The secrets behind the choir room door

(Editor's note: While we really don't believe choir director Mrs. Julie Yonkers kept ace reporter Fox Navarre from covering the Honors Choir practice, far be it from us to stand in the way of Fox and a good story.)
By FOX NAVARRE
Room 210 Staff Writer
After a polite young man denied entrance to the honors choir practice, I, with a heavy heart and a shattered ego, sat down outside the doorway to hear what could possibly be going on inside that room.
Behind the wooden door, the faint sounds of "For Else," were beautifully being played. It made me wonder, with the knowledge of it being a choir class, what they could possibly be singing along with it.
In the hallway, a sense of grave humor hovered at the mere thought of a conspiracy in that room. What was Honors Choir really up to?
It was then I realized my trusty mechanical pencil had decided to backfire and not refill itself with lead as it should. I considered inventing this magical mechanical pencil as I sprinted down the hallway to get a new pencil from the journalism room. I cried out in despair, "It's out of lead!" You would have been awfully proud of the way my colleague, Ashton White, and Mr. Turner handled the situation. It was a triangle of pencil tossing. Throwing the mechanical pencil to Ashton with one hand and catching the pencil tossed to me by Mr. Turner, I was off.
Again on the floor, I returned to hear the Pink Panther melody. Yet another tune lacking words as far as I know. What could Honors Choir possibly be doing behind that closed door?
Soon, the band teacher, Mr. Reed Barnes, showed up providing a nice break from the uncomfortable feeling of "aloneness," not to mention the cold hard tile that I was forced to sit on, rather than a nice secluded desk in the room to which I had been denied entrance. Mr. Barnes also provided Ashton, the one person who (after bombarding me with pictures and orders such as 'move your hair') kept me company, a beautiful picture of his fingers. I saw it in all of its glory.
Back to the suspicious Fur Else/Pink Panther song, which by this time, I'd realized was all one song. If I wasn't weirded out enough, this did it. To top everything off, the music stopped altogether and Mrs. Yonkers' (choir director Julie Yonkers) distinctive and demanding voice filled my ears with a simple word, "Girls!" There was then a chorus of "Whats" and so on until I hear, "I'll do it later." My speculation is that they're plotting to overthrow the school. Operation B Flat is their main mission of having the girls go out and flatten the principal's car tires. Of course, this is just my inference from what I hear. If I were respectfully allowed in, I wouldn't have to think such things.
It's at about this time that two high school girls opened the door to the room, letting a melancholy melody enter the hallway. They stepped in and I was forced to watch the painfully slow process of the door closing. Ladies and gentlemen, there is no sound more horrible than that click of a door finally closing all of the way, once again shunning you from your goal.
Then there's that halfhearted chuckle from the passerby who happened to overhear your moan of displeasure and saw you sprawled out along the floor, your arms outstretched toward that closed doorway and your eyes closed in torturous suffering. That's when I realized that Ashton had joined me again (this time without his camera and demands.)
About this time, Mr. Turner turned the corner, striding purposefully toward the band room, almost in perfect time with the now melancholy tune playing behind the door. He gave me that Mr. Turner half-smile that I am sure everyone knows; with the widening of the eyes and raising of the eyebrows. Then he disappeared into the band room. Maybe it is my growing paranoia, but what is everybody up to?
And then I was informed by a nice red haired male who looked vaguely familiar (as I'd possibly had a class or two with him) of the time and regretfully I was forced to leave the, oh so comfortable tile floor and now lively tune from within, the piano drowning out the faint singing voices to go write this fully, so all of you will know the horrors that may be going on inside that room.
If I had been allowed in, of course, there is a possibility that the principal's car tires are safe. Gotta watch that B flat.
(Pictured: Lonely ace reporter Fox Navarre listens and dutifully records what she hears in her quest to find out the secrets behind the choir room door. Photo by Ashton White)