The Music Mage

The room around Alannys was filled with thick, acrid black smoke. Her eyes stung and her lungs burned. She choked on every shallow breath she tried to draw, and she could hardly force her eyes to stay open against the burning pain. Tears streamed unheeded down her face. She could hear the crackling of flames, and the shrieks of pained, panicked voices, but she couldn’t see the fire or the people through the oily black smoke.

She couldn’t even see which way to run.

Alannys had known when she signed on to teach middle school music that the job would not be easy, but this seemed a bit extreme. Especially since the room around her was in a stone castle tower, on a planet that wasn’t even her own.

How had she gotten here? It had all started a few days before…

Seven o’clock on a Monday morning probably would not make most people’s top ten list of their favorite times to be at a school.

But Alannys Gale was not most people, and Daniels Junior High wasn’t most schools, and Alannys hummed to herself that particular Monday morning as she sat taping sheets of music together at her desk. She really did love the quiet of her roomy office that looked out into the band room, the restful peace and calm that it always exuded early in the morning, before the students or the administration or anyone else came in to shatter it.

The rest of the time, though, she would have paid good money to be anywhere else.

Alannys ripped the last strip of tape off the roll with such vehemence that it wrapped around her finger and stuck to itself.

Knock, knock! How is our fine and talented music director this morning? The voice was as melodious as one might expect from an eighty-something grizzled old man who had only recently stopped smoking.

Alannys smiled. Good morning, Mister Trinn. I didn’t hear you come in.

The old custodian laughed, pulling up a chair next to her desk. He held a steaming foam cup in each hand. Doesn’t surprise me. You seemed pretty caught up in—what exactly are you doing there?

Taping together parts for the new piece the beginning orchestra is starting today. Or rather, I was, she said, regarding her tape-wrapped finger ruefully. This was the last of my tape. I wonder if I can pick up more from the office, or if I’ll have to run out at lunch and buy more?

Why would you have to buy more tape? Don’t they provide these things for teachers?

Have you forgotten what school you’re at? Alannys shook her head, pulling the wasted tape from her finger. It came off in small, narrow strips, which did little to improve her mood. I won’t be surprised if you have to bring your own mop soon. Where do you think the paper for these copies came from?

What? You had to buy your own paper to copy music for your classes? Seriously?

Seriously.

Mister Trinn leaned over and put one of the steaming cups down on the desk in front of her. Maybe this will make you feel better.

Coffee? You brought me coffee? Thank you!

Mister Trinn smiled. It softened his leathery face, rearranging his many wrinkles into something kind and almost pleasing. He scratched at his fuzzy, unkempt gray hair with fingers that were swollen at the knuckles. Well, a body’s got to have something to lean on when they quit the cancer sticks, and no mistake. But it seems to me that you need it even more than me, and that’s saying something. You can’t keep this up, Alannys. You’ll work yourself into the grave.

No mistake, she echoed, sipping at the hot coffee. One cream, two sugars—Mister Trinn had even remembered how she took it. If she only got one friend at Daniels—and more and more it looked like she did—she could at least be glad he was a good one.

Mister Trinn set his coffee down with such a thump it sloshed over the rim of the cup onto his hand. No, I’m serious! How many other schools do you know of where the band director, the orchestra director, and the choir director are all the same person?

None. But what choice do I have? Bill Dixley’s teaching band at Warren High now, and Shirley Clark got fired for making a fuss when the administration wouldn’t give the choir their usual budget. Bob says the school can’t afford to replace them. So I’m it.

Bob. Mister Trinn said the name like it was a dirty word. Bob Jameson is not your friend.

Don’t I know it. Alannys pushed the stack of finished music to the side of her desk. But my question stands. The principal can’t afford another teacher. These kids want to learn music. I want to teach music. What other solution do you suggest?

Mister Trinn didn’t answer. He stared at her in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch longer and longer, and grow more and more awkward. You want to teach music, he said, so quietly she almost wondered if she had imagined it. "I wonder. I’ve only known you nine months, Alannys. But I think I know you better than that. You’re twenty-four years old. Is that what you want to do? Is that all you want to do?"

Alannys stared at him, stricken. Yes. Well, no. I mean— She trailed off, at a loss to say what she meant.

Mister Trinn didn’t prompt her or try to finish for her. He sat watching, his face unreadable, while she floundered for words to say what she had never even fully admitted to herself.

I want to change the world, she said finally, staring at her reflection in the surface of her desk. The whole world. Don’t laugh. Music can do that, Mister Trinn, it has the power. But I…I don’t. I can’t change the world—I can’t even change the situation at one junior high school. Music is powerful, but the musician is not.

