Sing Your Heart Out (Alex)

After eating a breakfast of bread and apple butter, I put on my pink coat on and tied the blue laces on my lucky sneakers because the choir concert was tomorrow. My father, Jordan, straightened my hat, gave me a hug in his strong arms, straightened my ponytail, and said "Au revoir, Alex" before sending me on my way. He had kind blue eyes and I hoped more and more each to day to be like him, but he would always say "You can do better than me, Alex."

I needed Miss Caitlin's help in order to make sure I wouldn't mess up my solo in "For Who I Am." I loved to sing solos, but I hated messing them up. If I messed up, I would be laughed at for days. If I got it, I would be loved and the choir teacher would give me a cookie. Speaking of sweets, I had one particular favorite and it only came this time of year.

A faint scent of chocolate crossed my path, a scent that I recognized. The hot chocolate from the local village was not like the kind in Minecraftian stores. It was creamy, warm, and actually tasted like chocolate instead of like brown powder with hot water mixed in. Jim, the vendor, knew I would want some. He told me "Hello, Alex" as I offered him a golden nugget. Everyone in the village knew my name whether they hated or liked me. Most of the villagers liked me, though. They said I was a breath of fresh air. I wished I could get a cup for Adrian, but the hospital doesn't allow outside food or drinks. They won't let me visit, so I just go to his sister, Emilia, to send my messages. She told me what he wanted to say, but I still missed him terribly. I wanted him next to me, not in the hospital.

Singing was the perfect...what's that word? Diversion. Singing was the perfect diversion for my worries. Miss Caitlin always says "Sing your heart out, Alex," but I can't always understand what that means. My heart was not in singing mode right now. I sipped my hot chocolate, which would warm my vocal cords for the solo. The cold air made my face tingle like there were millions of tiny swords pricking the skin on my cheeks while the hot chocolate warmed me from the inside as if I were a furnace. I loved this feeling, perhaps more than singing, but not as much as learning how to do it from the best vocal teacher in Minecraft.

Miss Caitlin is the the most perfect person in Minecraft. She knows both French and English so that she can talk to my father easily, is smarter than all of my school teachers, and can sing so that her voice can break diamonds. Some people pity Miss Caitlin in weird ways like saying "I would die if I had to live like that" because she sometimes walks with a cane, has seizures, and has asthma. They say I'm brave for taking lessons from her, but she is the brave one. Anyone can kill an Ender Dragon, but it takes a special kind of person to live with one. It doesn't really matter to me, though, because she can sing beautifully. Some vocal teachers can't sing, which makes me wonder why they teach people how to do it. Many people tell me that I should go back to the studio because they think she cannot teach me. However, she makes learning how to sing fun and that is better than singing scales while trying to stay "still as a fencepost" as they say. As my father says, "Elle est une prof de chant excellent." or "She is an excellent singing teacher."

Speaking of ma prof de chant, she waited for me outside with a cup of her own hot chocolate and her hair neatly confined in a blue scarf. I ran up the almost-finished nether brick path to her, careful not to fall and scrape my knee, and she let me in. I let the hot air rush in and felt the feeling rush back into my fingertips. I opened my mouth to sing or talk, but Miss Caitlin stopped me.
          "Save your voice for that solo of yours. Here is some paper, a feather, and a sac of squid ink. Find me and write something down if you need something." She left without another word and I. was. alone. I hated being alone, so I stretched out and ended up having a battle of wills with myself.

You will talk.
No! Miss Caitlin said "Save your voice."
But TALK! You know you love talking.
I like singing better!
So SING!
I will save my voice! My solo will sound better.
Fine.

The torches flickered. A creeper crept by, looked into the window, then passed. I thought of a thousand things to write down, but only thought of one: Why do I have to do this? After Miss Caitlin got back to me, she looked at me and said this:
          "Alex, vocal rest is hard, especially for someone like you. Sometimes, part of learning how to use your voice is learning how to go without it." I supposed she was right. She was always right, even when I didn't like it. "Deliver this to your father after our time is up and keep the paper. You'll need it." I read the note, which said: Alex is on vocal rest. She will communicate by writing because she needs to save her voice for her solo. 
          But what about choir rehearsal? I wrote.
          Ms. Hartnick already knows. She is in full agreement with my plan. Miss Caitlin wrote a note and showed it to me. I have an idea. I nearly spoke, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. My vocal teacher handed me the sheet music and wrote Play the piano. I will back you up. We took our seats on the piano bench and began to play.
         
I plucked the keys with relative ease because I taught myself how to play the piano when I was bored. I wasn't any good yet, but I could manage to play out my solo. I needed two hands to do it because I have small hands. The notes fell into place, all of my hard work coming together. Despite a few mistakes, I played anyway because the audience arrives for a concert, not a rehearsal. When we reached the end of the song, my music teacher wrote this note: Trés bien! À bientôt, Alex. :D With that, I set out to go home--and hand out flyers for the Creative Fun bake sale.

The Creative Fun bake sale benefits the Creative Fun music program, which is general music and choir. I have a great deal of fun helping my father make his famous pain au chocolat, a delicious buttery bread filled with chocolate. The chocolate bread always sell out first and people think he got them from the village bakery, but he's just that good at baking. Speaking of baking, I bought an apple tart on the way back. The rich, flaky crust gave way to a hot, sweet apple filling with a sublime flavor only villagers can manage to produce.

 When I got home, I saw that my father was repairing a sword. He works as a weapon and tool repairman. Anything he has parts for he can make. I gave him the note and he nodded towards me, which was a good sign. Normally, he didn't do anything. I went up to my room and started practicing combat techniques with my sword. In between bites of apple tart, I used the practice techniques my music teacher taught me: Warm up, polish the basics and challenge yourself with something new. However, she forgot the last step: Have fun while you're at it.

(A/N: Alex's perspective is refreshing, isn't it? I thought this blog really needed a lighter shift of tone, so here you go.)