Love from the Drumming Neanderthal: Chapter 10
Sorry I haven’t been writing for a while, not that anyone was reading it lately anyways, but I've finally gotten some free computer time. Just some noninteresting babble, I've just been hired for my first job. It's making salad at an Italian restaurant! Oh the joys of my exciting life. We went to my cousin's Bat Mitzvah last weekend, where I think everything was made of chocolate. We could fricken eat the center pieces. I ate so much I got sick. Anyways, basically, I have been reading Harry Potter, learning to drive and writing a script for my sister's comic book thing. Okay, enough chat, back to Neanderthal....
Pottery and Horticulture were at least a little more interesting in subject matter than Math. Our Pottery teacher, Ms. Smith, is a hyper little woman with big eyes. Her hair was so frizzy, that as she splattered wet clay in it, it didn’t bounce or move. On our first day, she sat us down at pottery wheels and told us we had to make some form of a pot.
"Now, I don't care if you think it's ugly, but in my class, you must accept that every form of pottery you create is art. As long as you put your full heart into your creation, art is what it is! Now, turn the wheel on slowly and gently peel the clay away from the center. Peel it! Peel it slowly. Like rose petals from a beautiful flower!"
Unfortunately, Mr. Timmons, our Horticulture teacher, wasn't nearly as interesting.
"Plants or no plants, I expect you to respect this class like any other." He said, wiggling his moustache in a comical sniff. "In order to achieve a decent grade, I need you to take pride in your projects. That means no goofing off!"
Finally, after the hour long lecture from Mr. Timmons, we are allowed to leave for the assembly in the auditorium. It didn't take long to find, since the majority of the school was going to the same place. When I got there, I searched around for some familiar faces.
In the midst of the crowd, I come across Roy, Clark's brother. He waves energetically to me, and I happily walk over to him.
"Hey. How were you're first few classes." He asks.
"Eh, alright."
"Let's go get some seats before there'll all taken." I follow Roy through the packed doorway into a handsome auditorium with red velvet seats. Soon, we're joined by a pack of older boys, all of whom greet Roy and sit around him.
"Who's this kid?" Says a twiggy pale guy with black hair. He doesn't seem to mind that his locks are growing into his eyes.
"Oh, this is Remundo." Roy smiles.
"Hey." Says the other, he gives a little wave, than begins talking to his neighbor who is staring rudely at me. I hear mumbling from the other side and notice more rude stares.
"What is with these people?" I ask Roy, maybe a little louder than I should.
"Well, we don't usually see people like you that much."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know, different kinds of people. You're kinda like a new phenomenon." He tries to smile, but I can see that he's a bit embarrassed. I look around the auditorium. I gaze at the seats behind me and watch a group of blonds fill in. I notice that the twelve year olds in front of us are all glaring at me with blue and hazel eyes. Then it hits me.
"Hey! Everybody here is white!"
"Not everybody." He gets a bit defensive, "Todd Knight is black, and I think the Camellia brothers are from Lebanon..."
"WOW! Look at you all! You guys have no cultural diversity!"
"Now that's not true!" Roy seems to have lost his embarrassment. "My family happens to be Irish, and Kyle here has a Russian mother." He points at the kid with the hair in his eyes.
"Good day Wimblelonson!" Comes a cheery voice. Sir Bigginz has positioned himself on stage. He gives a large smile that stretches his circus moustache to the corners of his cheeks. "It's good to see all your faces after this summer break. I hope you have all had a wonderful time off. I myself had a lovely trip to Australia with my family. The weather was beautiful, and the ocean was even more so." He gives a little bump on his feet. "On other thoughts, this year we are delighted to bring you our new hostess, Linda Morthen."
Bigginz begins to clap, and the rest of the hall did the same as a chubby little woman began to waddle to the center of the stage. She gave a slight bow and began to talk in a bored voice.
