Tears of the Broken (5 page)

As
we neared the stage, some of the kids stood up and smiled at us,
simultaneously causing me to shrink with the thought of the
impending interrogation. Can’t they just ignore me—pretend I don’t
exist?

“
Hey
guys.” David nodded his greeting, keeping his hand safely on my
back. “This is Ara.”

I
took a deep, shaky breath and waved, forcing myself to look
friendly. But I probably looked more like a troll, with my face all
contorted into a fake smile.

“
Ah,
a fellow muso.” A tall, thin boy with sandy-blonde hair leaned his
guitar against a desk and stood up. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ryan.”
He shook my hand, grinning with a broad, honest smile. “And that’s
Alana.” He gestured to a small, dark-haired girl with jet-black
eyes, playing her violin quietly in the corner.

“
Hello.” I smiled at the girl, who nodded politely toward me,
then almost shrank back into the shadows. Guess she’s as shy as I
feel right now.

“
And
that’s Fiona and Jess…” Ryan rattled off names as I nodded and
smiled at the faces—forgetting their names instantly. They should
all be called Bob—make things so much easier.

“
So?” Ryan asked, “What’s your poison?”

I
stared at him with my chin slightly lowered.

David looked down at me and a smile crept into the corners of
his lips. “He means
what do you
play
?”

Ryan
nodded to confirm.

“
Um.
Piano,” I said.

“
Nice.” Ryan nodded again. “Well, that’s Big Bertha.” He
pointed to the brown piano. “She’s old and large and always in the
way—but she’s in tune.”

“
Big
Bertha?” I scratched my head, looking at David.

“
We
have a name for everything around here,” David said.

A
loud clap resonated through the auditorium then, and my heart
jumped into my throat. Mr. Grant, I assume, stood motionless near
the entranceway at the back of the room. “I hear we have a new
student, today,” his stern voice echoed off the walls as he stalked
toward us, becoming smaller as he neared. With a voice so booming,
I’d have imagined him to be tall—but he’s amusingly short and
round. I tightened my lips to hide the tickling hilarity of his
ponytail, gathered at the nape of his neck, tugging heavily on the
few straining blonde hairs that clasped for dear life around the
edges of his bald spot.
Stylish
.

David slid his hand out from under my backpack and smiled as
Mr. Grant waltzed over and studied my face with a raised brow.
“Miss Thompson, I presume?” His accusing glare burrowed into my
soul while his harsh tone screamed pretentious
butt-head.

My
self-amusement over his appearance turned into fear and dried my
throat. As if I’m not nervous enough already, now I’m being singled
out as well. Maybe I can hide under Bertha. “Yes, sir,” I said
softly, dying to look away from his icy stare.

“
And
what will you be playing for us today, Miss Thompson?”

“
Uh.
Playing?” Did I hear him right? Surely he doesn’t expect me to play
for him, today?

“
We expect a performance from
all
our students on the
first day, Miss Thompson.” He grinned, cupping his hands together
as he looked around the class.

He
is
evil.
Two-headed monster was a kind assumption for this guy. I nodded
once to myself. Right, nice of someone to warn me about this. I’m
totally unprepared.

Everyone in the class waited for me to respond, or maybe to
run away crying. A few of them even laughed among themselves. I
wonder if this is why David didn’t tell me about our next class.
Oh, but, wait, he’s here with me, so that makes it all better,
right? By the way—
that
was sarcasm.

Mr.
Grant stood back from his lean toward me, and I looked at David,
who just smiled and tipped his head forward in a slight nod. He
knew this was coming! But I have to admit, seeing his face does
make it better. A little. Mind you, it hasn’t helped the fact that
I’m standing in front of the whole class, with my mouth gaping,
completely unable to find the power to speak—or move, for that
matter.

“
If you please, Miss Thompson. Or would you
like some
sheet
music?” Mr. Grant offered me a seat at the piano with an
arrogant grin across his tight lips.

Trying to stall, I shuffled out of the straps of my backpack
and went to dump it on the ground.

“
I’ll take this for you.” David grabbed it and flung it over
his shoulder.

“
Uh, thanks,” I said. Okay, what now? I have
no more distractions. Guess I’m gonna
have
to play. Well, either that or
burst into tears. But there’s no way I’m going to let this
know-it-all music professor make me cry in front of all these kids.
I’m sure he’s reduced many a student to tears in the past, and it’s
time somebody taught
him
a lesson. If there’s one thing I hate in this
world more than anything, it’s people using their talents or
skills, or worse,
knowledge,
to make other people feel small. And that’s
exactly what Mr. Grant’s doing to me. And it worked. I do feel
small.

Everyone watched. I hesitated beside David, secretly
picturing myself running away, swiping the tears from my cheeks as
I escape from this nightmare, slamming the doors behind
me.

But,
instead, I exuded confidence for the first time today and
positioned myself on the piano stool. David rested his elbows on
the top of the piano and smiled at me. I did not smile
back.

Thanks for the heads-up, David. I wish he’d told me this
would happen—then I could’ve left before class started. Mr. Grant,
standing uncomfortably close, watched me lift the cover from the
keys and reposition my stool so I could reach the foot pedals, then
he held out a stack of papers. “Your sheet music.”

“
I’ll be fine without that, thank you, Mr. Grant,” I stated
calmly and politely. Really, I want to take them from his puny
little hands and clonk him over the head. Instead, I traced the
black and white keys for a second, drawing a tight breath through
my teeth. This is the first time I’ve touched a piano in two
months. This could end badly.

Once, the piano used to be the one place that no amount of
fear and emptiness could destroy me—but it’s been so long. I just
hope my memory won’t let me down. Playing the piano is supposed to
be like riding a bike, isn’t it? For my sake, I really hope
so.

