The Last Holiday Concert Read Free Page A

turned to face the girls, just as he had before. And Hart lifted his finger.
    The rubber band zipped past Jimmy’s right ear, traced a graceful arc in front of the rolling blackboard, bounced once on Mr. Meinert’s slanted music stand, and then stuck on the front of his sweater—a little tan circle on the dark green wool.
    Mr. Meinert didn’t notice it. He did notice a flutter of giggles in the room, but he stopped them with a shake of his head. The song went on.
    Hart should have stopped while he was ahead. But he didn’t. He pulled out a fresh rubber band and before he loaded it onto the edge of the music book, Hart twisted it into a double loop to give it extra force. He was going to put this one up into the fluorescent lights above Mr. Meinert’s head. He pulled back the doubled rubber band, adjusted his aim, and atthe next “Up on the housetop, click, click, click ,” Hart released shot number two.
    Maybe his finger slipped. Maybe Hart had stretched the band too far. Or maybe he shouldn’t have used the double loop. Because the rubber band flew straight and fast and hard, and it snapped smack into the side of Mr. Meinert’s neck.
    The piano stopped as Mr. Meinert jerked his head like he’d been stung by a bee. He slapped at his neck and ducked his head, looking around quickly to try to spot a hornet or a wasp. Some of the kids laughed, and Mr. Meinert knew he must have looked silly. He smiled and held his hands up to quiet everyone down. He said, “Okay, show’s over. Let’s take it from the beginning of the refrain again.”
    He looked down at his piano, and that’s when he saw the rubber bands—one on the keyboard, and the other hanging on his sweater.
    Mr. Meinert’s eyes narrowed. His lips twitched and slowly twisted into an angry frown. There was a hushed moment of calm, and then the storm.
    â€œWHO?” he boomed. “WHO DID THIS?” Eyes flashing, he snatched up the rubber bands. Pinching them between his thumb and forefinger, he shook them out in front of his face.
    â€œWHO?” he shouted again. “Who shot these?” He stalked out from behind his piano. “Who? Tell me right now !”
    A man who gets hopping mad, who gets so angry that he sputters and spits and stomps around, all red in the face with his eyes bugging out and his teeth showing—in a comedy movie or a TV show, that can be very funny. In real life, it’s not.
    Realizing that the shots must have come from his right, Mr. Meinert spun to face the boys. “NOW!” he bellowed. “Tell me now! Who did this?” Mr. Meinert looked quickly from face to face, and when he locked eyes with Hart, he knew.
    â€œYou !” He pointed at Hart’s face. “It was you, right? RIGHT? Answer me !”
    Hart couldn’t think. He’d never seen a teacher this angry before. All his coolness melted. Hart gave a guilty little nod.
    In a flash Mr. Meinert had hold of Hart’sarm, steering him toward the door. They were out of the room and down the hall to the office in fifteen seconds. The man walked so fast Hart had to trot to keep from being dragged along. Breathing hard, Mr. Meinert’s face was still twisted with anger. Through clenched teeth he kept saying, “Very funny! Very funny !”
    The door to the principal’s office was closed, and Mr. Meinert knocked and pushed it open in one move. Mr. Richards looked up from the papers on his desk as Mr. Meinert shouted, “This … this young man thought it would be funny to shoot me in the neck with a rubber band!”
    The principal looked from Mr. Meinert’s bright red face to Hart’s pale one.
    He nodded at Mr. Meinert and said, “You can let go of his arm. He’s not going to run away.”
    Mr. Meinert dropped Hart’s arm. Then he held up a rubber band and said, “This is the one that hit me in the neck.”
    Mr. Richards looked at Hart.