"Congratulations," Ms. Blake said.
Jack nodded, then remembered manners. "Thank you. Thank you so much."
Principal Harrison held out the cream card Jack had given him earlier, now slightly warmer from the jacket pocket. "I believe this belongs in a scrapbook," he said. His voice had changed—not dramatically, not into sudden sweetness, but into something careful. "And I owe you an apology. I spoke to you as if the building's dignity needed protecting from you. It appears I had the equation backward."
Jack took the card. "You were trying to take care of the piano."
"I was trying to take care of an idea of this place," Harrison said. "Sometimes those are not the same."
Ms. Blake watched the exchange with the quiet satisfaction of a teacher who had seen adults learn something without being lectured. "Jack's grandmother is downstairs. She got a ride from a neighbor. Shall we go tell her together, or would you like to go alone?"
"Together is okay," Jack said. Then, after a beat: "But can I... can I play one thing on the lobby piano first? Just for a minute. I didn't get to earlier."
Principal Harrison almost laughed—an unexpected sound, rusty and human. "After the day you've had, Jack, I think the lobby piano can survive being part of the waiting area for sixty seconds."