The Rockstar Chronicles

Early Morning

I woke up early the next morning to the blaring of my alarm. It was louder than I expected it would be in the quiet house and I shut it off quickly, hoping against hope that I hadn't woken up Mom. Grady, I wasn't worried about. I truly believe he could snooze right through the apocalypse.

Holding my breath, I listened. But the only sound I heard was the thumping of my own heartbeat in my ears. I slid out of bed and pulled on my jeans before tiptoeing down the stairs. I had a mission.

Mrs. Crabtree was up early, just like I had suspected she would be. She had seemed like the early riser type to me and I was glad to know I was right. I must not have seemed like the early riser type because she lifted her eyebrows in surprise as I climbed her front porch steps.

"And what are you doing here so early, missy?" she asked as she peered at me over the rim of her coffee cup. The steam made it difficult to see her clearly.

"I came to say goodbye," I said as I sank onto the porch swing.

"Goodbye, hum?" Mrs. Crabtree stared hard at me. "I think this calls for muffins. Don't you?"

And without another word, Mrs. Crabtree went inside, the screen door banging shut behind her, and I was left alone on the porch. I sat there while the morning woke up and came alive. Birds chirped in the swaying tree limbs overhead and the smell of her many flowers wafted on the breeze. I leaned back against the wooden edge of the swing and closed my eyes. I felt perfectly at peace.

The screen door banged shut again and Mrs. Crabtree plopped a plate full of blueberry muffins on the table next to her chair. "I didn't know what you would like to drink but then I thought that everyone loves hot chocolate so I brought you that. Is it alright?"

She held out a mug to me and I took it, nodding gratefully. And then Mrs. Crabtree resumed her position in her old rocker and picked up her coffee cup once more. "Now what is this about goodbye?"

I filled in her on the last couple of days and how Mom was going to make me practice constantly and how I was going to have to leave her and the garden behind. I blabbered on and on, my hot chocolate in one hand and my breakfast in the other.

And when I finished, Mrs. Crabtree only laughed at me. I stared at her, my mouth hanging open in shock. "Oh, dear," she said, patting her chest as if she was short of breath. "So you are telling me you can't visit because your ogre of a mother is going to make you practice dancing non-stop, like a character in a fairy tale, and that the boys are much, much worse than you? Don't you think you're being just a touch melodramatic?"

When I didn't reply, she continued.

"Do you know why I like you, Lindy Madison? Because you remind me of myself at your age. So don't you worry about the garden. I can take care of it just fine. And I'm even going to do you another favor."

"What's that?"

"I'm going to help you and these boys with your routines."

I flushed. I felt sorry for her. I could picture Mom's reaction when she heard Mrs. Crabtree wanted to help us and I struggled to find a nice way to turn her down. But before I could speak, Mrs. Crabtree interrupted me once more.

She held up one finger. "I know what you're thinking. That I'm just an old woman who has no idea what she's talking about. But you've made a bit of a mistake my dear. You've told me all about yourself, but you don't know anything about me."

I realized she was right. I didn't know anything about Mrs. Crabtree.

"I studied dancing for years," Mrs. Crabtree said, "and a few years after I married, I became a choreographer. I've been asked, several times mind you, to come out of retirement, but I've never been budged till now."

"The problem is, some of these new instructors don't teach the fundamentals. Always start at the beginning. And so when Mr. Kane came to me after your meeting yesterday and asked me to assist on a freelance basis, I had to make a decision."

I held my breath, barely daring to hope.

"And I decided," she said, her eyes dancing wickedly. I wanted to burst with anticipation.

"To help," Mrs. Crabtree said finally. She began to laugh her familiar scratchy laugh and I joined her.

"Who's being melodramatic now?" I asked.

Mrs. Crabtree winked at me as she took another sip of her coffee. "Touché."