The Secret Life of Ms. Finkleman by Ben H. Winters Page A

because he had timed his snare hits to the lyrics; Rachel Portnoy, the singer, glanced at Chester every once in a while because she kept forgetting the words.
    But all of them were happy.
    Unlike their teacher, the students of sixth-period Music Fundamentals were having a great time. The Choral Corral, their moment in the spotlight, was stillover a month away, but their lives had already been transformed. Every time a teacher “stopped by” to watch them in awe, every fresh rumor that made the rounds, further confirmed their status as the new celebrities of Mary Todd Lincoln Middle School. And nor were they celebrities for something school related, like Lana Pinfield, that girl from Grover Cleveland who came in fourth in the National Spelling Bee three years ago. No, the students of sixth-period Music Fundamentals were
rock
celebrities, and no one could imagine anything cooler.
    Chester had been carrying his drumsticks everywhere he went, their tips poking from the inside of his coat like twin badges of honor. Carmine Lopez was inspired to carry his guitar case everywhere he went, even to gym class, where it was mildly dented by a flying dodgeball.
    “Hey, aren’t you in Ms. Finkleman’s sixth-period class?” kids would say to them, rushing up to the Schwartz sisters or Rory Daas or Hayley Eisenstein or whoever. “That is
so
awesome.”
    They even had their own language. Once, during one particularly raucous practice session (when the members of Half-Eaten Almond Joy had finally played “Livin’ on a Prayer” all the way through, while all theothers improvised a praying-themed group dance), Lisa Deckter had suddenly called out, “That is so R.” And when everyone looked at her, she said, “You know—R. As in, Rock? ”
    Soon they were all ranking everything—pencils, lessons, teachers, movies, food, whatever—by its relative rockfulness. Something that was good was R. Something that was
really
good was WR, or Way Rock. Something that was so good you couldn’t stand it was Totally Way Rock, or TWR.
    “This macaroni and cheese is WR! ” the kids of sixth-period Music Fundamentals would say. Or “A pop quiz? That is so UR! ” (As in, Un-Rock.) Or “Hey, the cafeteria was damaged in a grease fire—so they’re ordering pizza for school lunch! That is TWR! ”
    And, as late March moved inexorably toward April, Ms. Finkleman’s students got better and better at rock.
    “One! Two!
One, two, three, four!
”
    Kevin McKelvey counted in “Livin’ on a Prayer.” As Half-Eaten Almond Joy played, Tenny sat in the back of the room, watching, his eyes flickering from deep inside his blue-hooded sweatshirt. If anyone glanced over, they’d think it was just good ol’ Tenny, spacing out asusual. You’d never guess his mind was whirring like a motor, clocking mistakes, listing corrections.
    He noticed that Carmine Lopez’s chording was woefully imprecise. He noticed that Rory Daas kept messing up the chorus, which only had about six words in it. He noticed that Hayley Eisenstein’s bass strap was in serious need of adjustment.
    But somewhere along the way, Tenny realized something: This is gonna be good. This is gonna be
really
good.
    As he played chords with his left hand, Kevin McKelvey sawed the air with his right, keeping time. The blue-blazered Piano Kid had emerged as the leader of the eighties rock band, and the others all looked to him for tempo. When he was satisfied that they were with him, Kevin brought both hands back down on the keyboard. His fingers leaped aggressively across the keys.
    Kevin had easily mastered “Livin’ on a Prayer.” Actually, he had moved on from “Livin’ on a Prayer” to mastering all the other songs of Bon Jovi. As he learned each number, he studied the way the band’s keyboardist, David Bryan, handled them. What had seemed easy at first now seemed extraordinarily clever, the work of avirtuoso musician finding small trills and little pockets of melody to make simple