Singing practice

Brother Pat loomed from the stage. Good to see you heard the message, William. We have a lot to do! You are to be in charge of the band, as I will be up the front leading the school.

What do you mean, in charge of the band, Brother? I asked, edging nervously toward the front of the hall.

He stopped unwinding the mike cord and stared down at me, incredulous.

What do you mean, what do I mean? I mean you will be conducting, of course.

My pace slowed significantly. He’d only asked me to look after the band—he hadn’t said anything about conducting it.

But Brother, I’d really rather play. I’m not that confident conducting.

Rubbish, with your ear, you’re a natural!

What about Ms. Sefton? Isn’t that her job?

Oh no, she’s far too busy. She’s playing the piano and accompanying me with the flute. It will have to be you, Will. He placed his hand on my shoulder. Now, there is no time for self-doubts. I know you will do a wonderful job.

I stopped.

I’ve set you up on the stage so that everyone can see the band. It’s time to give them a much higher profile in the school, especially considering how hard they are working in preparation for the musical.

This was it. This was the point of no return. Goodbye, Will the funny man, Will the I don’t give a … Will the soccer hero. Hello, Will the geek, Will the brownnose, Will the loser, Will the nerd.

I watched as the midget geeks came piling through the doors of the hall full of excitement, oblivious to any code of cool conduct. The Freak came bounding up the front ready to carry out any instruction I threw at him. I knew I could still pull out one of my finer escape moments, of which there have been many, but for some reason I didn’t. I kept on my slow path to the stage. And as I edged closer I knew I’d crossed over to the unknown and relinquished myself. I had made contact with my inner geek.

Come along, boys, called Brother Pat. Take your positions.

Hey, Will!

I looked down to see two big eyes staring up at me, radiating excitement.

Hey, Freak.

Isn’t this exciting?

Yeah.

I still had to hide the sarcasm. I may have made contact with the inner geek, but it was only a flicker of recognition.

I climbed up onstage and turned to face the band. Their expectant faces looked up at me with complete trust. I tried not to think too much about the responsibility angle. This was enough of a head trip for one day.

I was as articulate and as gracious as ever. Hi.

Hi, Will!

Let’s start with Brother Pat’s favorite, “Amazing Grace,” before the animals arrive.

At this moment the hall began to reverberate and the foundations shook. All doors were invaded and the hall began to swell with its inhabitants. A very strange phenomenon, the singing practice. A thousand adolescent boys crowded into a confined space, led by an elderly man, singing religious songs written two centuries ago. Weird.

Packs of students took their seats and waited. Expectant. Alert to any opportunity to take the piss.

I could make out the Year 11s as they nudged one another and pointed at me. Guys were shaking their heads in disbelief; others were laughing and being told to shut up by Danielli. Chris, Jock and Tim stood up and waved.

Brother Pat yelled into the mike.

Right, thank you, gentlemen. As you all know, next Friday is a day of great celebration for St. Andrew’s College. It falls to every single one of you in this hall, students and teachers alike, to make sure we honor the day in the best way we know how. This means singing up loud and strong. So let’s hear you sing up, St. Andrew’s! OK?

A few boys mumbled, Yes, Brother.

I can’t hear you, St. Andrew’s!

Yes, Brother! they chanted.

That’s better!

This was just the beginning of the rev-up.

I would like to introduce to you a young man of special talent who has taken pride of place in our wonderful school band. He has been working tirelessly with these youngsters to whip them into shape for the musical. He has proven to be a wonderful role model for them. A big round of applause for William Armstrong.

The school body broke into applause, some obligatory, some a piss-take, not much of it genuine. Some teachers were left with their mouths open. Andrews threw his head back laughing and turned to some of the other teachers. I didn’t even look in Waddlehead’s direction. Year 11, on the other hand, went wild, led of course by the Tim and Jock cheerleaders. I heard a chorus of Go, Will! and the beginning of the wave. I attempted to throw the ringleaders a death stare but it only provoked them more, with them throwing me fake kisses in return.

Right, over to you, Will.

I turned my back and tried to develop the select hearing my mum reckons I have.

OK, geeks, let’s get this right.

They started.

And I forgot that I was onstage in front of a thousand potential savages. That was until at one point while we were waiting for Brother Pat to finish one of his rev-ups, I looked up and saw Tim and Jock maneuvering themselves around to the right, waving what looked like little sticks in the air like fake batons. When I looked over again they were gone. I hoped they’d been busted, but more than likely they’d just got bored and were now poking the sticks in people’s ears.

Slowly I started to chill out. The geeks were doing a good job. Everybody else was too busy taking the piss out of the singing to be worried about what we were doing. Brother Patrick wound the kids up and the teachers calmed them down. The boys sang loudly and badly off-key. Brother Patrick yelled how good they were and to Sing up; the teachers looked angry and told the kids to Shut up.

It all went horribly wrong, however, as soon as Brother Patrick screamed his next announcement.

Gentlemen, it’s time to take a rest from singing and use our listening skills.

He waited for silence. I would like to introduce to you our latest singing star to emerge from St. Andrew’s.

Oh no!

Now, he was very reluctant to sing as he wants to rest up for next week. But I’m sure if we encourage him loudly enough, he will pay us this honor. Put your hands together for a new boy to St. Andrew’s—so we can’t take all the credit—the very talented Mark Newman.

No one ever sang on their own in practices. Brother Pat had no idea how dangerous this was. The atmosphere became hostile instantly. To single someone out from the pack, especially someone who was unknown to most, was potentially fatal. I searched my head for the last bloke who’d sung in front of the school body. The only image I could dredge up was footy boys in dresses at the Year 12 farewell two years ago. Brother Patrick was offering the pack fresh meat. And the boys were licking their lips in anticipation.

I watched Mark leave the anonymous safety of the Year 12s to minimal applause. He was definitely dealing with the situation far better than some of the A-grade footballers, who obviously didn’t know that their new star player was also able to belt out a tune. He looked at me as he approached the stage, trying to catch my eye, smiling. It was at this point I was overwhelmed by a very familiar need for escape. It was going to be hard enough for me already; the last thing I needed was to align myself with a bloke who was setting himself up for hassle every day until he left school and even after that. Knowing I was a hypocrite and not caring, I turned my back to him.

It was up to me to count the band in. For those four counts, the hall pulsated with heavy silence. And then Mark opened his mouth and sang, loudly and well. When he’d finished, the hall’s inhabitants breathed a sigh of disappointment. They were angry that they hadn’t had their flesh. However, they made sure he knew he hadn’t got away with it completely. The wolf whistles and catcalls confirmed just how much he was going to cop in the quad.

Thank you, Mark. That’s a taste of what you will hear when you come along to the musical to support your school. But for the moment let us all stand for the school song.

The atmosphere lifted again and everyone competed to make the funniest, crudest, rudest version of the school song they possibly could. It was something I’d been getting a laugh out of for the past four years, but this time it wasn’t funny. My gut had concreted over. I knew there was a reason why I should feel like crap but I couldn’t, wouldn’t think about it.

From where I was onstage, I watched three of the more well-known St. Andrew’s hard boys looking over in Mark’s direction, shaking their heads and trying to throw him death stares. Mark wasn’t paying attention, he was dealing with Jock and Tim and the other footy boys who were now giving him crap to his face. Something was about to go down. I knew it.

My need for escape had intensified. I had to get out, to get as far away from the hall as possible.

I dismissed Brother Pat’s thanks at the end of the song, threw down the baton and left the Freak in charge of clearing up. I had to get to the safety of the music room before the pack began to feed.