Zero Tolerance by Claudia Mills Page A

the Octave. It was flagged with a red exclamation mark and with the subject heading GOOD NEWS all in caps.
    And she had one from Colin, who had never e-mailed her before: cbeauvoir.
    She liked that he didn’t have some lame-attempt-at-being-cool e-mail address like colinthegreat or colinrocks.
    For a moment she wondered what Luke Bishop’s e-mail address would be.
    She opened Colin’s message first. It was written all in lowercase:
    hi, sierra.
    did you see us on tv? do i look that geeky in real life? choir news is great. hope you can go.
    colin
    Sierra almost felt like forwarding it to Em so that they could analyze it together.
    The absence of capitals: Did that mean that Colin was too lazy to use the shift key? Or was it sort of the e-mail equivalent of his talking in that soft voice?
    did you see us on tv? The “us” in that sentence made Sierra’s heart flap inside her chest like a caged hummingbird.
    do i look that geeky in real life? Sierra hadn’t realized that a boy could think that way. No, Colin did not look geeky in real life, or on TV, or only in an adorable way.
    choir news is great. What choir news? Oh, that other e-mail.
    hope you can go. Did this have to do with the choir news? Did “hope you can go” mean that Colin wanted her to be there, wherever “there” was?
    colin . Not love, colin . But of course he wouldn’t put love, colin . There was really no other way he could have signed it except for colin . Maybe he could have used his initials: cb . colin was better.
    There, she had done a pretty good job of analyzing it all on her own. She’d tell Em about the e-mail, of course she would, but she was glad now she hadn’t forwarded it to her. It was too personal, too precious, to share.
    She hated to close the screen, but she had to see what the great choir news was that Colin had written about.
    Mr. Lydgate had written to the eight members of the Octave, including Sierra, Celeste, and Colin. The choir had been selected before Christmas as an alternate to perform at the big music educators’ conference this coming Friday in Colorado Springs. Now Mr. Lydgate was writing to say that the winning choir had to cancel at the last minute, so the Octave would be performing in their place. Mr. Lydgate wanted them all to e-mail him ASAP to let him know if they could come.
    Yes! Of course she could go, even if it meant missing school all day on Friday.
    No.
    She couldn’t go.
    Friday was the day of her hearing.
    That’s what Colin had meant by “hope you can go.”
    Mr. Besser had to let her go, he just had to.
    She e-mailed Colin back. She used proper capitalization in her e-mail; she didn’t want him to think she was copying his style.
    Hi, Colin.
    You didn’t look geeky on TV. You looked great.
    Choir news is terrific. I hope I can go, too.
    Sierra
    She sent it before she could change her mind.
    Should she have said he looked great? She could have left it at “You didn’t look geeky.”
    She called up her message to Colin from her Sent folder and read it over again. It was probably okay.
    As she was about to close her e-mail, another message came in from Mr. Lydgate. This time it was just to Sierra. Mr. Lydgate said he was going to talk to Mr. Besser and “see what could be done.”
    Sierra wrote back a two-word answer: “Thank you.”
    And then she started praying.
    Dear God, please make Mr. Besser let me go to the concert. Dear God, please please please make it be that I can go.

 
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    Celeste called while Sierra’s parents were still at their movie.
    â€œDid you get Mr. Lydgate’s e-mail about the choir trip?” Celeste asked.
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œWhat if they don’t let you go?”
    What was Sierra supposed to say? Was this a setup for more condescending pity? “Then I guess I won’t go.”
    â€œIt’s not that simple, Sierra! What if we can’t go if