Mister Trinn leaned forward. She had never seen him look so focused, so intense. What if I could change that?

Alannys couldn’t have been more surprised if he had offered to teach her to tap dance with the ghost of Fred Astaire. What?

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. I can give you what you want, Alannys. His voice was low; his words came so fast they tumbled over each other. Honest to goodness I can. But you’ll have to give up everything—you’ll have to leave here and you can’t come back. But you’ll have what you’ve always wanted, I swear to you that you’ll have the power to change the world through music. What do you say?

Alannys stared at Mister Trinn in shock. She had known the old janitor ever since she’d hired on at Daniels, and she had never known him to be crazy. But this…there was no other word for it.

Her mouth had gone completely dry. She took a sip of her coffee, rolling it around her mouth in a futile attempt to delay the inevitable. She didn’t want to hurt the old man’s feelings, but at this point she didn’t see how she could avoid it. Mister Trinn…

Wait, he pleaded. Don’t dismiss this out of hand, Alannys, please—can’t you open your mind, believe in something bigger than what you can see?

His voice was hypnotic. When he said it like that—for a moment, she almost could.

Almost.

I’m sorry, Mister Trinn. Really I am. But I’ve got work here that needs doing, and to be honest I’m not even really sure what you’re offering me. But thank you so much for thinking about me.

She didn’t dare look at his face till she finished, but as soon as she did she could see that he was going to protest.

Knock, knock! The voice sang in from the doorway, like a younger echo of Mister Trinn’s own greeting, only more contrived and less jovial.

Well, now, if it isn’t our principal himself. Mister Trinn’s words fell flat, and his face carried no expression. What brings you here this morning?

Bob Jameson was a short, stout man in his early forties with a comb-over and a smile that looked as if he very much wanted them to believe it was genuine. Terrific news, actually, he said, rubbing his hands together with evident pleasure. But Alannys didn’t see anything pleasant in his eyes as he turned to look at her. We’re getting a new computer lab.

Alannys blinked in surprise. What on earth did that have to do with her? Well, that is terrific, I suppose. But where are you going to put it? I thought the school was full.

Ah, yes. Well, that’s the thing, really—where to put it. All that equipment, it’s very valuable, we can’t just put it anywhere. And we’ll need a lot of room, and—we’re putting it here, Alannys.

Here? In the band room?

Well, sure, it’s the band room now, but once you clear this lot out of here and we get it set up properly, it’ll be a computer lab.

But—this is the band room! It’s been the band room ever since the school was built; it was designed for that. The entire music program lives here! She tried her best to stay calm, to reason with him, but even she could hear the rising notes of panic and anger in her voice.

Bob’s smile hardened into something less pleasant. This is not up for discussion, Alannys. We’ve already had a faculty meeting on the subject—the decision was made and announced at that time.

Faculty meeting? But why wasn’t I notified? I should have been there! Alannys didn’t remember standing up, but she was out of her chair and on her feet.

It was felt that your views on the subject would be too biased to permit any possibility of reason. Bob eyed her distastefully. And it seems those feelings were correct. I’m not here to debate this with you, and I’m not here to hear your piece. I’m here to tell you the new computer equipment arrives at noon today, and I’m here to notify you to clear these rooms by that time. Is that clear?

Alannys sat down with a thump. Crystal.

Very well. You may move all of these things over to the cafeteria; it’s the only room big enough except for the gym, and we can’t have you messing up the floor in there. So your classes will be held in the cafeteria. Your office will be open when you get there; it connects to the cafeteria and you can keep your things in there. We’ll need the floor totally clear whenever you don’t have classes in there—it’s a high traffic area and we can’t have chairs and stands and…music stuff lying about. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.

He paused, as though allowing a response. Several responses went through Alannys’s mind, but none of them were suitable to say to the person responsible for her continued employment. It was probably just as well that she didn’t seem to have her wits together enough to speak just then.

Terrific! Bob clapped his hands together once, brightly, as though he had just brought a reluctant team to a whole-hearted, enthusiastic agreement. Let’s shake a leg, then—we have a computer lab to build!

He turned to leave, then paused in the doorway to survey the room. Alannys could see his gaze travel from the flat black metal music stands, to the faded choir robes hanging neatly on their racks, to the instruments. The bright shine of polished brass and the low gleam of warm wood reflected briefly in eyes that measured them, and found them wholly lacking.

You are wasting your time, Alannys. Bob’s voice was distant; he might have been brushing off a panhandler on the street. The future is computers, and the things they can do for us. Students today have nothing to learn from your toys from the past. He waved his arm in a gesture that encompassed everything in the room. Anachronisms, all of them. Throwbacks. And if you insist on throwing your lot in with them, you’ll end up as obsolete as they are.

