Two weeks later, excitement grips our school as the first school concert comes up. Mr. Waring, Mom, and Kate McDonough are teaming up to present Celtic Madness. Colourful posters line the streets, hanging on telephone poles and fences, and are even plastered on grocery store windows. People buzz about it at school and all over town. This is the biggest event to hit Hope in a long time. It’s even on Twitter and Facebook. There are rehearsals at lunch every day. Girls tap around the halls with their step dancing shoes, chattering away, and all the guys seem to be sporting cowboy boots. Even adults from the community are involved.
Charlotte disappears every day at lunch to rehearse too, carrying her ‘fiddle’ as she now calls it, back and forth while I sit alone in the library doing homework. That one hour seems to stretch to three, and I long for the week to be over.
It’s during Friday’s lunch in the library when I hear the chair beside me scrape against the floor.
I turn to see a familiar face. My heart leaps.
“Hi,” Peter says, “Mind if I sit here?”
“Sure, why not?” I say, trying to make my voice sound as normal as possible.
Peter slides in the chair beside me and reaches down to his bag.
“What are you working on?” I ask.
“Uh, some math.” Peter pulls out his text and opens his book to his assignment. “Trigonometry to be exact.”
“Oh?” I pretend to be interested. “Let’s see.”
Turning pink, Peter says, “Well, okay, if you insist.”
He slides his book over, and his pencil begins to fly over the paper while he mumbles equations in a low voice.
I nod, saying, “Unh-hunh,” over and over again like I really know what any of it means. Our arms touch, and a thrill runs through me. He turns and looks at me for a brief second, and then continues explaining this relation and that. Wondering if my breath is okay, I slip my hand in front of my mouth and talk through my fingers. Why, oh why did Mom make me tuna for lunch? But he doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps explaining until he’s done.
“Cool,” I say, like I actually mean it.
“Yeah,” he answers, and then opens his notebook to a blank page.
We each do our own homework until just before the bell hums. Then Peter gets up and begins gathering his things.
“So are you going to Mr. Bachinsky’s concert next weekend?” he asks.
“Um, I guess I have to. My brother’s playing, and Charlotte too.” I close my textbook.
“So where is Charlotte?” Peter looks around.
“At a rehearsal in the gym.” I change the subject back. “So what are you going to play at the concert?”
“Dvorak’s Violin Concerto.” The corner of his mouth draws up in a proud grin.
“Awesome,” I say, way more interested in the guy than the piece of music. “I remember playing that one.”
Peter’s smile fades.
I stumble over my words, remembering Taylor saying I was stuck up. “Uh, I mean, I played it a long time ago. Well, maybe not that long ago.” I could feel my face getting hotter by the second since I just made it sound like I was better than him.
“Oh.” Peter glances around again, and then slings his pack over his shoulder. “Well, see ya.”
Humiliation at my one-upping of Peter overcomes me as he walks away. Feeling totally embarrassed, I finish gathering my things and leave the library, nearly colliding with Charlotte. She’s smiling from ear to ear.
“This concert’s going to be so amazing!” She babbles on while she opens our locker and stuffs her lunch bag in. “Wait ’til you see the dancers.”
“Great,” I say, forcing a smile.
“And the kids from the elementary school are in it too. It’s so cute.”
“Oh, good.” I take out my books for socials. I look around to see if anyone is listening, and then drop my voice to a squeaky whisper. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“I sat with Peter in the library today!” I can barely contain my excitement. “He wanted to know if I was going to Mr. Bachinsky’s concert next weekend. He says he’s playing the Dvorak Violin Concerto.”
Charlotte’s face falls for an instant, and then turns up in an uncertain smile. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah!” I’m nearly bubbling over with excitement.
“But I thought you weren’t playing in this concert,” she says, taking out a notebook and shutting the door of our locker.
“Yeah, I know, but Dylan’s in it, and Mom’ll want me to go. And by the way,” I say, lowering my voice, “Don’t forget our plan tomorrow night.”
“What plan?” she asks as we walk to our class.
“You remember,” I whisper urgently. “We’re changing the name of the town.”
Charlotte’s mouth twists with worry. “I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “Everyone will be too busy with Celtic Madness to notice. They’ll never figure out it was us. It’s totally harmless and a chance for sweet revenge.”
Charlotte takes a nervous glance around, then says, “Let’s talk about it later.”
****
That night, when Mom and Dylan are busy practicing the violin, I sneak out to the tool shed and gather everything I need to carry out our plan, wrapping it in an old towel. Glancing at the towel, I chuckle. I remember when Mom accidentally took it home from the hotel at Harrison Hot Springs, how Dad had teased her, calling her a thief. Mom never could use it in the bathroom after that, and so it became a rag. Giggling, I shove the wrapped parcel to the bottom of my backpack. Maybe Mom never used it, but it’s sure going to meet its destiny tomorrow night.