Monday, September 26, 2005

Ghostopia, Chapter 62: Kat's Story, Part Seven

The following week was terrible for Katrina. She shut herself out from everyone, most especially Mr. Harold, for fear that he would grill her on the bad job she did. He obviously had had high hopes that she would nail it and make the school proud, but now Mr. Rogers would probably hire one of those better pianists her father recommended. And the worst thing was, she didn't dare breath a single word of this to her mom.

The bell rang. Katrina grabbed her backpack, stuffed her books in, and trudged out of the classroom.
"Katrina!" Someone called out to her.
She turned around. Uh-oh. It was Mr. Harold. She wanted to run away, but that would have been dumb. "Yes?"
"I've been looking for you. Mr. Rogers called."
She swallowed hard. "And he said?"
"He wants you to come over again this Sunday, two o' clock."
"Okay." came her reply.
"One more thing," He spoke in the sort of tone that made her fidget uncomfortably. "I heard you didn't do so well that day."
"I know," Katrina sighed. "He told you that, didn't he?"
"Don't you let that get to you, dear. He understands all about talented musicians and their occasional off-days."
"You mean, he's not mad at me or anything?"
"Of course not! Whatever gave you that impression?"
"I dunno," she shrugged. "I would've been mad at myself, seeing the way I played that day. Furthermore, I heard that he's been auditioning other pianists as well."
Mr. Harold looked surprised. "I didn't know about that."
"But - listen to me, Katrina," he continued. "Mr. Rogers still needs you very much, and he is aware of that fact. He won't let you go till he sees once more the girl he saw playing at his garden party. Go home, put together something beautiful, practise for all your life, and just be yourself on Sunday. Okay?"
Katrina could feel her confidence soaring again. Yes, no amount of badgering from her dad would distract her this time around. All she needed to do was continue working on last week's compositions and her talent would pull her through like it always had.
"I'll do it, Mr. Harold. Thanks for your advice." The girl smiled the broadest she had in a week.

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