The Borrowed Note Brigade — After the last bell, Pippa slipped back into the music room with three peppermint candies and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Read the full story →
After the last bell, Pippa slipped back into the music room with three peppermint candies and a pencil tucked behind her ear. She wanted to write a thank-you tune for the mystery person who always straightened the chairs, wiped rosin dust from the shelf, and left the drumsticks crossed like tiny oars. The room smelled like cork grease and warm wood, and the staff lines on the big board waited in neat black rows.
She tapped out notes softly: plink, plunk, pause. A guitar string answered, though no hand touched it. Then the snare gave a papery rat-a-tat, and the trombone slid out a wobble so rude and funny that Pippa snorted peppermint air through her nose. “Excuse you,” she whispered.
From inside the guitar came a squeaky voice. “We straighten the chairs. The chairs gossip if they’re crooked.” Pippa grinned and added rests shaped like little hats. Together, girl and instruments made a song no one was supposed to hear, and by morning the teacher found the room tidy, the candies gone, and one new melody on the board. If you ever spot crossed drumsticks, listen close for a plink, a plunk, and a pause.
