“Ichi, ni, san, SO-RE,” Kat said.
I lifted my arm and my stick flew out of my hand. I watched in horror as it clunked onto the ground.
Kat leaned over, picked it up, and handed it back to me. “It’s okay, Jasmine. Just remember to keep a good grip on your bachi. But not too tight! Let’s try again. Just the first count of five.”
This time my sticks stayed in my hands, but I forgot to yell HA and lift my hands at the end of the five hits.
We practiced and practiced. I dropped my sticks three times. I messed up the order. I forgot to yell HA. Maybe I wasn’t so talented after all.
We kept playing the song over and over, and I kept goofing up. My arms felt rubbery and my hands started to hurt, but I kept going. Finally I did the whole song without any mistakes. My smile was so big it hurt my cheeks.
“Fantastic, Jasmine,” Kat said, smiling, too.
Mom walked in and said, “I heard that, Jasmine. You sounded pretty good.”
“Thanks!”
“Jasmine did great,” Kat said. “She just needs to keep practicing.”
Kat thought I had to practice more. I sucked on my lip. I was not naturally talented.
“Also,” Kat said to Mom, “I can’t bring the hira-daiko until Saturday at the show. I need the drums Saturday morning.”
Oh no! I thought I’d get to take it home. How would I practice without the drum?
“We’ll set up a gomi-kan for Jasmine to practice on at home,” Mom said.
I had no idea what that was, but it probably wasn’t a hira-daiko like I’d been playing.
“Can you give us a short demo?” Mom asked Kat. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a taiko performance.”
“Sure,” Kat said.
Kat was a whirling, swirling, taiko-drumming superstar. She hit the drum and spun her sticks. She shouted and bounced and jumped and played the most amazing song ever.
This made me worry. My song was shorter and not as flashy as Kat’s. She didn’t make any mistakes. I wished I could play like her. I wasn’t even sure I could play my own song without mistakes. And how was I going to practice without a drum? I kept thinking about Maggie and how perfect she was. She didn’t need to practice. Even Linnie, Daisy, and Tommy were already good at their talents.
What was I going to do?
9
SOPHIE’S ADVICE
Thursday was Mrs. Peepers day, the worst day of the week. Mom worked at home on Mondays and Fridays, and at the office on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, but only until it was time to pick us up at school. On Thursdays, Mom worked all day at the office and Dad taught classes and met with students at the college. So that meant Mrs. Peepers, our babysitter, picked up me and Sophie from school.
Mrs. Peepers was nothing like Marcy, Linnie’s babysitter. Marcy was in high school. Mrs. Peepers was older than old. Definitely older than Mom. Marcy did fun things with Linnie, like play games and put together puzzles. Mrs. Peepers made us do our homework. The only game she played with me and Sophie was the “be very quiet” game. That was not a fun game at all.
Sophie and I walked home with Mrs. Peepers. We didn’t talk. We went straight to the kitchen table to do our homework. Mrs. Peepers sat down across from us and took out her knitting.
When I finished my homework, I didn’t tell Mrs. Peepers because sometimes she gave me extra work. She carried worksheets in her big knitting bag. I closed my eyes and imagined hitting my taiko. Was it 5, 5, 8 or 5, 5, 3 to start? I squinted hard trying to remember.
I peeked at Mrs. Peepers, who was busy untangling a knot in her yarn. I peeked at Sophie, who was erasing something on her homework. Under the table, I moved my hands quietly, pretending to hit my taiko, but I couldn’t remember the order of my song. I didn’t know how I was supposed to practice when Kat couldn’t bring my drum until Saturday night at the show. By then, everyone would be better at their talent than me.
I sighed and Sophie looked up at me.
“We’re finished with our homework, Mrs. Peepers,” Sophie said. “Our mom said we should have reading time in our rooms.”
Mrs. Peepers waved her hand and Sophie and I made our escape down the hall to our rooms. I threw myself on my bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“What’s with you?” Sophie asked, walking into my room. Sophie said I wasn’t allowed to be in her room, but I didn’t mind her coming into mine.
“I have no talent,” I said, crossing my arms over my face.
“I thought Mom was taking you to taiko lessons?”
I sat up. “She was, but I’m not good. I mess up when I play and I can’t remember the order of the song.”
“That’s what practice is for,” Sophie said, leaning against my desk.
“No,” I said. “Practice is for when you’re not good. If you’re talented, you don’t need to practice.”
“Who said that?”
“Maggie Milsap,” I said. “She’s the smartest and the best at everything in the third grade.”
Sophie flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Well, she’s not right about talent. I’m really good at soccer, but we practice twice a week. It makes me a better soccer player. And for our play, we rehearse our lines every day. Practice is what makes you good.”
“Really?”
“Really! Now stop bothering me. I’m going to go read,” Sophie said, and she left my room.
I knew Sophie didn’t mean it about me bothering her. She was the one who came to my room. I thought about what she had said about practicing. Sophie is older than Maggie. Sophie is smart. Sophie is also talented, and she needed to
