The Little Drummer Girl, Part 3

Read the second part. 

A few hours later, I was biking to my aunt’s house with a backpack stuffed with all my music scores and choir costumes. My cousins and uncle were at home, and they all witnessed me informing my aunt that I was quitting the choir, and that it unnecessary for her to talk to my mom about it because I intended to talk to my parents myself. There’d been a flash of surprise and dismay in my aunt’s eyes, but it was quickly followed by relief, and whatever smidgeon of hope remained in me shriveled and died.

When I greeted my cousins, they waved back automatically before turning away and leaving the room. There was no invitation for me to stay a while, no requests for me to critique my cousins’ numbers for the concert like they used to. It was nothing less than I expected. Just as I expected that by the end of the week, all the Andradas would be treating me with careful politeness and subtly shutting me out whenever the subject of music came up. After all, I was invisible now. And nobody in my family spoke to invisible people, not if they could help it.

Much harder was telling my parents that I quit the choir. Moreover, that I was quitting my piano lessons, too. There was no reason for them to keep throwing money away on me when there were Ray and Jess to invest in. Besides, it wasn’t as if I was running away from home. I was still going to help Dad transcribe his work on the computer. I was still going to shake Jess out of her mood swings and periodic bouts of laziness. I was still going to needle Ray about the flubs he made during rehearsals. Nothing was going to change. Well, nothing important, at least.

It all sounded so reasonable when I was practicing my speeches inside my head. But it still took me an entire day just to screw up enough courage to even broach the subject. Mom was furious, of course, and nobody does furious like an opera diva. She paced the floor and jabbed at the air, going on and on about how I was being rash and impulsive and defeatist, how my adolescent hormones were keeping me from appreciating the possibilities in my future, and how all I needed was to practice more, to study more, to work harder, harder, harder.

And Dad? He barely spoke a word to me at all.

School failed to offer much of a reprieve from the tension either, what with the news that I’d quit the choir spreading within a day. Unthinkable! An Andrada turning her back on anything involving music? Unheard of! Hadn’t her brother been winning competitions left and right? Hadn’t her sister been performing solos since babyhood? Come to think of it, what did Zoey do, anyway?

It seemed everywhere I went, I could see Camille’s pasty fish-face smirking at me. I could hear her whispering in the hallways, her words passing from mouth to ear to mouth: “What, Zoey? She’s got the most awful voice. She can’t hit a note if it slapped her in the face. Did you know her own aunt kicked her out of the choir? And Zoey’s been playing piano for years, but she still plays like she’s got hammers at the ends of her arms. Honestly, her last name is the only reason the teachers let her pass Music.”

“Ignore them. They’re all just overreacting,” my best friend Marni counseled me. “By the time the Christmas concert is done, everyone would have forgotten all about it.”

I smiled in gratitude, then spit out the strands of hair that had found their way into my mouth. With a sigh, I undid my ponytail and retied my hair in a bun, wishing I could wear a cap in school and knowing I’d probably be undoing that bun later on to nibble on my hair again, all completely unconsciously. When I was a child, I had a tendency to chew on my hair, a disgusting habit Mom cured me of by threatening to burn my hair, and when that didn’t work, by forcing me to get my wavy hair—my one claim to vanity—cut boyishly short, and making me wear a cap for good measure. I thought I’d broken that habit years ago and so let my hair grow long again, although I still wore caps as a reminder. The stress was obviously unearthing some old vices. At this rate, I was going to end up with split ends a whisk broom would envy.

“I’m wondering, though—what about the Christmas concert?” Marni went on. “Isn’t it a tradition for everyone in your family to perform in that concert? What’ll you do now?”

I packed up my lunch box and got up to stretch my legs. We’d taken to eating lunch underneath a tree in a corner of the school grounds to get away from the stares and whispers. Truthfully, I’d never been so glad to have Marni around. In the past, I’d been so busy with my lessons that I never had much of a chance to make friends, but Marni more or less attached herself to me after I’d rescued her from a would-be admirer who was coming on a little too strong. Marni was beautiful, ladylike, smart and mature, but because she had no interest in music whatsoever, my family didn’t quite know what to make of her. Mom hinted every now and then that I ought to encourage her to take up an instrument or attend a recital or a concert. I did no such thing, of course. Marni was Marni, and I loved her the way she was. And to her, I was Zoey first, an Andrada second, a distinction I was only now beginning to appreciate.

“I told my parents I’d help out with the programs and stuff,” I answered. “Uncle Gary’s handling production, but I seriously doubt he’ll let me help. I could probably show the audience to their seats or something. That way, I can still say I played a part, right?” I added weakly, hoping I didn’t make the prospect sound as dull and unsatisfying as it did to me. I became aware that I was tugging strands of hair out of my bun, and stuck my hand in my pocket.

