I was definitely a not. My classmates tore away from their seats excitedly to grab their instruments and one of the rehearsal spaces surrounding the classroom. I sat there like a stunned mullet.

After a while, Ingrid noticed I hadn’t moved, and walked over to me. ‘What’s the problem, Phoebe?’

‘I can’t play an instrument. I don’t even know why my parents sent me to this school. I didn’t know that music would be such a big deal!’

Ingrid smiled at me, and again I could see an intensity in her. I knew that no matter what I said, there was no way that she was going to let me off the hook when it came to working on something for the performance night.

‘Your voice is your instrument,’ she said, as if it were an order.

‘But I can’t sing—’

‘All of us think that,’ Ingrid interrupted, ‘before we actually do it.’

‘But I really can’t,’ I protested.

‘Well, my job is to teach you then. Would you like to start here, or somewhere private?’

That was an easy answer: ‘Private.’ I followed Ingrid into a rehearsal room. When she closed the door, I went to sit but she said, ‘You’ll need to stand. I need you to feel your breath, to push all of the beautiful voice that is inside of you to the outside.’

‘Honestly,’ I pleaded, ‘there is no beautiful voice inside of me.’

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. ‘Say “Do”.’ She demonstrated: ‘Do!’

In my best teenaged-boy grunt I said, ‘Do.’

‘Great! Now say “Re”.’

‘Re,’ I grunted again.

‘You’ve got it! Now say “do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do”.’

‘Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do,’ I repeated as if I were speaking a sentence, and very unenthusiastically at that.

‘Good, you’re almost singing,’ Ingrid said encouragingly. She pushed my back a little so that my chest stuck out. ‘This time, breathe into each sound and hold it a little longer.’

I sighed, knowing there was no way out of this, and took a deep breath. ‘Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do.’ This time, it was as if I were actually singing.

Ingrid clapped once. ‘That’s it, you’re singing! Now, take it up a bit higher.’ Again, she demonstrated, and again, I followed, and it wasn’t too bad.

When I finished, Ingrid held me by the shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes. ‘Phoebe, you have a beautiful voice. I want you to practise. Sing the scales, up and down, and try to gradually increase at registers you’re comfortable with.’

I think I knew what she meant. I’d seen people practising their scales on TV and in movies before.

‘I’ll come back soon to see how you’re going.’

When Ingrid left the room I sat and stared at the wall, but I knew that I couldn’t do that for too long because at some point, she would return and make me sing no matter what. I looked at the walls a bit longer. I realised that they were soundproof. I sighed, and then started to try to sing some scales.