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“So, do you like music?”
I glance over at Izzy and nod. “Yeah.”
Her face brightens. “Do you play an instrument? I play piano. I’m gonna be a famous pi-a-nist,” she says, carefully exaggerating each syllable, “like my mom when I grow up.”
I clench my hands together in my lap, feeling something sort of…open in my chest. Like that feeling I got when Mr. Gavin gave me the MP3 player last week, already full of my favorite songs, and even more I never heard of, and I didn’t have to use my old CD player that was always dyin’ anymore. Now I can have all the music in one place, instead of having to decide on just one CD. When I find a new song, Momma or Mr. Gavin upload it from a computer right to the little player.
“I don’t. I just listen,” I tell her.
“Do you wanna learn? I have pianos at my house. Come over after school!”
I blink. “I-I don’t know if…”
“My mom can call your mom—or dad,” she quickly adds with a shake of her head. Her gaze flits to Waylon, and she frowns.
I look over, and I’m surprised he’s not still glaring at me. If anything he seems zoned out, like my momma says I get when I watch TV or listen to music.
“It’s just my mom,” I whisper.
Waylon lifts his head. “Did your dad die?” he says in a weird sort of flat tone.
My eyes widen, and I shake my head at the same time Izzy says, “Way, you can’t just ask that.”
His eyebrows come together, face crinkled, like he doesn’t understand.
“No, he’s not dead,” I tell him, annoyed. “He’s just…away right now.”
“Where’d he go?” Waylon asks.
Again, Izzy kicks him under the desk. He scowls at her, but looks back at me like he’s waiting for an answer.
I shrug, feeling all warm again suddenly. “I don’t know. Mom—my mom won’t tell me. He’s probably back at our house in New York. He’s comin’ to get me soon.”
He frowns, nodding, then looks down, and goes about eating his pretzels now that the wafers are gone.
I look over to Izzy, and she says, “I hope you get to see him soon.”
“Me too.”
“My parents are really cool. They’re both musicians. My dad’s in a band! They play at bars all around the state.”
My eyes widen. That’s so cool.
“I wanna be in a band too one day. But I wanna play all over the world.”
“I-I thought you wanted to play piano,” I say.
“I’ll do both!” she says happily. Then she throws a hand out toward Waylon. “And his dad’s a cop. He’s up for chief this year! But Waylon doesn’t want to be a cop. Or a musician. He doesn’t know what he wants to do yet.”
“Your dad’s a cop?” I say, looking at Waylon. “That’s cool. My dad said cops are like real life superheroes, putting away the bad guys and fightin’ crime.”
Waylon looks up at me, and cocks his head to the side. His mouth opens, but he says nothing, just blinks a couple times like he’s confused again.
I frown. He’s…weird.
Be nice.
Wincing at my mom’s voice in my head, I look down, and bite my lip.
