Breakout by Kevin Emerson

Author:Kevin Emerson [Emerson, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-385-39114-6
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2015-02-24T05:00:00+00:00

The Real Test

After math the three of us head across school. On our way, a girl I don’t know who’s maybe in the sixth grade shouts, “Rusty Soles!” and she and her pack of friends all smile and laugh.

One of the others says, “Woo!”

Their eyes stay on us as we pass.

“What was that all about?” asks Valerie.

“The song,” says Keenan. “You’ve gotta hear it.”

“Oh. We’re not in trouble with Mr. Darren, are we?” Valerie sounds nervous.

“No way,” says Keenan, and again he’s talking in his new, slightly louder voice. “I emailed Mr. Darren the song yesterday and told him how we had something for Arts Night.”

“You did?” I try not to sound nervous and I try to stop feeling nervous but I still do. “Well, what did he say?”

Keenan smiles. “He said cool and he’d check it out with us today. Like right now.”

“So you knew this was coming?” I ask him.

“Yep,” he says with a smile.

“Anthony, does it have the lyrics you showed me at Jupiter on Friday?” Valerie asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Cool,” says Valerie. “Those were great. I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Thanks,” I say, but I have a hard time smiling with the storm of nervousness inside.

As we step into the lounge I’m practically shaking. The verdict from Mr. Darren and Valerie. Right now. And I realize that all those hours I spent reading comments and watching the play numbers yesterday were fine and all, but this, right here, is the real test. The two people, other than Keenan, who I want to impress the most.

Mr. Darren is sitting on one of the folding chairs with his tablet. “The Rusty Soles,” he says, tapping the screen. “Come on in.”

We gather around him and I see that he has our BandSpace page open.

“Two thousand nine hundred and twenty,” says Keenan proudly, reading the number of plays.

“That’s just since Friday?” Valerie asks. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” I say. Still nervous.

“So, Anthony, you went singer-songwriter, I hear,” says Mr. Darren. He looks up at me with his usual friendly face. “I didn’t have a chance to listen to the tune yet, but Mr. Jones here tells me it’s pretty great.”

“I guess,” I say, quieter than I mean to, more again like I’m nervous, and I’m mad at myself because I should be confident! Fearless! But I’m breathing fast and feeling sweaty.

“All right,” says Mr. Darren. He plugs an audio cable into the tablet, then runs the line over to the PA and plugs in the red and white RCA ends. There is a pop as he makes the connection. He sits back down. “This one?” he asks, pointing to “Breakout.”

“Yeah,” says Keenan.

“Okay, here we go.” He taps it. The song buffers for a second, then starts.

Even though the music is coming out of the speakers beside us we are all staring at the player on the screen, watching the little bar slide left to right over the jagged-mountain shape of the audio waves.

When my raspy voice comes in, Mr. Darren nods slightly. “Nice melody,” he says, and I think, Yes! So far so good.

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