins, on the other hand, looks as though I’m describing the holocaust. Charlotte’s mom listens with her hand over her mouth, and from time to time wipes her eyes and blows her nose. Her dad keeps shaking his head as though he can’t understand the situation. It almost looks as though it hurts Charlotte’s parents far worse than it hurts her.
“Why did you never tell us about all this before Saturday?” Herb asks when we finish.
Charlotte squirms. “Because you said you wouldn’t take me on our next trip if there were any more problems.”
Herb rakes his fingers through his wild hair. “But that had to do with the violence.”
“It didn’t mean you had to put up with racism,” Sandra says, still dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex.
“Charlotte, you can come to us with any problem,” Herb says.
“Yes, Charlotte.” Sandra nods. “We’re here for you. We didn’t get you all the way from China to torment you.” She gives a sad laugh.
“No,” says Herb. “We’re your parents. We love you.”
Charlotte stares down at the ground.
Mr. Watkins taps a pencil for a while, and then finally speaks. “It seems to me the solution would be to get the other kids together and find out why they’re doing this. Quite likely it’s jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” I raise my brows.
“Yes,” says Mr. Watkins. “Intelligent kids are often bullied in this town, and I imagine having parents who are teachers would make it even worse. As for Travis …” He sighs. “He’s a pretty troubled individual. He has a lot of problems at home, and he really struggles with school. We’ll see if we can get him some help. Unfortunately, his problems run pretty deep.”
Charlotte gives me an uncertain look. I know what she’s thinking. Should we tell them our suspicions about Travis and the connection with the dead birds? I shake my head. I still remember Constable Douglas’ words about how it’s against the law to accuse someone of a crime.
Mr. Watkins gets up, thanks our parents, and sets us free. Now all we have to do is wait and see how the IGs will react.