The door closed behind him with a finality that made her shiver.

Well, Mister Trinn said finally, it’s probably a good thing I was still hanging around, because it looks like you’re going to need some help.

Alannys stared at him in a kind of shocked daze. She hadn’t spoken since Bob left. Clear tape, orchestra parts, and Mister Trinn’s strange offer were suddenly quite completely forgotten. The wheels of her mind spun madly, but couldn’t seem to get any traction.

Mister Trinn stood up and leaned over her desk. Don’t you think we should get started? Or are you throwing in the towel?

What?

"We have to move your entire music facility to the cafeteria, remember? Unless you’ve decided to walk out that door and tell them to stick their music facility and their computer lab where the sun don’t shine."

No! No, of course not.

Pity. Wouldn’t blame you if you did—would serve those jokers right, if you ask me. But if that isn’t your plan, we had best get moving.

But it can’t be done, she said, standing up and surveying the room. Can it? I mean, look at all this stuff. How can we move it all ourselves? Her gaze slid over the line of massive filing cabinets of music covering the far wall, the big racks holding more brass, wind, and stringed instruments than she could count offhand, the stacks of chairs, the risers for the choir—she shook her head.

Ain’t going to be just us, Mister Trinn said. You’re about to have thirty or forty helpers come right through that door.

What, the marching band? They’re students, Mister Trinn, musicians, not a moving crew. I can’t ask them to—

Musicians have to do what is necessary to help themselves, he cut her off, looking at her evenly, just like everyone else. Do you believe that?

Alannys nodded. Why was she suddenly so certain he was talking about something else entirely?

The janitor nodded once, shortly. Glad to hear it. You’re in charge here, Alannys, those kids will do whatever you tell them to. And you’re going to have to tell them to help, because you’re right. There is no way you and I can move all this by noon.

So Mister Trinn stood at Alannys’s shoulder, scowling, arms crossed, strongly discouraging any comment, while she explained to a class of confused adolescents who had come to practice music that they would instead be required to work like pack mules.

They took it better than she expected, with an initial few groans of disappointment, followed by rolled-up sleeves and a cheerful, can-do attitude that surprised her even as it pleased her.

She and Mister Trinn worked alongside the students of the marching band until first period was over, and then they repeated the whole shebang with the second period concert band, and the third period mixed choir.

By that time everything had been moved, and she and Mister Trinn spent the first half of her free fourth period arranging things in her new office. To Alannys’s dismay, the office was nothing but a storage closet; a long, narrow room that ran down the side of the cafeteria. They managed to squeeze everything in, though Alannys had to admit it wasn’t very nice to look at.

She sank into the chair behind the little credenza that served as her new desk, feeling like she might collapse from exhaustion. She had a little less than half of fourth period left to grab a quick bite before fifth period, if she hurried. But all she wanted to do was sit there.

Bob was right, Mister Trinn said suddenly, folding his arms across his chest. This is a waste of your time.

She sat bolt upright in her chair as if he had struck her. What?

All of this. Everything you do for this school. You can’t win this, Alannys.

Win this? Is there a battle?

She had meant the question to be facetious, but to her horror Mister Trinn began to nod. I think there is. I really think there is. I’ve had my suspicions for the last few months, but today I’m sure. There is a battle on at this school, and the only one left fighting against it is you. Dixley saw what was happening and got out on his own terms. Clark charged in with guns ablaze and got mowed under. You—you’re somewhere in the middle, and Bob didn’t know how to deal with you. Until now. This is a squeeze play, don’t you see that?

Alannys shook her head. I certainly feel squeezed, I’ll give you that. But if Bob wants to be rid of the music program, why didn’t he cut the band and the choir, instead of giving them to me?

Mister Trinn perched himself on the edge of the credenza. It isn’t that easy. Not everyone thinks like Bob does about this, and he needs everyone to still think well of him when this is over and the music is gone. He needs someone to take all the mud so he comes out clean. And Alannys, that someone is you. He’s setting you up. And you’re playing right into it.

I can’t help it. I have to keep fighting. I don’t want to live in a world where the music is gone. I don’t want to work at a school where the music is gone. So I have to do everything I can to keep it here.

You poor sucker. Mister Trinn stood up and headed for the door, shaking his head. I’ll do whatever I can to help. But be careful. And don’t forget my offer. You may find you want an escape, before long.

And at the time, she’d had no idea how right he was.

