The Way Page 6

  Beth’s stomach was beginning to churn intensely; the way a stomach does when you’re nearing the top of a roller coaster’s major peak. Not hungry, yet not wanting to be rude, she picked at the plate, hoping that Aristotle would be let inside soon, to sneakily receive the spoils. Luck was on her side and as Maggie opened the kitchen door and went out with some bread scraps for the birds, Aristotle ran in and Beth was able to tip the contents of her plate into the huge hound’s open, drooling mouth.

  “Beth, come have a look what Lionel dropped off for you last night.” Maggie beckoned from the doorway. Beth got up from the table, put her now empty plate in the sink and walked outside. There leaning against the side of the garden shed was a faded blue, vintage-looking ladies’ bike, complete with a large wicker basket attached to the handlebars.

  “He picked it up on a sidewalk junk pile as it had no wheels but he fitted a couple of new ones and added the basket. What do you think about that for a ride?” Maggie asked.

  “I absolutely love it! How did you guys know I love to ride? It was truly the best way to get around in Beijing. We rode everywhere,” Beth answered excitedly.

  “Well then, you’ll have no trouble with this as your transport to school, for the summer months anyways; gets a bit tricky to ride once the snow hits. Toby is riding out here, to show you the back streets. You best go in now and get your things ready.”

  Beth ran inside, stuffed her books into a backpack and looked around her room. Maple had already curled up on her neatly made bed. One of the many disciplines drilled in at boarding school was that once you were out of bed, you automatically made it, ready for room inspection. She picked up the framed photo of her parents and held it to her heart.

  “I’ll make you proud,” she whispered, as she brushed away a lone tear that rolled down her cheek. With a deep breath, she picked up her backpack and stepped out into the hallway, full of that feeling you get when you reach the end of a high diving board.

  “Are you ready? Toby’s coming up the drive,” Maggie said, walking over and putting her hands gently on Beth’s shoulders. “You’ll be great, ma’ darling girl. The school is lucky to be having you. Off you go now and enjoy the ride.”

  Toby pulled up out the front and waited while Beth got on her bike. Her backpack fitted snugly in the basket. “Have you got your cell?” he asked.

  “Nope, it’s out of battery. Surely I won’t need that map thing if I’m riding with you.”

  “No, you won’t need maps, but you must be the only kid our age who doesn’t have your cell attached like another limb. Most kids get majorly twitchy if they can’t get to it.” Toby grinned.

  “We weren’t allowed to have our phones with us during class time or sport, so I don’t get what all the fuss is about. There was no social media in Beijing. You actually talked to people on the phone and met up with them in person. Social, without the media I guess,” mused Beth.

  “Well, who knows, I might have to join your cell-less revolution. Come on, let’s get going; prison awaits.” Toby turned around slowly in the lighthouse driveway, the loose gravel crunching beneath his tires with Beth riding close behind him. The sky was a brilliant blue with just a few wispy white clouds scattered about. She looked out at the water as they whizzed down Rebecca Road, and almost had to pinch herself at the idyllic scenery. Riding along every day looking at this view sure beat the smoggy peaks of high rise in China. It felt good to be riding and, as they reached a long stretch of tree-lined bike path, the speeds they had picked up made the wind rushing past her seem to blow the nerves away.

  They came out of the path at the highway and the gates to the school were looming in the distance. Toby called back, “Here we are, Beth, take it slowly up the drive and we’ll head left around to the bike shed.”

  Beth followed and, looking over to the right, saw the students’ carpark, a hive of activity with cars and kids. She looked away quickly and concentrated on keeping up with Toby. They put their bikes into the rack, and Toby tossed her a compact wheel lock.

  “Not that I think anyone would be interested in Lionel’s vintage find, but better to be safe.”

  Beth’s fingers were trembling slightly as she fitted the lock to the wheel. Once it was on, she grabbed her backpack from the basket took a deep breath, and readied herself for entering the main school building.

  “Come on, I’ll show you where student reception is. You’ll have to register there with Mrs. K and pick up your timetable. I’ll meet you at this bench at recess, okay?”

