I don't remember the words that were spoken, or if there were any, but I'll always remember his face. His tears. His sobs.
The choir room was extraordinarily noisy. The excitement of a new day was rushing through everyone. There was so much energy in the air. Enough to make lights shine and fires to start miraculously on their own. It was the perfect day for a complete disaster.
Mr. Dunn, the bald, squatty man, lined us up how we sang. The good ones were in the middle, bad ones on the sides, and, of course, his star, his daughter, Brittany, right in front even though she was tall and made it difficult for anyone to be seen behind her.
"All right, class, quiet down." He spoke in his fake, confident voice, the voice that made people squirm and their blood boil.
"Let's begin with scales. Ready and..." He tapped his baton on the music stand. He gripped it as though it held all the power in the world, his power that decided our self-esteem.