Big Time Read online

  I tell Ms. Kogawa about Keith on Tuesday when Tyler and I are in her class for extra help.

  “That’s wonderful, Gerri!” she says. “I’ve been a bit worried that we’d have to go the whole year without a bass. You say this guy is musical?”

  “Yeah, he plays a few instruments, and he writes his own stuff too. He’s going to come to rehearsal on Sunday.”

  “That’s just great,” she says. “Speaking of writing, have either of you had a chance to think about our mashup?”

  “I haven’t had time,” says Tyler. “Between school, chorus and track, I’m too busy as it is. Besides, I’m sure the musical wonder will figure something out.”

  I smile. Musical wonder—that’s good.

  “Who is the musical wonder?” asks Ms. Kogawa.

  “Come on,” says Tyler. “Bernice. She’s way better than us.”

  “I don’t think so at all,” she says. “Bernice is very talented, but so are both of you. So is everyone.”

  Tyler just shrugs. “I guess so.”

  Ms. Kogawa looks at me. “Have you thought about performance pieces?” she asks.

  “Not really,” I say. “I don’t really understand how it works.” That’s not entirely true. I’ve been playing around with different songs in my head since Sunday, and I’ve actually had a couple of ideas of some tunes that would blend well together. I’m not confident enough to suggest them though. I don’t understand music theory, and I’m only barely starting to understand how to read music. I’m pretty sure that any idea I bring up will have something wrong with it. I’m with Tyler—let the musical wonder figure it out.

  “Suit yourselves,” says Ms. Kogawa, “but I don’t think either of you should refrain from bringing ideas to the group. That’s half the fun. But it’s clear that neither of you are totally comfortable with reading music yet, so maybe when you’ve progressed a bit you’ll be more willing to add your suggestions to the mix.”

  We spend almost an hour doing more sightreading, and by the end of the class she seems happy with our progress. I might not be as far along as I’d like to be, but I’m on the way, and it feels good.

  Chapter Eleven

  When I arrive at practice on Sunday, there’s no sign of Keith.

  “He said he would be here,” I tell Ms. Kogawa.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “We’ll get started without him, and if he shows up late we can just fill him in on what’s going on.”

  As Tyler predicted, Bernice has charged full steam ahead on creating a mashup. She passes around neatly stapled pages of lyrics and music, and I notice that she’s even written it all out in musical notation and everything.

  “Wow,” says Ms. Kogawa. “You’ve really done a lot of work on this.”

  “I figured if I was going to do it, I should do it properly,” says Bernice.

  Unfortunately, the songs she’s picked aren’t my idea of a good time. One of them is “Love Doesn’t Die,” a drippy ballad that I recognize as the theme to some stupid action movie from a few years ago. I’ve never heard the other one, “The Brightest Star in Space,” but Bernice informs us that it’s the biggest hit from a recent Broadway musical called Love You to the Moon. She’s certainly done a lot of work mashing them together. They’re both perfectly arranged and organized so that the focus shifts from one to the other, blending at appropriate moments. There’s no denying that they’ll fit together well—just humming them in my head tells me that much—but they’re very slow and overly dramatic, which makes them kind of similar. I thought the idea was to combine two totally different songs. I’m not about to stick my hand up though. I doubt I could explain what I mean if I tried, and I’m sure Bernice would just remind me I don’t have a background in music theory.

  “Has anyone else got any ideas?” asks Ms. Kogawa.

  “Davis and I kind of played around with a couple of songs,” says Macy. “We thought it might be kind of cool to start with something really cutesy, like a nursery rhyme, and then mash it up with something heavy, like a hard-rock song.”

  “Did you come up with anything specific?” Ms. Kogawa asks.

