From Chapter 3

Suddenly Principal Wilson burst through the door, and without bothering to apologize for his interruption, leaped onto the podium and glared at the drummers.  His face was red with rage.

"Johnson, this is all your fault.  Only someone with your warped mind could think up such a scheme.  I was hoping you would grow up over the summer, but I see you're still the same!"

Mitch watched in disbelief.

"What have you got to say for yourself?" the principal demanded of Ringo.

No one in the room dared to breathe as the drummer cleared his throat to speak.

"Mr. Wilson Sir.  Did I do something wrong?"

"You know very well what's wrong.  You and your friends somehow succeeded in switching every lock on every locker in the entire school.  No one can get into them because the combinations don't work, and the master key has been stolen from my office!"

Almost all the other 1st period classes had been dismissed to find and open their new lockers.  The school was in a state of chaos.

"Gee, Mr. Wilson Sir, I'm awfully sorry, but I don't know anything about it."

The room was uneasily silent.  The students, and Mitch as well, hardly dared to take a breath.

"I'll get you for this," the principal shouted, pointing his finger at Ringo.  Then he left, slamming the door on his way out.  His display even got Mike and Tammy's attention.  Harold's face turned bright red, and he was unable to hold back any longer.  He exploded in a gleeful laugh with the whole band following suit at the thought of the entire school filled with students trying to open their lockers with the wrong combinations.

"OK, folks, settle down," Mitch interjected.  "Let's get back to music.  Now does everyone have an instrument?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Powers, we didn't know we would play today," the two lovebirds answered together.

"Tomorrow make sure you have them here," Mitch frowned slightly.

The group started to warm up.  The sound was generally terrible.  The clarinet players squeaked, and the drummers sounded as if they were beating on the heads with baseball bats.  Determined to forge ahead with the rehearsal, Mitch gave each member a sheet of music.

"I’m passing out a march that I'd like to have you sight-read.  If everyone's set, we'll give it a try.  One, two, ready, play."

Mitch's ears hurt.  The band sounded like the score of a class B horror film.  Red faced and cheeks puffed to the point of bursting, Harold was blowing as hard as he could on the sousaphone, but nothing was coming out.  Mitch stopped the band.

"Harold," he shouted.  "What's wrong?”

The intensity of his voice startled Harold, and he jumped to his feet, losing his balance.

"Oh!" he yelled as the weight of the instrument pulled him straight over backwards.  With a tremendous crash Harold and the sousaphone hit the floor.  The sound of clanging metal echoed through the room.

Mitch rushed to his side.  "Are you all right?" he asked.  Harold just lay there with his eyes rolled back into his head.  The rest of the room watched in silent amazement.

"I...I think I'm OK.  My ears are ringing," he slowly answered, obviously disorientated by his experience.

"That's from the clanging when you hit the floor."  Mitch said as he attempted to rescue him from the instrument.

"Let's get the sousaphone off you," he continued as he bent over Harold.  "Will somebody give me a hand?"

The drummers came to his aid.

"Man, this is heavy," Mitch, commented as he struggled to move the instrument.   As they untangled it from Harold, something inside seemed to rattle.

"Let's turn it up on its bell."

The drummers gave Mitch a hand.  As they twisted the instrument, a large quantity of roofing nails scattered over the band room floor.  The band went into a gale of laughter, forgetting to be concerned over poor Harold's possible injuries.

"Hold on a moment here!" Mitch yelled at the group.  "This isn't funny at all.  He may be seriously hurt."

Harold tried to look wounded, but once he had gotten over the shock of the fall, and by the time Mitch had finally quieted everyone else down, he burst into his patented laugh, expelling air with great force and making a loud snorting sound.  Pandemonium broke loose again.

"Does anyone know anything about this?" Mitch asked, trying to act calm.

Ringo raised his hand.

"Mr. Powers, I'm afraid I know what happened.  Last year we had this old guy directing us who wasn't very good, and we tried to give him a hard time just to get him mad.  Sometimes we'd play out of tune on purpose, and he never knew the difference.  Well, at the end of the year, one of the guys got hold of a big box of nails in the wood shop.  We brought it down to the room and stashed them in the sousaphone, and to tell you the truth, we forgot all about them 'til Harold went to play. I'm awfully sorry, and we'll make it up to you.  If there's anything you need, you let us know."

The bell interrupted Ringo for 2nd period.  The band hurriedly packed up their instruments and filed out.  Mitch had forgotten to send them to their lockers, but it wouldn’t have done any good anyhow.  He felt physically drained.  He wasn't sure where he stood with his students or the principal.  He had little time to think about it at the moment, however, as he was due at the elementary school to set up the rest of his teaching schedule.