From Music From the Heart, by Maeve McCoy

Chapter 2: Stuart Little, The Gap and Ice Skating

"Brrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnngggg!!!!!!!!!!!!," my alarm clock wailed, announcing itself to the early Saturday morning stillness.

"Uhhhh," I grunted, turning it off. "Why am I up this early?" I pondered, sinking back under my covers. My eyes adjusted to the shadowy darkness of my room. My eyes fell on my music stand, and it all came back to me. Music. Sleep. Band. Sleep. Clarinets. Sleep. HOLIDAY CONCERT!!!!!

I rolled out of bed, still tangled in my sheets. I half crawled, half slugged (a very mature term my brother and I made up, in which the "Slugger" uses his elbows to pull himself across the room) to my music stand, turned on the light, and began to play.

The rest of my family got up at a sane hour (9:30). My mom went running, and my dad made his special Saturday morning breakfast: pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs. I didn’t even go downstairs for that, because I knew that if I did, I wouldn’t leave.

My friend Julie called at 10:45. "Hey Kyly," she gushed (Julie’s very gushy). "Wanna go see Toy Story 2?"

"I can’t. I have to practice"

11:30 - Lacey called. "Do you want to go to the Gap with me and Casey (Casey’s her twin sister)?"

"I can’t. I have to practice."

12: 50 - Crystal- "Hey, do you wanna go ice skating with me and Breanna?"

"I can’t! I have to practice!"

At 6:00 my mom called me to dinner. "Honey, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you all day. Are you feeling okay?"

"Oh, fine mom," I said. I was practicing."

Later that night, I decided I deserved to go out for ice cream with Shelly and Dad. We went to Coldstones, this very cool ice cream place, where they smush your ice cream with your topping, instead of just putting it on top.

I ordered a banana-raspberry cone. As we sat down, Dad asked me how the practicing was going.

"Uh, well, it’s coming along," I said nervously. But the truth was, I wasn’t sure how it was coming along. I mean, I definitely started sounding more flowing. The rhythm was there, But as for the hitting the right notes, I was very weak. When Dad excused himself to go to the bathroom, Michelle asked me gently, "How’s it really going?"

"Oh, I don’t know," I sighed. "I just don’t know if I’ll be good enough !"

Shelly gave me a little squeeze from the side. "You’ll do great!" "You think so?" I asked.

"I know so," she said, giving me another squeeze.

When we got home, my last conscious thought before falling asleep was, "I hope I don’t mess up at the concert!"

That night I dreamed that I was playing in the concert. Everything was going fine until my solo, for when I blew, no sound came out.