  Well at least she’d be able to find her way here. The bench was part of the enormous concrete podium right near the door to student reception. Once inside the well-lit, pale blue walled room, there was a glass window and a queue of two people already. Beth took her place and, while waiting, read the notice board where various sign-up papers for the many clubs and groups were attached. She grabbed a couple of flyers on the subjects that interested her and stuffed them into her bag.

  “Next,” a deep, booming, voice called from behind the window. It was difficult to tell if the voice was male or female but once Beth got up to the window, she saw the woman in question. She had a blue-gray teased bouffant hairdo, big, bulging, heavily made up eyes peering behind horn rimmed purple glasses, and bright red lipstick, which formed two defined peaks under her hooked nose.

  “How can I help you?” she asked in a deep monotone.

  “Hi.” Beth smiled hesitatingly. “I’m Beth Harlow and I’m starting senior year here today. I was told I would need to sign a couple of forms and get my timetable here.”

  “That’s correct. Just hold on a minute while I find your file.” The woman shuffled towards a set of silver filing cabinets at the rear of the office. Opening the second drawer, she pulled out a file and headed back to her desk to sit down heavily at the computer. She let out a long sigh as if she had filled her exertion quota for the day. “All the data entry on this newfangled system as well as the hard copy seems like doubling up to me. I liked my old system better,” she muttered away to herself, while tapping away at the keyboard. “Okay, now…Beth, I will just print off these forms and you can sign them and we’ll get you to your first class.”

  The office door flew open and a girl popped her head through the gap. Her hair was a mop of curly blonde ringlets and she had a wide, toothy smile.

  “Hi Mrs. Kopeckny! Final year! Woo hoo!” The girl’s voice was enthusiastic and shrill. She went to close the door behind her but Mrs.Kopeckny called out in her deep drawl, “Shelby, come back in here. You can escort our new student, Miss Harlow, to her locker and first class.”

  Shelby reopened the door and bounced in like an excited puppy. “Sure, I’ll take her. Hi, I’m Shelby and you are?” She grabbed Beth’s hand and shook it vigorously.

  “Hi…” Beth responded, a little overwhelmed at the fervent greeting. “I’m Beth.”

  Mrs. Kopeckny leaned forward and handed a neat pile of papers through the reception window. “Here you go dear. Here’s a copy of your timetable, your locker pin number and a map of the senior classroom blocks. Shelby will show you to your locker and then onto your first class, Music, which is in Block C, the Fine Arts Building.”

  “Thanks for your help.” Beth took the papers as Shelby held open the door.

  “Follow me, Beth; just let me get a look at your locker number.” Shelby scanned down at the locker information. “It’s 444, great. I know exactly where the 4s are.”

  Even though she was a bit full on, at least school was off to a friendly start.

  Shelby swiftly led the way down the corridor to the senior lockers, babbling away with each step. “So, Beth, are you on exchange from England? You sure don’t sound from anywhere around here. I’ve got a cousin in London, you might know her. I’m going to visit her over the Christmas break. I haven’t been to England but it looks like such a teeny-tiny country on the map, so you all must know each other.”

  Beth smiled to herself as she recalled from her Environmen
tal Science class that England’s population sat around 65 million. “No, I’ve actually come across from Beijing which is North Eastern China.”

  “Wow, you sure as heck don’t look Chinese! Here we go, locker 444, you enter your code and… Oh hi, Jemma!” Shelby bounded over to a girl with long dark hair, who was trying to cram a large sports bag into a locker on the other wall. “Come over and meet Beth, she’s just started with us today, came all the way from China.” Shelby lowered her voice to a stage whisper, and added, “although she doesn’t much look the part.”

  Beth had put her bag in her locker and grabbed the books she’d need for the morning classes.

  “Jemma meet Beth, and Beth meet Jemma.”

