Venie Vonshweets's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Wednesday after school, Venie cut through the alleys to the lot behind the abandoned stage. Six people would show up Thursday night with nothing in their hands. Six people could not protest a music ban by standing in a circle and breathing. She and Julian had one afternoon left to fix that. The shed sat in the corner of the lot under a leaning fence. Julian had already pried the door open. Inside, the walls were lined with old foam he'd hauled in piece by piece. He said it killed the sound. Venie believed him because they had been hammering in here for two days and no officer had come yet. On the floor lay their pile: dented soup pots, a cracked plastic bucket, two metal trash can lids, a length of fishing line, a board, and a busted lunchbox he'd stripped for screws. "Drums first," Julian said. He flipped the bucket and braced it between his knees. Venie stacked two pots on a crate and lashed the lids upright with wire for cymbals. They worked without talking. Every few minutes Julian raised a hand and they froze. Footsteps on the gravel outside. Boots, slow, the rhythm of a patrol. They waited until the boots faded past the fence. Then they kept building. The violin was harder. Julian sanded the board down to a long neck and notched a slot for a tin can to sit as the body. Venie strung the fishing line tight from end to end and twisted a screw at the base to tune it. She plucked once. The note was thin and sour, but it was a note. She pressed her thumb against the line and bent it up a step. Julian almost smiled. By dusk they had a drum kit of pots and lids, the string board, two buckets for the others to hit, and a row of glass bottles tuned with water. Six instruments for six people. Venie wiped her hands on her hoodie and stepped back. Julian said, "It'll be loud." She said, "It has to be." They stacked everything in the corner under a tarp. Tomorrow night they would carry it to the meeting spot, a tall metal post in the square with a music note cut into its top. Anyone who showed up would know where to stand. Venie eased the shed door open and checked the lot. Empty. She slipped out and walked the long way home, hands loose at her sides. At the corner an officer in a pressed blue uniform stood under the streetlight, eyes on every passing face. He looked at her hoodie. He looked at her hands. She kept her fingers still and crossed at the light. He did not follow. She turned down her grandmother's street with the plan complete and one night left to wait.