Read The Case of the Wayward Professor for Free Online Page B

that needs a psychiatrist, a whole team of them, I heard.’ Petal pointed at the dark-haired boy. ‘Crazy Callum, the Prime Minister’s son.’
    â€˜Children, please don’t argue in my rehearsal rooms,’ said Miss Gilfeather. ‘The acoustics are far too good to waste on shouting. If you wish to tear each other limbfrom limb, we have a perfectly good playground.’
    Petal stormed out of the room, slamming the door as she left.
    Holly had known that the Prime Minister’s son was in the year above her, but she had expected him to be one of the super-confident, horse-riding rich kids that she hated so much.
    â€˜What a very highly strung young lady. Reminds me of a violin I once had,’ said Miss Gilfeather, turning to look at Holly. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘You are not scheduled for a lesson.’
    â€˜I’m Holly Bigsby. I’m new and I want to join the band.’
    â€˜Impossible,’ replied the teacher. ‘The concert is in five days’ time.’
    â€˜I’m a quick learner. I only started the school recently and I was hoping the band would help me make friends.’
    â€˜It’s not about making friends. It’s about making music.’
    â€˜Please, at least give me an audition.’
    Miss Gilfeather gave Holly a sustained stare and then spoke. ‘Very well. I will give you an audition after Mr Thackley’s lesson. Wait here.’
    The boy followed her into the room and the doorshut behind them. The piano started again and the French horn joined in, hitting every note perfectly and playing with feeling and precision. It sounded beautiful. Holly was stunned.
    After half an hour the door opened and the boy walked out, his instrument case clasped in his sweaty hands.
    â€˜Excellent, Mr Thackley, as usual. See you on Monday for band rehearsals,’ said Miss Gilfeather. ‘Now, Miss Bigsby, let’s see what you can do.’
    Holly got up nervously and went into the room. As she passed Callum he whispered, ‘Good luck.’
    â€˜Close the door,’ said Miss Gilfeather. ‘What did you say your name was?’
    â€˜Holly Bigsby, miss.’
    â€˜Ah, yes, the terrible tearaway. Mr Palmer has mentioned you. Well, I don’t care for rebellion in my band. Music is unique in being both a science and an art. It should be studied with the brain and played with the heart. I see you play trumpet. I will accompany you on this piece.’
    She handed Holly a sheet of music.
    â€˜I brought my own piece to play,’ replied Holly.
    â€˜If you are hoping to play in the concert you will have to demonstrate the ability to sight-read. Givenenough time you can teach a monkey to play Mozart, but they’ll never be able to sight-read.’
    â€˜You can teach a monkey to play Mozart?’
    â€˜Please familiarise yourself with the key and we’ll begin.’
    The music looked difficult, with three flats by the stave, plus a few more thrown in during the piece. Holly took her trumpet from her case and held it up to her lips. She got the first few notes in her head, working out the fingering, then nodded to Miss Gilfeather, who sat down at the piano and began to play.
    At the end of the piece, Miss Gilfeather said, ‘Well, Holly Bigsby, your embouchure is appalling, you hold the trumpet at the wrong angle, your timing is off and you seem determined to turn every first quaver into a semi-quaver.’
    Holly said nothing.
    â€˜However,’ she continued, ‘you do have some flare for the instrument and you have determination.’ She picked up a folder and handed it to her. ‘We only have two trumpets at the moment, so if you can learn all this you may play third.’
    â€˜Brilliant,’ said Holly, smiling.
    â€˜But be warned, I expect utter dedication from my musicians. If I think you are damaging the integrity ofthe music you will be out of this band before your lips can