By Sara Horan
Observance is easier. Blending in is easier. In life or at the very least in school (which could definitely be counted as life), there are those who are born to win public speaking, and there are those who are not.
“So, you could probably guess my place in the scheme of things.” Amelia Jones shrugged to her friend, who was slouching as a faint frown spread lazily across her face. She was nodding along but pursed her lips as she did.
“Wow, that was like deep.” Emma took a bite of her sandwich and with a mouthful of food, said “I think you’re looking too deeply into this. Mr Green just wanted you to run the fundraiser for the music department.”
“Yeah, I’m going to tell him when I see him that I can’t.” Amelia brought her knees up to her chest and tightly wrapped her arms around herself as if clutching onto a cut-off lifesaving rope.
“You’ll be fine, you love music. You play piano, you sing in the choir for the tenors that’s kinda leadership-ey.”
“I sing in a choir as an alto, Emma, an alto. Not a tenor. And choir is different, you sing as a group. And piano, you’re only stuck in a room with your family members who ask you to play ‘Heart and Soul, your music teacher who hates ‘Heart and Soul’ and examiners who would probably judge you for playing ‘Heart and Soul.”
“Wow, you’re really traumatised from playing ‘Heart and Soul, aren’t you?” Emma reached up and patted her pityingly on the head. “You’ll be fine. You love music and you should definitely save it, think of it not as taking a leadership position, think of it as guiding heaps of kids who might want to take up an instrument. I mean, you can use those skills that you’ve developed through choir and piano-ing and you’ll make it great.”
“I’m not a leader.” Amelia turned to Emma, to present her defence. When she was alone in her room, or silently thinking on the bus, she would create little testimonies in her head to argue why she was right. Then the other side of her head would argue back. The little squabbles in her head kept her from the boredom that would lead to her brain oozing and drizzling itself down her ears. Not only was it a good avoidance for such a plague as her mind disgorging out of herself, but it was really good for winning arguments.
Emma cried out an exasperated sigh. She turned to Amelia, the sharp appearance of ‘knowing’ dominating her eyes. “It’ll be fine.”
It was not going to be fine. Observance is easier. Blending in is easier. In life or at the very least in high school, there are those who take the solos and there are the choir singers. Amelia could guess which one she was. She was not a leader.
“Hey Amelia, you ok?” Eliot sat on the opposite side of the circle amongst the instruments and old, gum covered desks. Amelia quickly nodded, she turned to the student who was pondering over her book.
“Um… Could you pay attention Laura?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve been paying attention. I want to be the greeter.”
“I want to be the greeter.” Cried Eliot.
“It’s the easiest job.” Laura barely glanced up before returning to the book.
They would be horrible at the job. Also, they didn’t even need a greeter.
“What do you think Amelia?” Eliot asked
What did she think? Why would someone want to know what she thought? Oh right, she was in charge. She had to say something. It was an easy decision and she already knew what she wanted to say. But what if she made the wrong choice? What if she ruined the fundraiser? The Music Department would fall to ruin and it would be all her fault, but she had to say something.
“Um… maybe, maybe, we don’t need a greeter.” Amelia sunk slowly into her seat before forcing herself to puff her chest, “And Laura you would be good as cashier because you’re good at counting and all that and you, Eliot, you can give the cupcakes.”
Did she do it? Did she ruin it?
“Yeah ok. That sounds good.” Laura turned back to her book.
Observance is easier. Blending in can be easier. In life, or at least school, there are those who set up the google doc for the class and there were those like Amelia Jones. She wasn’t a soloist, she didn’t captain any sports, she never won any public speaking prizes or wasn’t school captain. She was shy, she overthought to the degree of madness, and her numerical abilities could be rivalled by a kindergartener. However, as Amelia Jones looked over the crowd, she realised; Maybe, just maybe, in the slightest chance of all of the earth; maybe she could be a leader.