She didn’t realize she was staring until Mrs. Patterson’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts.
“Is there something interesting about that piano, Lily?”
The whole class turned to look. Lily’s face went bright red. She shook her head quickly and looked down at her desk again.
“No, ma’am. Sorry.”
Mrs. Patterson studied her for a moment with an unreadable expression. Then she turned away, dismissing the class.
As the students filed out, chattering about lunch and recess, Lily was the last to leave. She took one more glance at the piano before hurrying out the door. She didn’t see Mrs. Patterson watching her from behind the desk, a strange look on the teacher’s face. It wasn’t kindness. It wasn’t curiosity. It was something else entirely.
The rest of the school day passed slowly for Lily. She ate lunch alone, sitting at the end of a table while other kids laughed and talked around her. During recess, she stayed near the building, watching other children play games she didn’t know the rules to. In her other classes, she remained quiet, answering only when called on directly, never volunteering.
When the final bell rang, Lily gathered her worn backpack and headed for the exit. Other kids rushed past her, excited for the freedom of the afternoon. Some had parents waiting in nice cars. Others walked in groups, talking about going to each other’s houses or the park.
Lily walked alone, her thin sweater not quite warm enough for the chilly spring afternoon. She had a long walk ahead of her to the small apartment she and her father had recently moved into. It was temporary, they said. Everything had been temporary since her mom died.
She tried not to think about that as she walked. She tried not to remember the house they used to live in. The one with the piano in the living room. She tried not to hear her mother’s voice saying, “Hands curved, sweetheart, like you’re holding a small ball. That’s it. Beautiful.”
But sometimes, late at night, Lily would spread her fingers on her blanket and practice the movements. Her fingers remembered, even when she tried to forget. They remembered every scale, every chord, every piece her mother had taught her before everything fell apart.