The room was silent except for Lily’s quiet crying. Mr. Rodriguez handed her more tissues. Mrs. Patterson stared at the floor, her face burning with shame.
“I’m sorry,” Lily said, wiping her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have played today. I know Mrs. Patterson was trying to teach me a lesson about not pretending to be something I’m not. And she’s right. I’m not a pianist. Not anymore. I’m just a girl with a paper keyboard.”
“No.”
Mr. Rodriguez’s voice was firm.
“Lily, look at me.”
She looked up, her eyes red and swollen.
“You are absolutely a pianist. What you played today, what you’ve kept alive through practicing on paper for over a year, that’s not something you can fake. That’s real talent, real dedication, real love for music.”
He turned to Mrs. Patterson.
“Don’t you agree, Mrs. Patterson?”
Mrs. Patterson looked like she was being forced to swallow something bitter, but she nodded.
“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “It was exceptional.”