Alannys realized as soon as she stepped out into the cafeteria that in the rush of the sudden move and its aftermath, she had completely forgotten to finish the parts for the beginning orchestra.

But it was too late to do anything about it. She had come out the minute the bell rang and they started hustling kids out of the cafeteria, but even so she was still setting up chairs and stands as her students trickled in, hesitant and unsure.

There’s been a little change in plans, Alannys said brightly, opening her office door and pointing them to the racks where their instruments waited. We’re playing in the cafeteria. They needed the band room because you’re getting a new computer lab! Isn’t that cool?

They didn’t seem convinced by her falsely enthusiastic tone.

I don’t know, said a blonde, frail little girl doubtfully. Couldn’t they put the computers in here?

Alannys sighed and put an arm around the little girl’s shoulders, guiding her to her seat. I don’t think so, Sara. Sara was her favorite student—a girl so fiercely smart she had been bumped ahead two full grades. But perhaps because she was two years younger than her classmates, she was especially sensitive. Alannys feared the change might upset her, and wanted desperately to keep her happy. Where would they plug them all in? Computers are kind of expensive to have scattered around the cafeteria.

So are instruments, Sara pointed out crossly, unpacking hers. And you don’t need to hear to use a computer properly. The cafeteria is always noisy.

Privately, Alannys thought Sara made better points than Bob Jameson, but she just patted the girl’s shoulder and went up to the conductor’s stand.

Do we get to start our new song today? came an excited voice from the violins.

I’m sorry, Alannys began, and a cacophony of sound drowned her out completely.

A few feet away, Mister Trinn folded the lunch tables and stacked the chairs. That was loud enough to be distracting, but the real noise was coming from the kitchen, where the staff clattered and bashed the trays and dishes they were washing. It sounded like they dropped as many as they cleaned. Running water splashed, machines whooshed, and silverware clanked. And over it all were a half dozen shouted conversations among the kitchen staff themselves.

For a moment, it was just too much. Then Alannys remembered all that Mister Trinn had told her, and she realized the administration probably wanted her to fail. They expected it, and this was part of why. She stood up straighter, pitched her voice to carry, and cranked up the volume.

I’m sorry guys, but with the move today I didn’t have time to prepare your parts. We’ll have to go over our old songs for another day.

She could see expressions of disappointment, but she couldn’t make out anything they said about it.

Perhaps there were advantages to this situation after all.

All right, she called, open your books to page nineteen. We’ll play ‘Reuben and Rachel,’ and then we’ll go right into ‘Go Tell Aunt Rhody.’ Everyone got it?

There were nods all around. Alannys raised her baton, counted them in, and they were off.

For the first measure or two, she thought this might actually work out after all. All together, her little orchestra made enough sound to surpass all the distractions.

Then she realized that they weren’t, technically, all playing the same song.

It sounded like about a third of the group had misunderstood her, and started with the second song. Alannys let them play, hoping they would start to figure it out and correct themselves.

But it didn’t happen. They were sawing for all they were worth, a third of them playing the wrong song, when she finally stopped them.

"Let’s try that again. ‘Reuben and Rachel’ first, then ‘Go Tell Aunt Rhody.’"

A third of the group erupted into apologies.

Alannys smiled. It isn’t your fault, she told them. It’s crazy loud in here.

Only, she suddenly noticed, it wasn’t.

Mister Trinn was still working on the tables and chairs, which made a certain amount of noise, but the kitchen was unsettlingly quiet.

Mercy, what was that racket? The voice from the kitchen was loud, with a pronounced southern accent.

Orchestra, I think, came an answering shout, also from the kitchen. Didn’t Bob say they’d moved in here?

An orchestra. Ain’t that sweet. Sakes alive, I had no idea. But what was that they were playing?

I think it was a march—you know, that one you used to hear at funerals. Titters from the orchestra greeted this explanation.

Well, ain’t that something. They’re doing good, I guess—it certainly did sound fit for the dead.

All of the sudden, nobody was laughing.

Before Alannys could even get her head around what had just happened, Sara—the sensitive one, the one she wanted more than anything to keep happy—burst into tears and ran into the storage-room-cum-office.

From then on, it seemed to Alannys everything went downhill. It took the rest of the class time to calm Sara enough that she could go on to last period. Alannys discovered that her closet-office had a faulty light fixture, that produced a fast, random flicker and an on-again off-again buzz. It gave her a migraine almost immediately.

But by the time advanced orchestra started, Mister Trinn had finished putting away tables and chairs. The kitchen staff had finished cleaning and shouting. Alannys thought she might actually get a quiet class period.

