PEARLS AND POISON—DUFFY BROWN Lizzie listened to the soprano practice CD in the car on her way to work the next morning. The spring concert was still a month and a half away, but there were three new pieces they’d been practicing since January and one in particular, a full-length mass, was giving her a lot of problems. She’d hoped to ace the soprano line, including words, in the credo of the Celtic Mass by the Canadian composer Scott MacMillan for tonight’s rehearsal, but she admitted to herself that wasn’t the case. She loved the rhythm and found herself “dancing” in the driver’s seat but couldn’t quite get the Celtic pronunciations right. She parked her Mazda next to Sally-Jo’s Kia and sat singing along softly until the current track ended. As she got out of the car she noticed that the pink azalea bush marking the sidewalk path from the lot to the school had been squashed and tire tracks were gouged out in the lawn surrounding it. She shook her head, already missing the splash of color the bush added through the seasons.
