I really want to meet him soooonnnn! He sounds like a great Daddy. But I can’t imagine him kicking Aunt Piper’s ass. I’ve seen her work out with the team, and I’ve even practiced with her. She tells me all the time I’d make an awesome cheerleader. At Mom’s old work, a few people called me a natural… whatever that means.
As my mind wanders, I’m not paying attention to the boy in front of me, and I accidentally run into him when he stops.
“Hey.” He pushes me back. I know better than to react. Growing up around all the football players taught me not to. They also taught me how to stick up for myself, even at my age.
One day the guys got all of us kids out on the field, and we practiced with them. Well, not really practiced. They did show us how to play football and, of course, they made sure the girls could throw a punch. That was soooo much fun.
The boy pushes me again. All morning he’s been in my face and, if I wouldn’t get in trouble, I’d punch him like the players taught me.
“Alexander, face the front,” the teacher calls out, and the line moves down the hall.
As we get to the music room, Ms. Scott stops me after everyone else goes into the room. “Ella, are you okay today? You seem a little distracted. I know it’s only your second day, and you’re just getting to know everyone.” I think Ms. Scott is going to say more but she doesn’t. She waits a second then steps aside and lets me go to class.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” I answer her as I walk into the music room.
“Ohhhh Ella got in trouble,” the annoying boy calls out.
“Alexander, that is not polite, and I will not tolerate anymore of that behavior in my classroom,” Ms. Cook, our music teacher, says. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ms. Cook,” Alexander answers, taking a seat next to his friends.
“Ella, I have you sitting next to Payton.” She points to an open spot, and I walk over to it and take a seat.
Ms. Cook explains the lesson before having us stand and find an instrument. We’re all supposed to find a different instrument, but everyone wants to play on the drums. I roll my eyes. Drums are boring, and I’d rather play the piano at the back of the room. While Ms. Cook is distracted, I drift over to it and sit on the bench. Music starts to play in the room, and while the rhythm isn’t great, my fingers itch to play. I hear her give more instructions to the class, and I all I want is to drown out all the noise. As the song changes, I flex my fingers and place them gently on the ivory keys. My eyes close as I listen to the song, A Thousand Years, and begin to play along with it. I’ve played it a few times, so it's not hard to keep up. In fact, I sing softly along with it.
I’m so focused on the notes that I don’t notice when the room goes silent. And it does go completely quiet. But I keep playing after the song ends, morphing the melody into something completely different.
“Ella. Ella!” Ms. Cook calls. My eyes open and, by the expressions on everyone’s faces, I think I’m in trouble.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, standing so I can move away from the piano.
“Please... sit back down.” She starts to move over to the piano. “Could you not hear me calling your name?” she wonders.
I sit on the edge of the bench so I can see her. “Sorry, no ma’am. When I get lost in the music, I zone out.”
“Class, please take a seat,” Ms. Cook directs. “Ella, can you play anything you hear on the piano?” Her expression is one I’ve seen on Mom and Aunt Piper when they’re trying to figure out what all I can do when I’m practicing cheerleading with them.
“No ma’am, but I know this song. I’ve played it a few times, but I play it better on my keyboard, since I don’t have to reach the pedals,” I reply, gently kicking my feet back and forth under my seat, the tip of my shoes barely scraping the tile floor.
“That makes sense. Can you read sheet music?” she wants to know, stepping around a few of my classmates to get closer to me.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve taken lessons,” I inform her.
She comes to stand next to the bench, and I scoot over to give her space to sit next to me. She takes sheet music off the top of the piano and lays it in front of us. I don’t recognize the title, but I can’t say that’s unusual for me. I know songs, but I don’t always know their titles.
“Will you play this with me?” Ms. Cook asks.
I nod and, reading the notes, I begin to play. It’s not long before I realize I do know the song, and I glance up at the title. Way Down We Go. It’s one of Mom and Aunt Piper’s favorites. I’ve played it a few times. We normally sing along with it. Ms. Cook stops playing on the keys and just pushes the pedals for me.
I finish the song, and she looks down at me. “We have time for one more song. Are you willing to try it too?”
I nod again.
She flips through a few sheets until she comes to another one she wants. For this one, I recognize the name of the band, The Fray. This time, however, Ms. Cook rests her hands in her lap, only working the pedals for me as I play. When I finish, there are more adults standing by the door.
“Excuse me, Ms. Cook? I don’t mean to interrupt, but I really need to get the class back to our room,” Ms. Scott tells her.
“Yes, of course. I thought we had a little longer, but I lost track of time. Class, line up please. Ella, thank you for playing.” She rises from the bench, and I scoot out, heading for the back of the line again.
From somewhere up the line I hear a boy’s voice say, “She’s a show-off.”
“That was cool,” Payton, the girl in front of me, whispers.
“Thank you,” I whisper back and chew on my lip.
Why can’t I be back with my friends at my old school? They were fun and a lot cooler than these kids. Well, except maybe Payton.
We walk back to class. Faint whispers from my fellow classmates, and hushed instructions as we pass other classrooms, are my only distractions. Otherwise, I keep wondering what Mom is saying to my dad. I wonder if I can meet him today? If he’ll teach me to cook? What he might make me the first time we meet?
My questions are endless, really, but there are two questions I really want to ask, but I’m scared to learn the answers. Why didn't he come find us? And will he love and want me?
When we get into class I head straight for my desk, but Ms. Scott’s words stop me in my tracks.
“Class, if you brought your lunch, please grab it and line back up. We have five minutes to get to the cafeteria, and we’ll stop at the bathroom on the way.”
Maybe lunch will get me in a better mood.
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