And then Mister Trinn fired up the giant floor buffing machine, and all hope flew right out the window.

The rehearsal was, of course, disastrous. No one could hear the others play, or even themselves play, and they certainly couldn’t hear her. The kids all had headaches by the time the last bell rang, and Alannys’s migraine had ramped up to a whole new level of awful.

She sank into the chair by the credenza like a marionette whose strings had been cut, rubbing her temples and trying to ignore the thundering sound of children exiting the school through the cafeteria outside her door.

I am sorry, Mister Trinn said ruefully, plunking down a bottle of ibuprofen on her desk. She hadn’t even heard him come in. She wondered if she would ever hear anything properly again. Unfortunately I’m not at liberty to just opt not to clean the floors.

Alannys shook her head. No, of course not. None of this is your fault. She leaned her head back and sighed, remembering all the cartoons she had seen with a portable hole a character could toss down, disappear into, and pull in after them. She would have given her eyeteeth for one of those portable holes just then.

Well, now, Mister Trinn chuckled, you still say you don’t want that escape?

Sometimes she wondered if he wasn’t a mind reader. She didn’t answer. She sat there with her head back and her eyes closed until she heard the old janitor’s shuffling footsteps leave the room.

She couldn’t bring herself to admit he was right.

The only thing that brought Alannys to work Tuesday morning was the iron certainty that it couldn’t be as bad as Monday. Besides, any substitute teacher the district brought in would likely just make her kids watch Fantasia…again. So she dragged herself to the school, trying desperately to ignore the residual vestiges of yesterday’s migraine headache.

When she saw Bob Jameson standing in her office, Alannys realized her iron certainty had let her down.

You’ve done great things with this place, Bob said cheerfully, with no preamble. This looks easily as good as your old setup. I think it’s pretty clear this could work out.

Something about the way he leaned on the word ‘could’ brought her guard up. This was trouble, she could feel it. And she had about had her fill of trouble. What’s going on?

Bob sighed, a mournful, theatrical sound that revised her previous estimates of trouble upward by at least tenfold. It’s the parents, Alannys. We’ve had some complaints.

I shouldn’t wonder! They send their kids to school to learn, not to serve as moving crews for impromptu classroom relocations!

He frowned. You realize you are rather making my point for me? You should never have involved the students in your concerns.

Alannys gaped at him. But there was no way I could have moved that whole room by myself in four hours!

Of course not. But you had the assistance of the head of the custodial staff—or at least I must assume that is why he was completely unavailable for his regular duties for most of the day.

Bob! You have to realize that is too much work even for two people in that amount of time.

Bob held up a hand. I am not here to argue this with you, Alannys. I am simply passing along that we have had unhappy parents—a circumstance we attempt to avoid at all costs, as I believe you are aware.

She stared at him, possessed by a strong urge to throttle him. But it seemed easier to flop down in the chair and eye him balefully, so she did that instead.

But those aren’t the complaints we are most concerned with, he continued, seeming unaware of the hostility in her gaze.

You mean there’s more?

Quite. It seems that your teaching in the second half of the day was…not up to your usual standard. We’ve had a number of complaints about the quality of the orchestra classes in particular.

But that wasn’t my fault!

One little girl was actually in tears, he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. Is that correct? One of your students actually cried, because of your class?

Yes. That’s correct. But Bob, it wasn’t my fault! You’ve got us trying to rehearse in a completely unsuitable environment, where—

Stop right there, he said, clipping each word short and precise. I would think very, very carefully before I said anything more, were I in your position. Music is important, or so you say. Now you have the opportunity to save the program, and you want to make the location of the classes the hill you die on?

Alannys sat up straighter. The conversation had suddenly turned dangerous.

I see. Well, Alannys, I’m glad that I was able to help you re-affirm your commitment to doing the best job you can in every class you teach. Mercifully, he turned for the door, and Alannys began to relax.

Then he stopped, and she froze again. Say, Alannys, am I crazy, or are you in later than usual this morning? I hope that doesn’t represent a flagging of that commitment we just discussed. It doesn’t seem like putting your best foot forward, you know?

It wasn’t intentional, Alannys said faintly. Rough night—migraine—it’s this flickering light.

Hmm. I’ll have Mister Trinn look at that, he said, frowning at the offending fixture, and then he was gone.

Alannys sat back in her chair, deeply shaken. What had just happened?

The hill you want to die on…

Was that it, then? Was he really threatening to fire her if she didn’t keep the peace?

She had to admit it was probably true. Only a month ago Shirley Clark had been fired for complaining, for protesting the way the choir was treated. Why should he hesitate to do the same to her?

