"The music committee is meeting at the table in the back. You'd better hurry, they're voting," said Robert, rushing past Bridget to the gymnasium stage. He carried, under his arm, the scarecrow she'd created the night before, a skeleton in overalls, bandanna and straw hat; an over-sized raven affixed to the crown, pecking at the skull. The scarecrow was a chimera, Bridget was proud to say, a Frankenstein offspring of E. A. Poe and The Grand Ole Opry. She was sure nobody at North Cromwell High had ever seen such a creature. She pushed her way through a row of folding chairs toward the back of the gym and realized, with disappointment, that the music committee had already recorded the vote. The motion, whatever it was, had carried.