  The bell sounded and the three girls headed from the lockers to the Fine Arts Building. Beth could see the sign for her classroom and thanked Shelby for her help. Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped into the room. The other students were talking loudly amongst themselves but the room suddenly went silent. Just as Beth was beginning to feel her face blush, a booming male voice came from behind her, making her realize that it wasn’t just her entry into the room that had stopped the commotion. It was the school principal, Mr. Booth; a short, round man with a Friar Tuck hairstyle who spoke with a slight lisp.

  “Okay, now that racket is over, take your seats; I have an announcement for you. Are you in the right place, Miss? Actually, do I even know you?” He stared at Beth, who had stopped in her tracks and was not sure of where to sit and was now aware of all eyes on her.

  “Um, I don’t think so. I’m new to the school today and don’t know where to sit.”

  “Just choose any of the spare places, that one there will be fine,” he said, gesturing to a seat at the back of the room.

  Beth sat down next to a mountain of a boy. He was writing notes with a thick, black art pencil which looked like a toothpick in his gigantic hands. He did not appear to notice when she sat down. His massive head sporting a military buzz cut stayed down, his eyes fixed firmly on the work at hand.

  The teacher with the loud voice spoke again. “Some of you may be aware that Mrs. Conrad, our esteemed music teacher, had to relocate urgently over this weekend, a most unexpected start to the semester, of course. We have not yet found a suitable full-time replacement. However, we’re thrilled to have secured the services of a brilliant sub, a young man whose passion and talent for all things music has you in great hands for your final year… ahhh, here he is now, give a warm welcome to Mr. Yeats. Over to you, sir, I’ve got to get back to the mountain of first day emails.”

  Beth looked over at the door and felt her heart catch in her throat as she saw the familiar, fantastic face of Logan.

  Logan greeted the class with a warm smile and a brief visual sweep of the room and then turned to the whiteboard, his words sprawling across the space with a flourishing cursive font. The girls sitting in the desk adjacent were ‘O.M.G’ing and using their notebooks to fan their faces. Obviously Logan’s good looks weren’t going unnoticed. One of the girls had long, sandy hair in a neat braid and very natural looking makeup and the other had a blue-black bob with heavy, dark eye make-up, and was dressed in top to toe black. They looked quite the odd couple.

  “Reputedly, this quote came from the Greek philosopher, Plato. I need you to write it down, on paper—no iPads for this exercise. Handwritten, for as we begin your final year of high school music education, you will take the meaning of these words well beyond school, and they will last a lifetime.”

  Music is a moral law.

  It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination and charm and gaiety to life and to everything.

  “Reflecting on this verse I want you to take the next while to write down:

  A) How are you going to contribute to this soul-giving, moral law?

  B) What sorts of things you would like from me to help you get there?”

  There was a deep silence after the heavy questions, as each of the students took the time to mull over them and write their thoughts. The boy next to Beth seemed to complete his answer promptly. He laid his pen down within a few minutes. Beth concentrated on looking at her page and not becoming fixated on Logan. At about the ten-minute mark, they were asked to put their pens down and to now go around the class, introduce themselves and share aloud their ponderings.

  “Let’s start from the back.”

  The sandy-haired girl sitting closest to the wall adjacent to Beth began, “Hi, I’m Melinda Wiseman.” Her voice was strong, clear and enunciated. “I consider music to be an essential element of my passion for all things musical theatre. I have been on stage since I was six and a half and it’s my vision to study at B.C. or Boston Conservatory…and then my dream is to perform on Broadway, of course. The things I would like most help with from you, Mr. Yeats, would be voice projection and pitch correction.”

  Logan wrote up on the whiteboard the incoming help requests.

  The girl with the bob fumbled with her piece of paper and peered around the class from beneath her heavy lashes. “I’m Maeve Frith, and my offering to the musical universe is playing drums for my brother’s band. We write all our own tunes and beats. If there’s one thing you could help me with this year, it would be to help us get a gig in the ‘Boston Calling’ Festival next year.”

  A boy with black framed glasses and a neat brown haircut piped up from the front of the room, “Pffft. Sure, but they’d need to rename it the ‘Pigs Fly’ Festival.”

  “Shut up Newman! You wouldn’t know real music if it bit you in the a**.” Maeve sneered her retort.