The faulty light had stoked her smoldering migraine into a flaming conflagration that felt like it might consume her. She folded her arms on the credenza in front of her, and nestled her head in them.

I hate these headaches, she muttered, and I hate this job.

Is that what’s got old Jameson in such a tizzy? The cheerful voice was Mister Trinn’s, but she didn’t raise her head to look at him. He sent me in here to fix something, but I didn’t figure on it being you.

No, it isn’t me, she said, her voice muffled by her arms, though I think I’d pay a king’s ransom to anyone who could fix these migraines. Bob wanted you to look at that light. She sat back in her chair and waved an arm in the general direction of the ceiling.

Hmm. Mister Trinn studied the buzzing light fixture, then moved to look at it from the other side. He reached up and tapped the long, fluorescent bulb, and shook his head. I’m sorry, Alannys, all I can do is change the bulb. That won’t fix this—the whole fixture is bad. I’ll have to put in a work order for a new one. It’ll take about two weeks.

Two weeks, Alannys echoed dully. Two weeks of constant migraines. Lovely.

I’m sorry, Mister Trinn repeated. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. I suppose you could bring in a lamp and use that instead. It wouldn’t be much light, but… He shrugged.

Thanks. I’ll do that.

The janitor looked at her a moment in silence. Look, Alannys, he said finally, this isn’t good for you. You look like somebody beat you. And I’ve never heard you say anything negative about your job before.

I agree, she said tiredly. There’s no way this is good for me. I interviewed at two other schools after work yesterday, in sheer desperation. The only two schools hiring anywhere near here. But neither of them have snatched me up—the first one flat-out told me they couldn’t hire me knowing the shape of the music program here. What choice do I have?

Mister Trinn shook his head. I suppose you could always wait, and hope the other school comes through for you. But you don’t have to.

Alannys felt all the hair stand up on the back of her neck. This was eerily reminiscent of the talk she’d had with him yesterday that had so unsettled her.

I can change all of this for you, Alannys. One word from you and this all goes away. No more migraines, no more teaching in the cafeteria, and no more being dumped on because you can’t spin gold from their dirty straw. One word. But it’s up to you to say it. Will you?

Time seemed to stand still for Alannys; she wasn’t even aware of the fluorescent light flickering. Mister Trinn watched her intensely. The very air around them seemed heavy with expectation.

And that was crazy, all of it. Mister Trinn’s offer was crazy—it had to be. An old man’s harmless fancy, nothing more.

So why did it feel like it mattered so much?

I’m sorry, she said, because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But I can’t give up.

But you interviewed in two other places!

I know. But that’s—different, she said, lamely. "At least, it feels different to me. Taking over another program isn’t giving up, it’s more like changing direction. But until I do, I am all that stands between this music program and non-existence. I have to make this work. I have to."

For a moment he just stared at her, his jaw tight, and she thought for sure that he was going to push her harder. Then he took a deep breath, and shrugged. Up to you, I suppose, he said, with a lightness that sounded forced. But you really do look terrible, Alannys. I hope things get better for you soon. I really do.

Me, too, Mister Trinn, she sighed, me, too.

And for the first half of the day, it looked like she would get her wish. She set up her semi-circle of chairs and stands over near the three sets of big double doors, on the other side of the room from the kitchen, as far away from it and its noise as she could get. Things were quiet, and the students worked hard. She even got to spend her lunch break actually eating lunch.

Alannys was in high spirits by the time the beginning orchestra filed in after lunch. She was absurdly proud of herself; she had stuck it out, she had kept trying, and things were finally working out.

She was pleased to see that the move had a pronounced effect on the post-lunch noise level. All the sound was still distracting, but she could hear her orchestra, and her orchestra could hear her, and as long as they kept focused, it would work.

She had even brought in a roll of clear tape and finished the parts, so they were able to start their new piece. The kids were over the moon; it almost made up for yesterday’s disappointment.

What they lacked in experience they made up in enthusiasm, and they had made it halfway through the new piece when a breeze skittered through the cafeteria, ruffling hair and scattering music off of the stands.

A breeze? Alannys slapped her hands down on her own music to keep it where it was, and looked around. Where on earth was a breeze coming from, inside the cafeteria?

Two of the sets of double doors behind her stood open, and there at the third was her old friend Bob Jameson, heaving the doors open and flipping down the props with his foot.

Bob! Can we get those doors closed, please? This is severely disrupting my class! Half of her students were already out of their seats, chasing down their errant sheets of music.

Bob frowned at her. Sorry, Alannys, no can do. It’s a health regulation, you know, because of those chemicals they use cleaning the floors. Got to have adequate ventilation, and there’s only one way to adequately ventilate this cafeteria.