  They glance at each other and then Davis counts back from three and they start to sing. Macy begins by singing “Pop Goes the Weasel” and then Davis comes in with “Rock and Roar,” by the heavy-metal band Burn Unit. At first it sounds kind of nuts, but soon they begin to weave together in a unique and surprisingly catchy way. It’s funny and impressive at the same time. After a couple of verses they stop, and Davis takes an exaggerated bow.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” yells Tyler, as we applaud. Bernice smiles stiffly and claps politely, but I can tell she isn’t as impressed as the rest of us.

  “Well,” says Ms. Kogawa, “that’s the kind of creativity I was looking for. From all of you,” she hastens to add, smiling at Bernice. “Macy and Davis, do you think you could try to transcribe your piece?”

  “Sure,” says Davis. “We could probably do that this week.”

  “Are we really going to sing that one?” asks Bernice. She looks out of sorts. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s…funny or whatever, but isn’t it kind of inappropriate?”

  “I don’t think so at all,” says Ms. Kogawa. “I think it’s a lot of fun, and I don’t see any reason why we can’t try workshopping both of these ideas. Maybe we’ll add both to our repertoire. Let’s break into groups. Olive, why don’t you join Macy and Davis and help them out, and Gerri and Tyler, you guys work with Bernice. It will be a good opportunity to practice some theory. I’m sure Bernice will be able to teach you guys a few things, and you can give her a couple of new perspectives on her mashup.”

  It’s obvious that Bernice has been hoping she would just get to take charge of things herself, but she manages to smile it off. I exchange a look with Tyler, who is obviously as unexcited about this as I am.

  There’s a knock on the door, and I look over to see Keith’s face peering in the window at us. He grins and waves when he sees me. Ms. Kogawa opens the door to let him in.

  “You must be Keith,” she says.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “We haven’t started rehearsing yet,” she says. “Come on in.”

  It doesn’t take long to realize that Keith will fit right in with the group. Not only is he a bass, but he’s got a really strong voice, so he’s able to fill in the empty space by himself even though all the other parts have two people singing them. I can see immediately why Ms. Kogawa was so persistent about finding a bass for choral—as we run through our pieces, they just sound fuller and more complete. Keith looks like he’s having fun too, which makes me happy, since I’m the one who invited him to try out. I start to wonder if Meg is right, if maybe he is interested in me. Unfortunately, Ms. Kogawa tells him to work with Macy, Davis and Olive on their mashup. I was hoping I’d get a chance to hang out with him a bit more.

  One unexpected surprise from the practice is that I’m able to keep up with the songs a lot better. I still have to stop and listen often, but I’m picking up on reading quicker than I thought I would. Even just a few weeks of practice have made a big improvement on what I’m able to do.

  “That was really great,” says Keith as we’re packing up after rehearsal. “I’m glad you told me about this.”

  “Awesome,” I say.

  “How do you guys know each other, anyway?” asks Olive.

  I’m almost embarrassed to say, but Keith doesn’t seem to care. “We met at the Big Time auditions,” he says.

  Olive’s eyes widen. “You guys tried out for Big Time? That’s so cool! What was it like?”

  Keith and I look at each other and laugh.

  “It wasn’t exactly what I expected,” I say. “I definitely wish I’d been more prepared.”

  I’m about to tell Olive that I joined choral club to get more experience for next year’s auditions, but Bernice jumps in before I have the chance.

  “Big Time is such a joke,” she says.

  “W
ell, I guess the joke’s on us,” says Keith, obviously unfazed by Bernice and her background.

  “I just mean, all these people with no musical training at all, lining up like sheep just to be insulted,” says Bernice.

  “Keith has a musical background,” I say.

  “Yeah, sure,” she says. “I’m not talking about you guys, of course. There are always some good performers. It’s just amazing how many people think they deserve to be professional musicians without ever having stepped on a stage in their lives.”

  “I don’t mind,” says Olive. “And I don’t care how mean Tim Canon is, either. I’m gonna be first in line for auditions next year.”

  “Suit yourself,” says Bernice. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll win the whole thing.”

