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Concertino This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   "Good morning. Yes, I'm Kristina Lyons. Yes, I'm next."

I'm next. Oh my God, I'm next. What if I mess up? I know I'm going to mess up. Stop shaking, you're about to drop your flute. Oh, wouldn't that just dazzle the judge! A grand opening with my flute lying in a million metallic pieces on the floor. Minus ten on the score sheet for lack of coordination.

"Oh, the weather? Yes, it's beautiful out, but just a little windy. That's too bad. No, I wouldn't mind waiting a minute. Not at all."

The weather? Does she think I spent five months preparing this piece just to chitchat about the weather? Maybe she'll even whip out a pot of tea and crumpets so we can get to know each other better. Wouldn't that be splendid! Oh the poor woman hasn't been outside since eight this morning. Where was I at eight this moring? Oh, that's right, I was crouched over the toilet with a nervous stomach while she's been glaring over her metal desk with beady eyes slashing minus, minus, minus ... crushing the hopes of young musicians and enjoying it, too, I bet. Did she say to wait a minute? If she doesn't hurry up, I might decide to take a walk on the windowsill to see how the weather is for myself.

"Oh, that might be a good idea. I am a little nervous."

Sit down! I feel like a fifty-pound dumbbell. If I sit down, I might crash through the floor and never get up again. Hm ... that might be a plausible excuse for me to avoid this audition. I look pale? Well, it could be that entire bottle of Pepto-Bismol I downed this morning. That would put a damper on your complexion any day. I'm surprised I haven't blown up into a huge flamingo pink ball yet. I think "a little nervous" is putting it lightly. Skydiving into a molten lava volcano would be a day at the beach compared to this. Hey, I still have time to make a run for the door, or I could yell fire and get the entire building evacuated. Then they would have to postpone the auditions altogether.

"Yes, that's right. I'm performing Concertino by Cecile Chaminade."

Cecile Chaminade? What kind of name is that? It isn't too obvious that his mother was delirious from labor when she named him. If I ever find Cecile, I might decide to hang him upside down from the top of the Eiffel Tower. I can see it now! I will be revered as a living God by millions of flute players around the world. Does this guy think I have 20 fingers or something? Every other measure is filled with chromatic runs, sixteenth note runs, runs, runs, and more runs. Gosh, do I hate sections G through J. With my luck that's the exact passage I'll have to play. How am I ever going to get to that high C? Even my dog runs out of the room howling when I play it.

"Yes, I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Where would you like me to start? Section G ..." 1


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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