She stared at him like he had suddenly started speaking Greek. It made about as much sense to her. But those doors weren’t open yesterday.

Bob brushed his hands together and gave her a big smile. Is that so? It must have been an oversight, I suppose. I do apologize.

He disappeared out the big doors, whistling, leaving the rising wind to blow unhindered through the cafeteria.

And blow it did. The air coming in held the ominous chill of an incoming storm front. But it also blew in leaves, and bugs, and a good deal of noise. Mister Trinn finished the tables early and started up the floor buffer, but Alannys didn’t even notice. She ran around with a big box of paper clips, attempting to fasten the sheets of music to the music stands, but even she could see it was a losing battle. The wind moved faster than she could, and even the sheets she had clipped down came loose under its constant tugging.

About the time she was ready to sit down on the floor and cry from frustration, a scream rose up from the other side of the orchestra. Apparently a bee had flown in and stung her first chair cellist.

Unfortunately the boy was allergic to bee stings. Two students and Mister Trinn hustled him to the nurse’s office for his epinephrine auto-injector.

Alannys stood in the wind, regarding the chaos around her—all that was left of the class that had started so well. The floor was scattered with leaves and dead grass, and the music they had been working on was all over the floor. Copies she had printed on her own paper and prepared with her own tape now soaked up the apparently hazardous chemicals on the floor. She just didn’t see how this day could get any worse.

At that moment, it began to rain.

Alannys and her remaining students hurried around the room, frantically rescuing instruments from the spatters blowing in the big doors.

Above it all rang Sara’s high, clear voice, singing an old refrain the rest of the students took up, one after another:

"Rain, rain, go away,

Come again some other day…"

Would that it only took a song! It occurred to Alannys rather suddenly that she would give a good deal to make this rain go away and never come back any other day.

Of course, she didn’t mean the weather.

Alannys sat in her little office long after the final bell, shell-shocked and miserable, wondering when she had lost control of her life.

Was it when she turned down a position with a respected symphony, saying, I love the violin, but I really want to teach?

Was it when she told her musical theater group that she wouldn’t be able to sing in any more productions, because she needed to concentrate on her groups at Daniels?

Or was it when she told a kindly old janitor to get lost when he saw what was coming her way and tried to help?

Alannys glanced at the door and saw the one thing she was pretty sure would not improve her life in any way, shape, or form—Bob Jameson walking in.

Good afternoon, Alannys. You’re here late—my, what a long face. Difficult day?

The pity in his voice was too overwhelming to be genuine. She ignored it. You could say that, yes.

I’m sorry to hear it. He certainly didn’t sound sorry. I am afraid I’m not here to make it any better.

Alannys sat up straighter in her chair. What new trouble was this?

Daniels Junior High is discontinuing its music program, he said. Effective immediately, you are no longer employed by this facility. You may return in the morning to clear out any remaining possessions you have here.

What? Alannys was completely gob-smacked. She knew it was going to be bad, but she’d never dreamed it could be this bad! You can’t do that!

I’m afraid the decision has already been made. The paperwork is already in progress; I will go over it with you tomorrow morning when you turn in your keys. The students in your classes have all had their schedules rearranged—they will all be in the new computer lab. I trust that they will actually learn something there.

"Bob! You can’t do this! Music is important, it’s fundamental to the human spirit, you can’t just—"

Alannys! His tone cut through her tirade like a knife through butter. Do you have any understanding of the position you are in? Any understanding at all? Dear God, woman, a student nearly died in your class today! You are lucky it’s me talking to you, and not that student’s parents. Frankly, I’m tired of hearing about the all-consuming importance of music. Your music program has brought this school nothing but trouble. You may rest assured that any employment reference you receive from us will be astoundingly negative.

The principal spun on his heel and left.

Alannys sat there in a sort of stupor, utterly pole-axed. It was like a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare.

Only she wasn’t going to wake up.

Alannys buried her face in her hands. It took everything she had not to break down right there.

I’m sorry, Alannys. The quiet voice startled her. She raised her head and saw Mister Trinn there, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest. I really am.

Not your fault. Alannys scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands, trying to wipe away tears she had not shed. You tried to warn me. Maybe I should have quit.

Mister Trinn shook his head. Wouldn’t have helped. They’d have blamed you for abandoning them. Your references would still be terrible. What difference would it make?

I wouldn’t have a kid’s parents out for my blood, she said darkly.

Mister Trinn chuckled. Well, there is that, I suppose. What are you going to do now?

I don’t know. I guess—I guess I just have to wait, and hope that other school works out.