"I am very pleased to be welcomed as your hostess." She began, without a hint of pleasure or emotion at all. "Sir Bigginz has informed me that you are all an exceptionally polite crowd, so I do hope we will get along. As your hostess, it is my job to make sure your social lives are in check. I have been put in charge to organize new school events such as recreational fieldtrips and talent shows. We will also be organizing new clubs and other activities on the weekends. I hope that I can make your following years at Wimblelonson a little more enjoyable."
As Linda Morthen left the stage there was a slight murmur throughout the audience.
"We've never had a hostess before," Roy whispers to me, “You're lucky that things are starting to get better this year."
"Now," continues Sir Bigginz, before I allow you back to class, I would like to remind you that gum or any other sweets will not be tolerated in the building, hats and scarves must be removed at all times, the lounge on the second floor is for staff only, and tardiness will result in detention or other forms of discipline. Thank you for your attention, and please file out of the auditorium in a orderly fashion starting with those in the rear."
We struggle out of the room, I bid Roy goodbye and headed up to my next class, band. Compared to my other classes, this one was far better. Mr. Niley sits in a large leather chair reading a newspaper when we enter. I sit next to the shaggy black haired boy from the assembly and wait for class to begin.
"Good morning. It's good to see you all again. Now, since this is Band 8 and the highest level of band we have, I would like to congratulate you all for being here." He claps his hands three times and beams at us. Mr. Niley is a gray haired gentleman with black slacks and an elegant button up shirt. His hair is neatly parted and his black eyes are slightly squinted as he carefully examines us. "Now, since this is the highest level, I am quite familiar with most of you. But, as you have already noticed, we have a new member among us today. Remundo, would you please stand."
Niley gestures at me and I find myself standing abruptly and looking at my feet.
"Remundo Gonzales has traveled here all the way from New York City. He has been playing piano since he was five and percussion since he was eleven." There is an impressed murmur behind me. "I know that I usually need to have auditions for those who enter this level, and I never allow new comers in without prior experience in band at this school. But since Remundo is one of our only percussionists with such a history, I think that I needed to make an exception." The whispers continue. "Now, Remundo you may take your seat. Instead of getting out our instruments today, I think it will be nice to have a little ice breaker. I'll start. My name is Dean Niley, my main instrument is the clarinet but I also play alto saxophone, flute, base clarinet, trumpet and any other instrument I can get my hands on. I love to eat mashed potatoes and I have three Great Danes. Remundo, would you like to go next?"
Reluctantly, I tell them about myself.
"I'm Remundo Gonzales, I play percussion, ummm, I guess I like Chinese food and well, I collect snails."
"Really? Are they real snails?"
"Yeah, I keep them in an aquarium back in New York."
"How do you collect them?"
"Well, there are many different kinds, and you know, I want to see how many I can get. I actually rescued a few from my dad's restaurant; they were too small to eat." There is sharp silence and I realize this was probably not the best thing to say, but a moment later there is a muffled laugh.
"Well, you think that's funny don't you," Mr. Niley grinned, "I happen to think that snails are very fascinating. But if you think you can do better, why don't you go next?"
The laughing gets louder before it stops, and a few join in with it. "Sorry," Says the laugher. "I'm Jacob Bigginz. I play alto, tenor and barry saxaphone, and, lets see, I have a huge cat named Chewbacca."
I turn abruptly around and notice the Jacob from math class. He grins at me and I feel my head float off my shoulders.
Next, the hairy boy sitting next to me said his name was Kyle Rich and that he played French Horn. He also said that he had a boa constrictor name Molly. The rest of the class went through there introductions, and when they were done, Mr. Niley let us talk for the remaining ten minutes. To my delight, Jacob came down to talk to me.
"So, you play drums pretty well." He said as he plopped down next to me.
"Well..."
"Come on, you have to be really good to get in without an audition. And Mr. Niley really likes you."
"I've never even met him before. All I did was mail in a paper with my "history" or whatever he calls it."
Jacob laughed again. "I bet you'll do fine. I mean, none of us could have pulled that off without some kind of audition."
