The Battle of Jericho by Sharon M. Draper Read Free Book Online Page A

disappeared. “Yeah, my best girl. Zora.” He picked up the leather trumpet case and slowly unzipped it. He removed the trumpet with care, then carefully wiped its smooth, shiny bell with the soft cloth he kept just for that purpose. “Arielle, I want you to meet Zora.”
    Arielle smiled and reached out to touch it. The fire still flickered, and its reds and oranges reflected off the trumpet’s metallic body. “She’s beautiful, Jericho,” Arielle whispered.
    â€œMost people think I’m stupid to name my trumpet, but somehow I knew you’d understand.” He deftly tapped the finger buttons, listening with an experienced ear to the muffled sound of the valves inside the casing of the trumpet.
    â€œHow long have you been playing?” she asked as he attached the mouthpiece.
    â€œSince third grade.”
    â€œI heard about you getting asked to play at the Bengals game. That must have been awesome.”
    â€œIt was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done in my life. All those people. The lights. Just me and Zora. If I had been by myself I would have been nervous. But I’m never scared when I have my trumpet with me. She’s like my best friend. Does that sound stupid?” he asked suddenly.
    â€œNot at all. I know where you’re comin’ from. Did you love it like this from the very beginning—like love at first sight?” She giggled.
    â€œActually, I didn’t like it at first. I wanted to play the violin. But I was late turning in my instrument money, all the other kids had picked the cool instruments, and all they had left was a trumpet.”
    â€œThat’s really funny!” Arielle said.
    Jericho just smiled. “But as soon as I started playing it, I fell in love. It talks for me, speaks to me, sings my songs. I’m never completely alone or unhappy when I’m playing. It’s like part of me, part of who I am.”
    â€œThat’s deep,” Arielle whispered. “Can you play something for me?”
    Jericho shrugged but then, placing his fingertips on the three pearl finger buttons, put the trumpet against his lips and let it speak the words he could never say to Arielle. He closed his eyes and the fireplace faded, then the walls, and finally the rest of the world became the golden notes he felt inside. Arielle sat on the sofa, listening breathlessly.
    â€œZora is amazing,” she said when he finished. Then she blushed. “Where did you come up with that name?”
    â€œIn sixth grade our teacher read us a story by Zora Neale Hurston. She’s one of my favorite writers now. But at the time I just thought she had a cool name.”
    â€œIt fits,” Arielle said, “because your Zora-trumpet certainly tells a tale when you play her. It’s like I can imagine stuff while you’re playing.”
    Jericho felt his heart pounding—she understood! He picked up the trumpet and let Zora speak again. This time he played a quick tune with lots of trills and leaps and rapid repetitions. It was a tale of confusion and anger, andended suddenly, in a minor key. ’That’s how I feel most of the time,” he told Arielle, “but not tonight. This has been different. I’m glad you decided to come.”
    â€œMe too,” she said quietly.
    â€œI’ve got a big trumpet competition comin’ up the last Thursday of January,” he told her suddenly. “Maybe you can come and give me good luck.” He was suddenly embarrassed. “But maybe you won’t want to sit through dozens of kids playing their instruments one at a time. It’s kinda boring sometimes—like a track meet—you wait for hours for your three minutes on the track.”
    â€œBut I bet those three minutes that you’re up there playing are dynamite!” she told him. “Maybe I will come. Who knows? That’s not till next month.”
    Jericho couldn’t believe how nice she