Other school? Mister Trinn echoed doubtfully. After this?

No, this is different. I really think this will work out, Mister Trinn. This school—oh, it’s wonderful. They have such a nice facility—the orchestra even has its own room, like the band room. It’s plain that they value their program. But their orchestra director is a long-term sub, and he’s nearly reached his time limit. They have to replace him, or they’ll lose the program. They are desperate, Mister Trinn—just like me, she said, her enthusiasm waning as the truth sank in. Just exactly like me.

Well, it sounds terrific, Mister Trinn said slowly, but I wouldn’t—

The telephone rang.

Alannys dove on it in a flurry of sudden hope. It had to be the other school, it had to be. It had rained on her for so long now—surely this was the ray of sunshine she needed. Hello?

The slight hesitation on the other end did not feel like a positive omen. Good afternoon. The woman’s voice should have been unfamiliar; Alannys had only ever spoken to her once, at the interview—but she immediately recognized the principal of the school that had so impressed her. She gestured frantically at Mister Trinn. Is this—am I speaking with Alannys Gale?

Yes. Yes, it’s a pleasure to talk to you again, Ms. Murphy.

The pleasure is all mine. Abruptly Alannys realized that the principal didn’t really sound as though it was much of a pleasure at all. Look, Miss Gale, I won’t waste your time. I’m calling today to let you know that we will be unable to hire you.

What? But—but I thought—

We are in a bind, that is true. Perhaps it was a mistake to tell you that and raise your hopes. The truth is, I have just gotten off of the phone with Mister Robert Jameson.

Oh, no, Alannys groaned. She couldn’t help it.

I see that you have some understanding of how that conversation may have gone. Miss Gale, there is no way I could possibly hire you after the things I have heard today. I’m afraid we are just not comfortable turning our orchestra program over to you.

Alannys hung up the phone in a numb sort of shock.

I’m really, truly sorry, Mister Trinn said before she spoke a word.

Her dry chuckle sounded like it came from someone a lot more in control than she felt. You’re beginning to sound like a broken record, Mister Trinn. She sat slowly back down in her chair. "Do you realize what this means? I’m unemployable. That school had no choice but to hire me—they were that desperate. And yet they didn’t feel safe letting me teach. They would rather risk losing their orchestra entirely than turn it over to me. I’m that toxic."

Alannys… Mister Trinn shook his head. What will you do now?

I don’t know. Despair overwhelmed her. "I just don’t know. I could move somewhere else, I suppose, leave everything behind…but anywhere I could go, they would check my references. I work with kids—they’d have to check my references. And I’d be right back where I started."

Not everywhere, Mister Trinn said carefully. There are places where references like this are meaningless. Among other advantages.

Ah, yes. Your offer. Alannys sat back in the chair that wasn’t hers, in the office that wasn’t hers. Tell me, Mister Trinn, why are you so eager for me to accept, so persistent?

I only want to help you, Alannys. You must believe that. This place, these people—it’s a waste of your talent. You have to see that.

She made no reply.

Mister Trinn sighed. Besides, this place I am offering you—Alannys, they need you. Whether they realize it or not, they really do.

Later Alannys thought that was the remark that had sealed her fate—given everything that had just happened, she was desperate to be wanted somewhere, anywhere. But to be needed…

All right. You win. Whatever this game of yours is, I’ll play.

Are you sure?

Alannys shrugged. What have I got to lose? I’ll be destitute in less than two weeks anyway. If you’ve got something that will beat that, I’ll take it. What do I have to do?

Mister Trinn studied her for a long moment, as though he was measuring her resolve. All right. Meet me here, tomorrow morning. Four-thirty.

Four-thirty? It was strange that the prospect of tossing her entire life over her shoulder didn’t upset her, didn’t seem real the way that obscenely early hour of the morning did.

Mister Trinn didn’t seem surprised. We have to be here before anyone else, Alannys. The kitchen staff starts arriving at five to get ready for breakfast.

No witnesses. She swallowed hard. This was crazy. She was crazy for doing this, for even entertaining the idea. She would probably end up in the headlines tomorrow, a gruesome warning to young women everywhere.

But it already felt too late to change her mind, as though her fate, whatever it was, was already sealed.

Okay, she said. Four-thirty. Tomorrow morning. I’ll be here.

See that you are. If you aren’t, I will never talk to you about this again.

For some reason, that gave her a chill.

At four-thirty in the morning, lit only by the security lights, shrouded in dense fog, Daniels Junior High School looked positively eerie. It looked like just the sort of place a woman who had lost everything might go to take a terrible,