
I was playing back in high school orchestra, with the same old crowd I used to know there. Typical high-school arrangements, typical high school jesting and so-so music making. Then, the class was over, and as everyone was packing up their instruments, our conductor started handing out his annual awards, haphazardly, over the chatter and bustle that usually follows the bell. Even though these awards were actually poorly Xeroxed copies worth a little less than nothing, I hung around so I could receive my usual "Best Musician" award. He went one by one through the list, and I began to worry. Of course, they would be saving the best for last, but what if...
The conductor leaned over to my stand partner, my so-called arch-enemy, and trying to be covert in a clumsy kind of way, whispered, "Best Concertmaster" and handed the award to her. What? She's not concertmaster, I am! But secretly, she had been leading the entire section against me, and I was oblivious.
So, what was my award? Well, it was definitely the niftiest looking one. I got a decorated Pringles can, mint green with candid photographs of myself all over it. It was the "Best-Looking-and-Most-Coolest-Acting-Violinist" award. Fabulous. Sure enough, those photos captured a popular looking, confident, friendly girl. It said nothing of my skills as a violinist, but if image was everything, I had it.
It's funny, because that definitely doesn't describe myself in high school. In reality, I was insecure and had no idea about style or charm. I don't know, maybe I would have wanted that award the most, after all.
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