The third finger was thrust into the air as Theo said, “The final point is this . . .” He paused and took a breath and looked around the auditorium as though his final point, whatever it might be, was going to be so true and so clear that no one in the room could have any doubt. “There are many studies proving that people with college degrees have more opportunities, better jobs, and higher salaries than people without college degrees. It’s a head start to a better life. And higher salaries mean higher tax revenues, which leads to better schools and better colleges. People who are denied the chance to go to college are more likely to become unemployed, and that leads to all sorts of problems.”
Theo paused again and slowly checked the top button of his jacket. He knew the button was okay, but he needed to convey the image of utmost confidence. “In closing, this notion of slamming the doors of our colleges to students whose parents came here illegally is a bad idea. It’s been rejected by over twenty states already. That’s why the Justice Department in Washington has promised to file a lawsuit in this state if such a law is passed. It is short-sighted, mean-spirited, and simply not fair. This is the land of opportunity, and at one time or another all of our ancestors came here as immigrants. We are a nation of immigrants. Thank you.”
Mr. Mount appeared at the edge of the stage as Theo returned to his seat. Mr. Mount smiled and said, “Let’s have a nice round of applause for both teams.” The audience, which had been warned against expressing support or opposition in any way, offered a warm round of applause.
“Let’s take a short break,” Mr. Mount said. Theo, Aaron, and Joey quickly stood and walked across the stage, where they shook hands with the Central team. All six boys were relieved the pressure was finally off. Theo nodded to his father, who gave him a thumbs-up. Great job.
Minutes later, the judges announced the winner.
Chapter 2
The necktie and jacket were gone, and Theo was somewhat more comfortable in his usual khakis, though the button-down white-collared shirt was a bit too dressy. Classes were over; the final bell had sounded, and on this Wednesday Theo made his way to the band hall for a little after-school activity. Along the way, several eighth graders congratulated him on another fine performance. Theo smiled and took it all in stride as if it were no big deal, but deep inside he was quite pleased with himself. He was savoring another victory, but doing so without being cocky. “Don’t ever get the bighead,” a veteran trial lawyer had once told him. “Because the next jury can break your heart.” Or, the next debate could be a disaster.
He entered the large band hall and went to a smaller rehearsal room where a few students were unpacking instruments and preparing for a class. April Finnemore was inspecting her violin when Theo approached. “Great job,” she said softly. April rarely spoke loud enough for anyone else to hear. “You were the best.”
“Thanks. And thanks for being there. It was a nice crowd.”
“You’re going to be a great lawyer, Theo.”
“That’s the plan. Not sure where music fits in.”
“Music fits in everywhere,” she said.
“If you say so.” Theo opened a large case and carefully pulled out a cello, one that belonged to the school. April and a few of the other students owned their instruments. Others, like Theo, were still renting because they were not sure if this music thing was going to last. Theo was in the class because April talked him into it, and because his mother loved the idea of her son learning to play an instrument.
Why the cello? Theo wasn’t sure, nor could he remember why he’d chosen the instrument. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d actually made the decision himself. In a string orchestra there are several violins and violas, a large bass, at least one cello, and usually a piano. The girls seemed to prefer the violins and violas, and Drake Brown grabbed the bulky bass. There was no one to play the cello. Theo knew from the moment he first held it that he would never learn to play it well.
The class was a last-minute addition to the current six-week schedule, and it was billed as a beginners’ class for kids who couldn’t play an instrument. Real beginners, raw beginners, students with little in the way of musical backgrounds and even less in the way of talent. Theo fit in perfectly, as did most of the kids. It was a low-pressure, one-hour class once a week and designed primarily for fun with a little instruction thrown in.
The fun was provided by the teacher, Mr. Sasstrunk, a spry little old man with long gray hair, wild brown eyes, several nervous twitches, and the same faded brown-plaid jacket each week. He claimed to have conducted several orchestras over his long career, and he had been teaching music at Stratten College for the past decade. He had a great sense of humor and laughed at the kids when they made mistakes, which happened constantly. His job, he said, was simply to introduce them to music, to just “give them a taste of it.” He had no dreams of turning them into real musicians. “Let’s just learn some basics here, kids, do a little practicing, and see where we go,” he said each week. After four sessions the kids were not only enjoying the class, they were actually becoming more serious about their music.
All that was about to change.
Mr. Sasstruck was ten minutes late, and when he entered the rehearsal room he looked tired and worried. His usual smile was gone. He looked at the kids as if he wasn’t sure what to say, then began, “I’ve just left the principal’s office, and it looks as though I’ve been fired.”
There were about a dozen students, and they glanced at one another with uncertainty. Mr. Sasstrunk looked as though he might start crying. He continued, “As it has just been explained to me, the city’s schools are being forced to make a series of cutbacks for budget reasons. Seems as though there’s not as much money as they expected, so some of the less important classes and programs are being eliminated, immediately. I’m sorry, kids, but this class has just been canceled. It’s over.”
The students were too stunned to speak. Not only were they upset over losing a class they enjoyed, but they also felt sorry for Mr. Sasstrunk. In one of the earlier sessions, he had joked about saving the small salary the school was paying to finish his CD collection of the works of the greatest composers.
“This doesn’t seem fair,” said Drake Brown. “Why do they start a class if they can’t finish it?”
Mr. Sasstrunk had no answers. He replied, “You’ll have to ask someone else.”
“Don’t you have a contract?” Theo asked, then immediately wished he’d said nothing. Whether or not Mr. Sasstrunk had a contract was none of Theo’s business. However, Theo knew that every teacher in the city school system signed a one-year contract. Mr. Mount had explained it in Government class.
Mr. Sasstrunk managed a grunt and a grin and said, “Sure, but it’s not much of one. It plainly states the school can cancel the class at any time for any valid reason. That’s pretty typical.”
“Not much of a contract,” Theo mumbled.
“No, it’s not. I’m sorry, kids. I guess class is over. I’ve really enjoyed myself here, and I wish you the best. A few of you have some talent, a few do not, but, as I’ve said, all of you have the ability to learn to play with hard work and practice. Remember, with practice anything is possible. Good luck.” And with that, Mr. Sasstrunk slowly and sadly turned away and walked out of the room.
The door closed quietly, and for a few seconds the students stared at it in silence. Finally, April said, “Do something, Theo. This is not fair.”
Theo was standing. “Let’s go see Mrs. Gladwell. All of us. We’ll take over her office, and we won’t leave until she meets with us.”