He got to the piano studio earlier than usual. The lesson before his was still going. He sat on the bench in the hallway. Piano music came through the door.
It wasn’t Mélancolie. After a while, though, he realized it was Chaminade. He had been listening to her music a lot at home lately.
The playing stopped. A moment later the door opened and she came out. He stood. He had been waiting so he could talk to her, but when she was actually there, he couldn’t get the first word out.
“How’s Mélancolie?” she asked.
“Better than before.”
“My teacher said you’re getting good.”
“I practice every day.”
She smiled. Before she could leave, he asked about the piece he had just heard.
“That was Chaminade too, right?”
“You could tell?”
“I bought a CD.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been listening to it a lot. At home too.”
“Oh.”
Her eyes widened a little.
“She wrote a lot of good stuff, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. I still don’t know all the titles.”
“I didn’t either at first.”
She checked the time.
“Sorry. I have to go.”
“Okay.”
“See you.”
“See you.”
She walked down the hall. He watched until she turned the corner, then opened the studio door. The teacher was putting away the music.
“Early today.”
“Yeah.”
“You were listening?”
“A little.”
“Then you’d better practice. Can’t let her leave you behind.”
She opened his Chaminade book. The next day at school, he opened his notebook and thought about the conversation again. Next time, he’d mention the CD before she had to leave. He was trying to decide how when a voice came from beside him.
“Why are you grinning?”
He looked up. His friend was staring at him.
“I’m not.”
“Piano girl?”
“Why does everything have to be about her?”
“Your face.”
His friend laughed.
“Something happen?”
“We talked a little.”
“Nice.”
“Just a little.”
“Still better than before.”
His friend went back to his own seat. Later, he returned carrying a newspaper.
“Hey, have you read this?”
He recognized the column.
“Yeah. My piano teacher likes it.”
“Really? Your piano teacher reads it too?”
His friend looked down at the page.
“It started with piano, remember.”
“It did?”
“The first one did.”
His friend spread the paper open.
“Which ones have you read?”
“The one about when she was two. And the one when she was five.”
“Yeah. The five-year-old one was rough.”
“Yeah.”
His friend folded the paper.
“I read this every week. There’s another one tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Still holding the newspaper, his friend moved to a desk a few seats away.
“You read this?”
Now he was asking someone else. He listened for a moment, then looked back down at his notebook. Another one would be in the paper tomorrow.