“Hmm,” Marni murmured. “You know something? That’s a fantastic idea.”

I blinked. “What is? Me being an usher?”

“No, you designing the programs. I bet you’d do a great job of it. Will they let you do the backdrop, too? Not likely? That’s too bad. Your artwork would look awesome onstage.”

“My what? Artwork?” I gave a short laugh. “You don’t mean my doodles, do you?”

“You call them that, but I know for a fact that your drawings are amazing,” Marni replied with a sniff. “You make the most interesting class notes with them. Don’t you ever wonder why our classmates keep borrowing your notebooks every time we have exams? No, you probably don’t, huh? You probably don’t even know they’ve been photocopying your notebooks and passing them around.”

“They what? Have they gone nuts? Am I going to get into trouble over this?”

She stood up, and together we started back to class. “It’s a little too late to worry about that now. I just mentioned it because you never noticed what the others were doing with your notes before, or that people actually love your drawings. But I understand,” she added sagely. “Your drawings don’t have anything to do with music or your family, so they’re not important to you.”

“They’re important to me,” I protested, then trailed off when a memory flickered in my mind: my aunt inspecting the music scores I’d surrendered—specifically, at all the cartoon animals, musical symbols and caricatures I’d scrawled all around the borders—and giving me a genteel dressing-down for dirtying the music sheets.

Marni glanced sidelong at me. “But not that important, right?”

“Music is my life,” I muttered. And that was that.

Read the fourth part. 

Advertisements

4 Comments

Add yours →

  1. Did I ever mention that your stories makes my day? Nice to see you working on a new thing and you’re uploading them pretty fast! Not to mention that the chapters are significantly smaller than your other other stories. Not that it’s a bad thing.
    Well, there are a lot of similar concepts of the plot you’re working with, but what would be interesting is to see how you develop this plot. Because I believe where you excel is that even though some of the plots may not seem ‘absolutely genius’ but there is always this unique way that you develop the story something that screams that “this is Moira Inori’s work!” and that is what I think is absolutely genius. So, this one seems promising that it’ll have that same uniqueness that all the other stories have. I have read three chapters and I love it! I really hope you keep uploading fast because honestly, I can’t wait to read more of this! 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Did _I_ ever mention that your comments and feedback make my day? ^_^

    Thank you for addressing the issue of the plot’s (lack of) uniqueness, because while I was writing it, I was also thinking: “Hey, haven’t I seen this before?” It worried me a bit–a lot–but the reason I’ve been uploading this relatively fast is because I’m working under deadline. And forgive me if aspects of the story suffer (i.e. the plot); I guess I’ll have more time to rework this after Christmas.

    An explanation: This is a Christmas project my daughter and I are working on. We brainstormed the story, then I’ll write, and she’ll make the illustrations, then we turn it into a little booklet to give away as Christmas gifts to poor, unsuspecting people. Well, I’m running way behind deadline, and she’s running out of time to make the illustrations,, so I’ve got to work on this fast.

    (Also, we’re cheap Christmas gift-givers. ^_^)

    Will say more about this later. Most of all, THANK YOU as always for reading and commenting, Samin!

    Liked by 1 person

    • No, no, no. I really don’t think the plot is an issue at all! Because I think that a story depends less on the plot, more on the development of the plot. It can be a very ordinary plot but it becomes a really good story if you, basing on this plot, can create something unique. Like, ‘My Strawberry Dream Wedding’. That wasn’t necessarily a very out-of-the-world plot either. You yourself said that you have written it influenced by shoujo mangas. But the way you have developed it was absolutely genius! That’s what you excel at, turning ordinary plots to extraordinary stories! And this is what I am expecting from this story as well! Honestly, the plot is not an issue at all. Good plot, maybe ordinary, yet good. Has a lot of potential and I believe you will utilize every inch of it.
      And I think your daughter is a pretty good artist. I mean, that art of Ivy and Miguel was done by your daughter, wasn’t it? That was a pretty awesome art!
      And it’s a nice thing to do! Stories for the poor. Because stories can really make your day and if it’s your stories, it definitely can! Good work! Keep it up!
      And I’ll be catching up with the rest of the story and most probably I’ll be reading multiple chapters at a time so when I give feedbacks, it will be for two or three chapters together. With that being said, have a nice day!

      Like

      • ^_^

        Thank you for the vote of confidence, Samin. I hope this story lives up to it. It’s almost done now…

        And the art work for Ivy and Miguel wasn’t actually done by my daughter (she’s ten), but is a mashup of two different manga characters I did. Ahehe. Please do not report me for theft. I have no money…

        And very little brains at thie point. I’m rushing the story because we’re running out of time, and my husband has taken to heckling the two of us for coming up with grand ideas that we can’t execute…talk about a motivation to finish.

        Thank you again, Samin, and I hope you have a great day, too!

        Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: