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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