There’s a slight clang in the distance as the bell rang. "Oh, it's time for lunch." Jacob declares, "Lets grab some food then head to the library to meet Clark. Follow me." Delighted, I lift my bag from the ground and wave farewell to Kyle, who smiles from beneath his mop of hair.
Pottery and Horticulture were at least a little more interesting in subject matter than Math. Our Pottery teacher, Ms. Smith, is a hyper little woman with big eyes. Her hair was so frizzy, that as she splattered wet clay in it, it didn’t bounce or move. On our first day, she sat us down at pottery wheels and told us we had to make some form of a pot.
"Now, I don't care if you think it's ugly, but in my class, you must accept that every form of pottery you create is art. As long as you put your full heart into your creation, art is what it is! Now, turn the wheel on slowly and gently peel the clay away from the center. Peel it! Peel it slowly. Like rose petals from a beautiful flower!"
Unfortunately, Mr. Timmons, our Horticulture teacher, wasn't nearly as interesting.
"Plants or no plants, I expect you to respect this class like any other." He said, wiggling his moustache in a comical sniff. "In order to achieve a decent grade, I need you to take pride in your projects. That means no goofing off!"
Finally, after the hour long lecture from Mr. Timmons, we are allowed to leave for the assembly in the auditorium. It didn't take long to find, since the majority of the school was going to the same place. When I got there, I searched around for some familiar faces.
In the midst of the crowd, I come across Roy, Clark's brother. He waves energetically to me, and I happily walk over to him.
"Hey. How were you're first few classes." He asks.
"Eh, alright."
"Let's go get some seats before there'll all taken." I follow Roy through the packed doorway into a handsome auditorium with red velvet seats. Soon, we're joined by a pack of older boys, all of whom greet Roy and sit around him.
"Who's this kid?" Says a twiggy pale guy with black hair. He doesn't seem to mind that his locks are growing into his eyes.
"Oh, this is Remundo." Roy smiles.
"Hey." Says the other, he gives a little wave, than begins talking to his neighbor who is staring rudely at me. I hear mumbling from the other side and notice more rude stares.
"What is with these people?" I ask Roy, maybe a little louder than I should.
"Well, we don't usually see people like you that much."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know, different kinds of people. You're kinda like a new phenomenon." He tries to smile, but I can see that he's a bit embarrassed. I look around the auditorium. I gaze at the seats behind me and watch a group of blonds fill in. I notice that the twelve year olds in front of us are all glaring at me with blue and hazel eyes. Then it hits me.
"Hey! Everybody here is white!"
"Not everybody." He gets a bit defensive, "Todd Knight is black, and I think the Camellia brothers are from Lebanon..."
"WOW! Look at you all! You guys have no cultural diversity!"
"Now that's not true!" Roy seems to have lost his embarrassment. "My family happens to be Irish, and Kyle here has a Russian mother." He points at the kid with the hair in his eyes.
"Good day Wimblelonson!" Comes a cheery voice. Sir Bigginz has positioned himself on stage. He gives a large smile that stretches his circus moustache to the corners of his cheeks. "It's good to see all your faces after this summer break. I hope you have all had a wonderful time off. I myself had a lovely trip to Australia with my family. The weather was beautiful, and the ocean was even more so." He gives a little bump on his feet. "On other thoughts, this year we are delighted to bring you our new hostess, Linda Morthen."
Bigginz begins to clap, and the rest of the hall did the same as a chubby little woman began to waddle to the center of the stage. She gave a slight bow and began to talk in a bored voice.
"I am very pleased to be welcomed as your hostess." She began, without a hint of pleasure or emotion at all. "Sir Bigginz has informed me that you are all an exceptionally polite crowd, so I do hope we will get along. As your hostess, it is my job to make sure your social lives are in check. I have been put in charge to organize new school events such as recreational fieldtrips and talent shows. We will also be organizing new clubs and other activities on the weekends. I hope that I can make your following years at Wimblelonson a little more enjoyable."
