The One About the River

Anika's band practiced in Room 12 every Thursday after school. They were not good, and Anika knew it. When they reached the end of their new song, it always fell apart.

Then the invitation came. The town wanted music for the Spring Market, and somebody had written Anika's name on the form.

“We've got six weeks,” she told the group. “We'll be better by then.”

They practiced for six weeks. They were better. The ending still fell apart.

On the morning of the market it rained. Anika's hands were cold, and only about twenty people stood in front of the little stage. The first song was fine. In the second song the drummer stopped too early, the guitar kept going, and the ending fell apart in front of the whole town.

Nobody laughed. People clapped, and then most of them walked away to the food tables.

A man in a wet coat came to the front of the stage. He was old, and he waited until Anika looked at him.

“The first one,” he said. “The one about the river. Can you play it again?”

Anika turned round to her group. Nobody moved.

“Yes,” she said. “We can do that.”