The Last Holiday Concert by Andrew Clements Page A

things people have time for when they’re not fighting and killing each other. Like ballet and magic acts. And maybe a concert with a theme could use more of your ideas. That’s all I’m saying.”
    Less than a month ago, before The Chorus According to Hart, Mr. Meinert would have kept going. He would have started barking orders, giving directions, getting things organized, pushing a plan forward. Not today. He looked around at all the faces in the quiet room and said, “It’s just an idea.” Then he walked back over to his desk and sat down.
    It was exactly the right amount of help, and the right kind, too.
    Hart got it.
    Peace. The theme was a like a lens, and in Hart’s mind ideas began snapping into focus. Before the room got noisy again, Hart said,“Allison’s idea is great, don’t you think? I mean, we can do a million things with that! Don’t you think?”
    Hart wasn’t the only one who got it. Heads were nodding all around the room. Carolyn raised her hand and said, “How about if we had a narrator, sort of telling a story, like Mr. Meinert said. We’ve read plays like that in drama club sometimes.”
    Ross said, “We’d have to write all that out, so someone could read it—the narration, I mean.”
    â€œRight,” said Hart, “only it doesn’t have to be real long. But it’s going to take some work. Still, I think it’s a good idea, don’t you? Anybody here who’s not in favor of peace?”
    Olivia raised her hand. Hart knew what was coming, and he was ready.
    She said, “What about the election yesterday? Was all that just a joke?”
    Hart shook his head. “No. That election was fair and square. So all the things that won have to be part of the concert now … unless we all decide otherwise. We just have to figure out a way to make everything work together. And …and that’s the whole idea of peace, anyway, to make everything get along together. With no fighting.”
    Mr. Meinert felt the mood of the room begin to change. It was like a midwinter thaw, a warm front sweeping across the group, one kid at a time.
    Hart felt it too, and he kept talking. “I know we can do this. And peace is a huge idea. It’s really important. We all have to think and work together until we figure it out. For the concert. We can do this. We really can.”
    Everyone bought in. The kids didn’t just believe Hart. They trusted him. And they also trusted themselves.

Nineteen
CRUNCH TIME
    T he earth kept turning, and every time it did, December 22 got one day closer. Hart kept one eye on the calendar, and the other on the frantic preparations.
    Anyone else observing the chorus during those last eleven days would have had a tough time guessing the theme of the concert. Not one of the remaining class periods, not one of the hours before and after school spent working on decorations, not one of the long weekend sessions practicing new songs and preparing the old gym—nothing even remotely resembled peace.
    It took real work to keep the theme in view. To Hart, those eleven days often looked more like a major military operation—and sometimes it was all out war.
    There were battles about which songs worked with the theme and which ones didn’t. There was open conflict about which nonmusicalevents could be included, and once that was settled, there were heated disputes about the order of the program.
    There were clashes about who should write the narration, and then disagreement about what the narration should be, followed by controversies over who should read which parts. Alliances and coalitions developed, ruled the world for a day or so, and then splintered into rival factions and collapsed. There were tussles and scuffles, quarrels and spats, tiffs and squabbles.
    The road to peace wasn’t easy. But thankfully, all the conflict happened within the framework of a fragile, but