As Linda Morthen left the stage there was a slight murmur throughout the audience.
"We've never had a hostess before," Roy whispers to me, “You're lucky that things are starting to get better this year."
"Now," continues Sir Bigginz, before I allow you back to class, I would like to remind you that gum or any other sweets will not be tolerated in the building, hats and scarves must be removed at all times, the lounge on the second floor is for staff only, and tardiness will result in detention or other forms of discipline. Thank you for your attention, and please file out of the auditorium in a orderly fashion starting with those in the rear."
We struggle out of the room, I bid Roy goodbye and headed up to my next class, band. Compared to my other classes, this one was far better. Mr. Niley sits in a large leather chair reading a newspaper when we enter. I sit next to the shaggy black haired boy from the assembly and wait for class to begin.
"Good morning. It's good to see you all again. Now, since this is Band 8 and the highest level of band we have, I would like to congratulate you all for being here." He claps his hands three times and beams at us. Mr. Niley is a gray haired gentleman with black slacks and an elegant button up shirt. His hair is neatly parted and his black eyes are slightly squinted as he carefully examines us. "Now, since this is the highest level, I am quite familiar with most of you. But, as you have already noticed, we have a new member among us today. Remundo, would you please stand."
Niley gestures at me and I find myself standing abruptly and looking at my feet.
"Remundo Gonzales has traveled here all the way from New York City. He has been playing piano since he was five and percussion since he was eleven." There is an impressed murmur behind me. "I know that I usually need to have auditions for those who enter this level, and I never allow new comers in without prior experience in band at this school. But since Remundo is one of our only percussionists with such a history, I think that I needed to make an exception." The whispers continue. "Now, Remundo you may take your seat. Instead of getting out our instruments today, I think it will be nice to have a little ice breaker. I'll start. My name is Dean Niley, my main instrument is the clarinet but I also play alto saxophone, flute, base clarinet, trumpet and any other instrument I can get my hands on. I love to eat mashed potatoes and I have three Great Danes. Remundo, would you like to go next?"
Reluctantly, I tell them about myself.
"I'm Remundo Gonzales, I play percussion, ummm, I guess I like Chinese food and well, I collect snails."
"Really? Are they real snails?"
"Yeah, I keep them in an aquarium back in New York."
"How do you collect them?"
"Well, there are many different kinds, and you know, I want to see how many I can get. I actually rescued a few from my dad's restaurant; they were too small to eat." There is sharp silence and I realize this was probably not the best thing to say, but a moment later there is a muffled laugh.
"Well, you think that's funny don't you," Mr. Niley grinned, "I happen to think that snails are very fascinating. But if you think you can do better, why don't you go next?"
The laughing gets louder before it stops, and a few join in with it. "Sorry," Says the laugher. "I'm Jacob Bigginz. I play alto, tenor and barry saxaphone, and, lets see, I have a huge cat named Chewbacca."
I turn abruptly around and notice the Jacob from math class. He grins at me and I feel my head float off my shoulders.
Next, the hairy boy sitting next to me said his name was Kyle Rich and that he played French Horn. He also said that he had a boa constrictor name Molly. The rest of the class went through there introductions, and when they were done, Mr. Niley let us talk for the remaining ten minutes. To my delight, Jacob came down to talk to me.
"So, you play drums pretty well." He said as he plopped down next to me.
"Well..."
"Come on, you have to be really good to get in without an audition. And Mr. Niley really likes you."
"I've never even met him before. All I did was mail in a paper with my "history" or whatever he calls it."
Jacob laughed again. "I bet you'll do fine. I mean, none of us could have pulled that off without some kind of audition."
There’s a slight clang in the distance as the bell rang. "Oh, it's time for lunch." Jacob declares, "Lets grab some food then head to the library to meet Clark. Follow me." Delighted, I lift my bag from the ground and wave farewell to Kyle, who smiles from beneath his mop of hair.