Part 2
Ms. Hensley’s hand hovered near the paper, but she didn’t touch it.
“Instead of an instrument?”
“We sold ours thirteen months ago.” Nora worked a loose edge of tape back down. “Mom had already died.”
Audrey moved closer to the bench.
“She asked you not to,” she told the teacher.
Mateo sat forward. “Both times. We heard her.”
Ms. Hensley looked toward the wall clock. She picked up the classroom phone, set it down, then picked it up again and called the fifth-grade hall. A few minutes later, the homeroom teacher arrived to collect the class early.
Folders closed. Chairs knocked against desk legs. Audrey lingered until her teacher called her name, then went out with the others.
Nora began folding the keyboard along its old creases. Ms. Hensley waited until she had it tucked beneath one arm.
“We’re going to see Dr. Whitcomb.”
“What did I do?”
“This is about me,” the teacher said. “I need to report it.”
In the principal’s office, a stack of enrollment packets occupied one visitor chair. Dr. Whitcomb moved them to a cabinet and rolled the chair slightly away from the desk so Nora wouldn’t have to squeeze past it.
Before anyone sat, she asked whether Nora wanted Ms. Hensley in the room.
“She has to say it first,” Nora said.
The principal nodded toward the other chair.
Ms. Hensley sat with her ankles together. She began with Audrey, describing the movements she had seen in the last row. Halfway through, she stopped and started elsewhere.
“Nora refused to perform. I required her to do it anyway.”
“What were you expecting to accomplish?” Dr. Whitcomb asked.
Ms. Hensley rubbed at a small ink spot on her knuckle.
“I expected her to be unable to play. I intended the class to see that.”
Nora slipped her folded paper between her knees. One corner had bent backward, and she pressed it straight with her thumb.
Dr. Whitcomb asked her to explain the movements Audrey had seen. Nora told her about following the notes against her jeans, and about the middle C she had played after class.
“I saw the card,” she added. “I knew I should ask.”
“Were you trying to give Audrey corrections?”
“I wanted to see if I remembered where everything went.”
The principal made a note, then turned the pad facedown.
“A rule violation can be handled in a private conversation,” she told Ms. Hensley. “So can a misunderstanding between students. Not one of them called for this.”
Ms. Hensley nodded without looking up.
Dr. Whitcomb telephoned Ben herself. Nora heard her say that no one was injured, that Nora was with her, and that he needed to come in about something that had happened in class.
He arrived nearly forty minutes later. His work boots left wet marks on the office mat, and a pair of foam earplugs hung from a cord around his neck. BEN was stitched in white on his dark work shirt.
He looked at the three of them before crouching beside Nora’s chair.
“Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
His eyes moved over her face. He took off his cap and held it between both hands while the principal found him a chair.
Dr. Whitcomb began with Ms. Hensley’s admission. She explained Nora’s refusals, what had led up to them, and the performance that followed. She said Nora clearly had substantial musical training; she didn’t call her gifted or ask Ben whether he had known how well she played.
Ben stayed seated until the account was finished. Then he turned toward Ms. Hensley.
“My daughter asked you to leave her alone, and you made her sit at that piano. Is any part of that wrong?”
“No,” the teacher said. “That’s what happened.”
He folded the cap once, too tightly.
“Then leave ‘assessment’ out of the report.”
“I will.”
The principal explained the review that would follow. There would be a written account and corrective steps; Ms. Hensley would have no say in Nora’s performance placements or showcase selections. Dr. Whitcomb didn’t offer a punishment for Ben to approve, and she didn’t turn to Nora for an answer about forgiveness.
Instead, she asked whether Nora wanted access to a piano.
Nora looked up before she could stop herself.
The district already had a partnership with the Lurava music center. A small fund paid for placements for students whose families couldn’t manage lessons, though an application and an assessment were required. Dr. Whitcomb could make the referral. She couldn’t promise a place.
While that was being arranged, there was another possibility. Nora could attend aftercare twice a week and use the school piano with an adult supervising from the hallway.
“Someone other than Ms. Hensley,” Dr. Whitcomb said. “That arrangement would only change if you requested it.”
“Keep it that way,” Nora said.
The principal wrote it down.
Ben looked from the referral form to Nora. “You want us to apply?”
She nodded and laid the paper keyboard across a clear corner of the desk.
He stared at it.
“That’s been coming here with you?”
“Not every day.”
“I thought it stayed at home.”
Nora lifted one end and folded it along a taped seam. “It fits in my bag.”
Ben reached toward a place he had repaired, then rested his hand on the desk instead.
“I missed that.”
“I didn’t show you.”
He looked down at the cap flattened in his lap. “I wish you had.”
The next afternoon, Nora finished a page of fractions in aftercare before Ms. Patel took her down the quiet hall. The custodian was pushing a dust mop past the drinking fountain. Nora waited for him to pass while Ms. Patel unlocked the music room.
A rubber wedge held the door open. Ms. Patel brought a small table into the hall and sat where she could see inside, with a paperback and the aftercare attendance sheet beside her.
Nora put the middle section of her paper keyboard on the music rack. Without a class waiting behind her, she could take as long as she wanted to set the bench. She adjusted it twice, then sat without raising her hands.
The clock’s minute hand moved. Ms. Patel turned a page in the hall.
At last, Nora pressed one key. The note sounded cleanly, and she waited for it to finish before trying another.
Her finger stayed above the second key.
There was a pause in the hallway, followed by Ms. Patel’s quiet greeting. Nora turned on the bench.
Ms. Hensley stood outside the doorway.
“Dr. Whitcomb checked with your father about my coming,” she said. “But you decide whether I speak. May I?”
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