Mismatch Read Free Page B

think. The other soloist is doing okay, too. He’s really good!”
    “He’d better be good, since he’s the concertmaster,” said his father. “Frankly, I think you’re just as good as he is. But since he’s a senior and you’re only a junior, the conductor probably feels that you’ll get your chance next year.”
    The best violinist in the orchestra was appointed concertmaster. The concertmaster before this one had been a Chinese American boy, and Andy thought he was a really good musician. After graduating from Lakeview High, the boy had gone on to study at Juilliard, a famous music school in New York.
    “Why do so many Asian kids play string instruments? ” Andy wondered out loud. “But then our concertmaster this year is Caucasian.”
    “Perhaps more Asians play string instruments because manipulating chopsticks at an early age develops the small muscles of your hand,” suggested his father. “That gives you the fine control you need to stop the string accurately on the violin.”
    “That can’t be the reason, Dad,” said Andy. “You use chopsticks with your
right
hand, and you stop the strings of the violin with your
left
hand.”
    “I seem to remember seeing a number of white boys playing the bass fiddle,” said his mother.
    “You’re right,” Andy admitted. “Maybe boys think that the bass fiddle is okay because it’s so loud and powerful. But they feel like sissies playing the violin.”
    “Asian kids are not afraid of being called sissies,” said his father. “They have more self-confidence.”
    Andy wasn’t sure about that. Some Asian boys, like himself, were resigned to being called nerds anyway, so what did they have to lose by playing the violin?
    Andy knew that his father was very proud of his musical talent and had high hopes for him. Andy’s grandmother was a good pianist, and whenever they visited his grandparents in California, Andy always begged her to play for him. But his father, to his own disappointment, did not have a gift for music. Neither did Andy’s older brother, Tom. Andy was the only one with real musical talent. He did not want to let his father down.
    Besides, Andy loved the violin too much to give it up just because somebody might call him a sissy. And he believed that this was true of all music lovers, whether they were black, white, Hispanic, Asian, or Martian.
    “Want to go to Hero’s again?” Andy asked Sue the next Monday. He tried to sound the same way he always did after rehearsals and pretend that the movie invitation hadn’t happened.
    Sue hesitated for just a second, then said quickly, “Sure, I’m starved—as usual.”
    But Andy could see that she was still uncomfortable. After they were seated with their food, he decided he had to find out what the problem was. But first they had to get through the messier part of their sandwiches. When the worst was over for Andy, he wiped the tomato seeds from his chin and cleared his throat. “Can you tell me why you can’t go to a movie with me, Sue? Of course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
    Sue was silent for a minute. Her head was bent, and her shiny curtain of straight black hair covered her face. Andy could tell, though, that she was very tense. Her fingers clenched her sandwich so hard that some of the innards got squeezed out.
    Andy decided to try again. “I like you, Sue, and I want to go out with you. And I think you kind of like me, too. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
    Finally Sue raised her head. This time her eyes were not sparkling with their usual smile. “Andy, I can’t go out with you because your family is Japanese, and mine is Chinese.”
    Andy’s mouth dropped open. Of all the possible reasons, this was one he had never expected. “Are you kidding? But . . . but . . . we’re both Americans!”
    “I can’t change my heritage, and neither can you, Andy,” Sue said softly. “As soon as I entered Lakeview High, the other kids looked at me and