“
Today, Miss Thompson,” said the intolerant imp.

Right, I’ll show him how we handle bullies where I come
from.

David smiled and nodded at me, leaning a little closer to
watch my fingers as they found their way home to the keys. Okay,
you can do this, Ara-Rose. Just breathe. I looked around the room
and grinned. “Has any one here heard of the band
Mission of Wrights
?” I
asked loudly.

David nodded and sat back against the table behind him.
Everyone else pulled their tables or chairs closer to the
piano.

“
Go
get ‘em, Ara,” Ryan encouraged, with a wave of his fist.

“
Thanks,” I muttered.

Even
Alana moved from her desolation in the corner and stood beside Ryan
with her violin still in hand. The world disappeared for a second
as I inhaled and felt the cool of the keys under my
fingertips—heavy and solid. Breathe.

The
first notes of the song filled the air and a familiar flood of
excitement rushed through my heart, then flowed down my hands.
“This is called Contemplations of the Stand.”

A
few people laughed loudly and cheered. Guess they know the
song.

As I
panned over the notes, feeling the long-forgotten muscles in my
hands stretch, I cleared my throat and sung the words. David looked
down, keeping a smile hidden behind his eyes as he nodded in time
with the music.

On
the second verse, I looked over my shoulder when Alana, with her
violin in the crook of her neck, played along with me, her notes
gently gliding into the song. “Thanks.” I smiled, then looked over
at Mr. Grant, tapping his foot and waving his hand through the air
like a conductor. “You can never make us back down—” I sung loudly
into the echo of the auditorium. My voice flowed, unwavering. “We
will rise up from the ground.”

My
fingers moved fast and with familiarity. Guess it is like riding a
bike. Everyone became a part of the performance—keeping the beat
with their hands and feet as I played. It feels good to be playing
again, like a cold shower on a hot day or seeing an old friend
after years apart.

David’s eyes widened as I sang the words to the chorus, and a
smile—a real one—forced itself onto my lips. I forgot how much I
love this.

The
violin cut out, and I played unaccompanied, drawing the song to an
end. The lone piano rang through the stunned silence around me like
a sad story being told, and though Bertha doesn’t sound like the
electronically tuned piano that I’m used to, she carries the notes
just as well.

While my eyes closed, encasing the memories of my old school
and the softly-weighted keys of the baby grand piano in the music
room there, my fingers played for me, allowing me to drift away to
the shores of days when life was simple. It makes me miss my
friend, my best friend, whom I had to leave behind so suddenly. He
loves music, too. If he’d been in my position just now, I can only
imagine the amusing display of rebellion he would’ve
performed.

When
the song ended, everyone in the room stayed silent. I opened my
eyes to look at David. Why are they all staring? Oh, God, I hope I
didn’t just faze out again.

David stood up from his seat on the desk and started
clapping. Ryan followed, clapping as enthusiastically as a seal at
a marine park, and Alana, with her violin between her knees,
applauded delicately, half smiling at Ryan.

“
Well,” Mr. Grant looked down his long,
pointed nose, “I can see I have nothing much to teach
you
, Miss Thompson.” He
turned on his heel and started walking away. “Carry on, people. We
will be working on our performance pieces for the Halloween
concert.”

My
eyes stayed on the keys of the piano until the heavy wooden door to
the auditorium closed with an echoed thud behind Mr. Grant. What is
that guy’s problem? “Did he expect me to fail?” I asked, looking
around the group.

“
He
does it to everyone new.” Ryan stepped up behind me and placed a
hand on my shoulder.

So
that must happen a lot, not. “Well, thanks for the heads-up.” I
frowned at David. He knew this was coming. Why didn’t he warn
me?

“
I
figured you could handle it.” David looked at Ryan then, and they
both laughed.

There’s no way he could’ve known that unless he’s read my
student file—which I
highly
doubt. This is obviously some cruel practical
joke they play on new kids. I folded my arms over my chest and
huffed. “So what gave you that impression? That I could handle
it?”

David stopped laughing and folded his arms, too, looking a
little smug. “Your fingers, actually.” He nodded toward my
concealed hands.

Slowly, I pulled them out from the fold of my arms and
studied my long, thin fingers. My nails used to be perfectly
rounded, but look a little worn these days from being munched on so
often—but he’s right.

“
The
hands of a pianist.” He smiled.

Very
observant, Mr. Know-it-all. “Fine. I’ll pay that one. But next
time, a little warning, thanks.”

“
Sure. Well, in that case, maybe you should ditch History
class,” David said, holding back a smile. “That guy gives really
boring lectures.”

“
Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” I rolled my
eyes, smiling. It’s hard to be annoyed at David—he’s just so sweet,
and I have to hand it to him, he was right. I could handle it.
I
did
handle it.
I’m grateful to Mrs. Baker now, for the three hours every Tuesday
and Thursday where she would painstakingly force me to play piano
until my fingers seized up and turned bone-white. Mrs. Baker is one
thing I will
not
miss about my old life.

“
Seriously,” David whispered in my ear as the hovering crowd
dissipated and went back to their projects, “There was a reason I
didn’t tell you about Mr. Grant.”

“
I’m
listening,” I said, shuffling over so he could sit beside
me.

“
I
was afraid you’d run home.”

I
would have. “I’m not that weak. But I could’ve at least prepared
myself.”

David smiled to himself, placing his fingers on the keys.
“Heart and Soul?”

“
Huh?” I looked up at him.

“
Heart and Soul. You wanna play it?”

“
That’s a little kindergarten, don’t you think?”