  “Okay, you guys, that’ll do. You’re up, buddy.” Logan gestured to the boy next to Beth.

  Melinda quickly piped up, eager to have his attention again, “Excuse me, Mr. Yeats, but Likely doesn’t speak.”

  Beth looked across at her desk neighbor. He handed her a folded sheet of paper from his note pad.

  “Thanks, Melinda. So you’re Likely O’Reilly, is that right?” Logan questioned gently. “I’m going to ask your neighbor here to read your response. Is that okay?” Likely nodded his head just once and Logan motioned to Beth to read. Her heart quickened and she hoped some voice would come out of her nerve-constricted throat. She coughed to clear it, opened the paper and read aloud:

  “Where words fail, Music Speaks.” – Hans Christian Anderson.

  There was a lengthy pause in the classroom as Logan looked around at the pensive faces and said, “And there, ladies and gentlemen, is an indication of the power of this subject you have chosen to partner with. Thanks, Likely, for that beautiful reminder. Reflecting on the verse you’ve offered there, it will be you helping me and the rest of the class.”

  Beth felt her answer might be an anticlimax after that poignant piece. However, having had to speak out already, she didn’t feel so nervous about being the new kid in the room.

  “Hello… I’m Beth Harlow, I’ve just started here and I’m hoping to bring some music to life that I’ve written over the past few years to an understanding, and I hope appreciative, audience. I’m ready for some constructive criticism with it, as I haven’t had formal music lessons in a while and I want to see if I can get my music out of my head and into live form.”

  The rest of the class made their contributions with Logan continuing to list all the requests.

  “Well, looking at this list, I sure have my work cut out for me, and I’m expecting some extraordinary tunes from you guys. I ask that you hang onto these pieces of paper to remind us what we’re here to accomplish. We’ll be studying Advanced Music Theory and this year you have two major live units to complete. You’re going to compose two pieces of music. Both will be performed in front of the State Music Board Panel and are to be performed live at the mid-year recital and a selection will be chosen for the graduation ceremony.”

  The rest of the class flew by and consisted of taking theory notes. When the bell sounded, there was a flurry of activity as the class got up to
change rooms. Logan approached the back of the room and Beth found her feet felt like lead as she tried to move toward him. The awkward moment was broken when he spoke up and said, “Likely, can I see you for a minute after class?”

  Beth made her way out of the room into the bustling corridor. Her next class was double English. She looked down at her map and turned it around in her hands to make sense of the directions. A shadow fell across the paper and she looked up to see Daybian, standing intimidatingly and way too far into her personal space.

  “Hey, it’s the fall girl. Looking a little lost there. What class are you headed for?” he asked, staring boldly into her eyes.

  “English, a double English in Room 228,” Beth replied.

  “Lucky for you that’s just where I’m headed, so I’ll escort you there.”

  Beth started to reply that she’d be fine to make her own way, but suddenly a pair of hands with long, hot pink nails appeared from behind him and covered his eyes.

  “Guess who, Tiger?” a voice purred from behind him.

  “Let’s see…from the sneaky approach to the feel of the length of these claws, this would have to be…Miffy!”

  She stepped out from behind him and Beth recognized her as the icy blonde from the country club.

  Her expression immediately changed upon seeing Beth and as she snaked her hand around Daybian’s neck pulling his chin towards her, Beth stepped around them and took off, hoping it was the right direction for the Humanities wing.

  The Miffy girl’s fake laughter was ringing in her ears.

  The desks were almost full upon her arrival and she looked about, delighted to see Toby in the middle section of the room with a spare seat.

  “Dude, I’ve saved a seat for you, Lady Macbeth, come hither,” he said, putting on his best Shakespearian accent.

  The rest of the class were chatting away when in walked the English teacher, Mrs. Norton, a tall thin woman with long, dark wiry hair. Her cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut through glass. Her eyes were absolutely enormous behind her round, red-rimmed glasses. She reached into her desk drawer, grabbing a cardboard knife and began loudly and dramatically reciting;