“Did you ask her?”
At lunch, his friend leaned across the desk.
“Ask her what?”
“What she’s playing at the recital.”
He twisted the cap off his drink.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There wasn’t a good time.”
“You say hi, then you ask. ‘What are you playing at the recital?’ Done.”
He looked up.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Then let me ask her.”
“You’ve never even met her.”
His friend laughed.
“You see her every week, don’t you?”
“Not every week.”
“She was there last week.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You keep her picture in your wallet.”
“It’s a recital photo.”
“Sure.”
He crumpled the empty bread wrapper. Next Wednesday he could ask. What are you playing at the recital? He’d already said it a hundred times in his head.
The next Wednesday, he got to the studio a little early. That piece was coming through the door again. He didn’t go in right away. He had heard it enough times now that he knew when the music was about to swell.
He still didn’t know what it was called. When the playing stopped, he opened the door.
“Hi.”
The teacher turned around.
“Hi. You’re early today.”
“A little.”
The girl looked over too.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
He sat in the chair by the wall. She went right back to the score. The teacher said something and she played the passage again. The second time, she stopped halfway through.
“There. That was better.”
“Here?”
“Yeah. But then you rush again.”
She laughed.
“I hate this part.”
“I know. You rush it every week.”
She tried again. She usually didn’t say much, but she talked easily when it was about piano. He listened to them and planned when to speak.
Her lesson ended, and she picked up her bag. They had already said hi. This was the time.
What are you playing at the recital? She stood, and the teacher glanced at the clock.
“Sorry. I kept you a little late.”
The girl checked the time too.
“Oh. Yeah.”
“You probably need to go.”
“I do.”
She walked past him.
“Hey—”
She stopped. Looked at him.
“Yeah?”
What are you playing at the recital? She checked the clock again.
“Sorry. I’m in a hurry.”
“Oh. Right.”
“See you.”
“Yeah.”
She opened the door and left. He stared at it after it closed. The teacher was putting the music away.
“Sorry. She always has somewhere to be after this.”
“Really?”
“She has tutoring right after her lesson. I try to finish on time, but sometimes I talk too much.”
“That sounds rough.”
“For who?”
“For her.”
“Not me?”
He laughed. He sat down at the piano. So that was why she always left so fast.
“All right. Start here today.”
The teacher opened his book. He put his hands on the keys.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Has everyone picked their recital piece already?”
“Almost everyone.”
“Oh.”
The teacher looked at him.
“Whose piece are you wondering about?”
“No one’s.”
“Really?”
“Just mine.”
“Yours is already decided.”
He looked down at the page.
“Right.”
The teacher smiled. After the lesson, he stepped outside. Next time he saw her, he would ask before she had a chance to look at the clock.