  I don’t know about next year, but it sure seems like this year might be Poppy’s. One week after another, I watch as she survives the judges’ critiques and the voting public to make it through to the next round. She’s a fan favorite—every week there are more people in the studio audience holding signs with pictures of bright red poppies and FLOWER POWER written around them in glittery block letters.

  The judges are fans too—even Tim Canon is usually able to muster up something nice to say about her performance, and Maria Tillerman, who hasn’t seemed particularly cheerful this season, often calls Poppy her breath of fresh air. Poppy is always gracious and appreciative when the fans are going crazy for her or the judges are giving her compliments. I can’t help but imagine myself onstage in her place, and I wonder if I’m developing the kind of stage presence and musical confidence that would allow me to take it in stride the way she does.

  I also wonder how I’d manage to sing the many different genres of music that Big Time features. Most of them would be out of my comfort zone, and although Poppy always manages to stretch her face into that big beautiful smile and deliver the goods, it’s hard to believe she’s really a big fan of some of the music she has to sing. Hard-rock week is followed by disco classics which leads into country shakedown. I doubt Poppy has spent much time singing that kind of stuff in the past.

  I guess performing in a choral group is kind of similar, as we’re singing a lot of songs that I wouldn’t be otherwise, but it’s different in that we work through those songs together, trying to find a common sound. On Big Time, the production is slick and prearranged, and Poppy and the other contestants have less than a week to choose, learn and rehearse songs they aren’t even familiar with. If I ever do make it onto Big Time, I’m pretty sure that that will take a lot of getting used to.

  I send Poppy a few messages, but I don’t hear back from her. Judging by how hard she’s working, it doesn’t really surprise me. I just hope she’s still having fun.

  Chapter Twelve

  As the weeks with choral club go by, music starts to occupy my mind in a way it never has before. I’ve always picked up lyrics and melodies easily, and I still find it easy to slide comfortably into a song, to pick out the harmony that needs singing and plug it in like a missing puzzle piece. The big change now, however, is that I have a much better understanding of what’s happening when I do it. It’s not just instinct anymore—it’s backed up by theory.

  With every passing Sunday, I feel a bit more confident in my abilities when I show up at rehearsal. Tyler and I have been making good progress with Ms. Kogawa, who’s started to teach us a bit of basic theory—harmonics and transposition and other concepts I was never aware of before. Although music is becoming a structured and rehearsed thing for the first time for me, it doesn’t make it less fun. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I feel more in control, as if practicing and learning the building blocks of music are giving me new insights into what you can do with voices, instruments and a melody.

  Ms. Kogawa starts all of my Tuesday sessions with Tyler, as well as the weekly rehearsals, with a vocal warm-up. We run scales, play silly games with our voices and do musical rounds, faster and faster with every turn so that we end up stumbling over words and laughing breathlessly. It’s like doing laps and push-ups before soccer practice. The warm-ups stretch our vocal cords so that by the time we get into the actual music, our voices are limber and ready to roll.

  My family goes to visit Granddad for his birthday. We hang out in the lounge with his friends and watch him open presents. Seeing Granddad surrounded by the many nice people he’s gotten to know at Lilac Grove, I’m reminded of his sad early days here, and I’m grateful once again for his guitar. The staff in the kitchen have baked him a special cake, and after we’ve watched him blow out the candles and everyone’s had a piece, Dina leans forward in her chair.

  “I can’t think of a better reason to break out a few songs, Nelson,” she says.

  “No argument here,” he says.

  Jack runs to Granddad’s room to get his guitar, and when he comes back we all pull our chairs into a circle and spend the next hour or so enjoying a good old-fashioned sing-along. We run through some of the old songs I’ve heard Granddad play for as long as I can remember, and then other residents of the home begin shouting out requests. A lot of them aren’t his style, but Granddad seems to know them all, from jazz standards to wartime big band anthems to sixties folk songs. Nobody knows all the words to the songs, but it doesn’t matter—there are enough people who know various bits and pieces that the rest of us pick up what we can and the music keeps rolling along.

