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The students oiled their trumpet valves and applied rosin to their horsehair violin bows before their rehearsal started. Excitement resonated throughout the band room when the musicians were told to take out Mozart’s Fifth Symphony. Mr. Johnson picked up his wooden baton then slowly and purposefully began to wave his arms. He abruptly stopped, frustrated at the clashing sounds. "We’re not together," he complained. "We’re off tempo," he uttered. He started conducting again, but I couldn’t play as I thought of the friend I lost. We slowly grew distant because of our clashing personalities. We eventually separated, living our lives at different tempos.

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