  I watch Granddad play one tune after another, amazed that he has so many chords and lyrics and melodies stored in his mind. At one point or another, he took the time to memorize each one of these songs, and now he’s able to access them, belt them out, share them with the world. Keith has the same kind of dedication and wants to learn as much as he can about music. It’s not just a skill or a hobby, it’s a passion. I’m starting to feel that way too.

  “How about it, Gerri?” asks Granddad. I snap out of my daydream and realize that the music has stopped and everyone’s looking at me.

  “Sorry, what did you ask?”

  “How’s about doing a duet with your old granddad?” he asks. “One from the old days.”

  “I thought these were all from the old days,” says Jack, and everyone laughs.

  “Sure, Granddad,” I say. “What were you thinking?”

  He starts playing and I recognize the song right away, and when he finishes the intro, I’m prepared to sing along with him.

  Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you,

  Away, you rolling river

  Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you,

  Away, I’m bound away

  ’Cross the wide Missouri…

  I expect people to pick up the words and begin to sing along as we get further into it, but everyone stays silent, letting the two of us sing this one together. I get so caught up in the music that I forget there’s anyone listening to us until the song ends and they break into loud applause. I glance over at my parents and am surprised to see them beaming—my dad’s eyes have even welled up with tears.

  It’s not like there are all that many people here, but it’s obvious that we’ve made an impact. I can’t imagine feeling any better if I’d just performed for a live studio audience.

  “I can’t remember you ever sounding even half as good as you did today, Gerri,” my mother says as we’re driving home.

  “It was beautiful,” says Dad.

  “I’m just going to come out and say it,” says Mom. “I’m happy you didn’t get picked by Big Time. This choral group is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “I’m learning a lot. I think I’ll be a lot more prepared for next year’s auditions.”

  “Tyler says you guys have a show lined up,” says Jack. “What’s that all about?”

  Mom turns around, her eyes wide. “What?! Where? When?”

  “It’s not really a show,” I tell them. “We’re going to perform a couple of songs at an open mic downtown. It’s not a big deal.”

  “You bet it’s a big deal,
” says Dad. “As if you weren’t going to tell your parents about your first public performance!”

  The truth is, I haven’t been looking forward to the Human Bean open mic. When Keith mentioned it to Ms. Kogawa, she jumped all over it, calling the managers and making sure it would be okay for us to do two numbers. Now we’re booked in for the end of the month, which only gives us a few weeks to practice.

  That would all be fine except for the fact that working with Bernice on her mashup has been zero fun. She’s determined to keep the piece pretty much exactly the way she imagined and wrote it in the first place, which means it’s as lame now as it was the day she proposed it, even though we’ve been meeting for an hour a week to work on it. At least, Bernice and I have been meeting for an hour a week. After a couple of meetings Tyler stopped showing up, blaming it on college applications and track practice.

  It’s not like I can blame him, but I don’t have good excuses like he does, so I’m stuck with her. I’m intimidated enough by her background that I have a hard time making suggestions, and on the few occasions I try, she shoots them down. Eventually, I give up altogether and spend the weekly meeting sitting on the couch in her basement, watching her play the parts again and again on her piano.

  Ms. Kogawa has started breaking up Sunday rehearsal into two segments. During the first half, we work on Macy and Davis’s mashup, which is super fun to sing and is getting better with every week, thanks to Olive’s and Keith’s contributions. In the second half of rehearsal, we do Bernice’s, which practically puts us all to sleep.

  A couple of weeks out from our performance, Ms. Kogawa tells us that we need to lock things down.

  “Take some time this week to iron out the final bugs in your pieces,” she says. “Next week we’ll do a last rehearsal before the open mic. I’ve decided that we’ll start with Bernice’s piece. It’s slower, so it will get the crowd used to us and give us a chance to showcase our vocals. Then we’ll finish with the faster piece, because it will pump the crowd up.”