Musicall on your way out of the room!” She stepped back as the teachers began shouting their own instructions, reminding the kids to pick up their books, to leave the room quietly, to make sure they had all their homework assignments.
The end of the school day had a rhythm all its own, one that Sam remembered from a dozen different schools. That had been one constant, as her family moved from base to base, from country to country: children loved to break free at the end of the day. As the kids cascaded out of the auditorium, the volume of their chatter rose.
But out of all that jumble, a single dark shape made its way down the aisle, away from the door, from the corridor, from the boisterous joy from the end of the school day. Sam was collecting the left-over flyers, tapping them together into a single neat stack. Intent on keeping the corners from turning under, she barely looked up as the child came to stand before her.
“Miss Samantha?”
The voice was so small that she took an involuntary step forward. That was when she looked up, when she actually realized that the child in front of her was Daniel Thomas. She called out his name in pleased surprise.
“Miss Samantha, can I take music instead of math class?”
The boy was so serious, she had to fight not to laugh. “I’m sorry, Daniel. Musicall is an after-school activity.”
“But we learned about it during social studies, today.”
“Today was special. We’ll meet on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons for the next month.”
“But I can miss Mondays and Wednesdays, right?”
“No, Daniel. If you make a commitment to the program, you have to commit to being there all the time.” Each lesson built on the one before; kids would be lost if they skipped meetings. Besides, dedication was important. That sort of obligation had given Sam’s life structure when she’d first discovered music. The precise day of her lessons had changed from home to home, but once the commitments were written on her mother’s master calendar, they’d been carved in stone. Music lessons had become the skeleton that Sam had relied on, the framework that had brought logic and order to the rest of her chaotic life.
The boy’s lower lip started to tremble. “All right,” he whispered. “Thank you, Miss Samantha.”
“Daniel!” She had to say something. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t see him dash away a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. “What is it?”
“I have baseball practice on Mondays and Wednesdays.”
Baseball practice . The two words were simple enough, but they were filled with emotions—dread and hatred and despair.
Sam shook her head and guided the boy toward a chair. “What’s wrong with baseball practice?”
Daniel shrugged.
“Are you not good enough for the team?”
He shook his head and refused to meet her eyes. Sam wasn’t a fool, though. She knew that if she waited, he’d be forced to fill the silence. Her own pulse beat loud in her ears, and she had to fight the temptation to shift from foot to foot. But her instincts were right. Daniel finally said, “I’m the best hitter we have. And I’m the best at second base, too.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
Another interminable wait. This time Sam nearly did break the silence; she couldn’t believe the boy would ever gather the wherewithal to speak. His eyes were filled with misery when he finally pulled his gaze from his tangled fingers. He whispered, “I’m not as good as Daddy.”
Her heart swelled with pity. “Daniel, your father is a grown man! He’s had years and years to become the baseball player he is today! I’m sure you’re better than he was, when he was ten years old.”
The boy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Daddy wants to play for the Rockets.”
“What team do you want to play for?”
Apparently, that was the wrong question. Daniel lost his valiant effort to keep his lower lip from trembling. Instead, tears broke over the
The end of the school day had a rhythm all its own, one that Sam remembered from a dozen different schools. That had been one constant, as her family moved from base to base, from country to country: children loved to break free at the end of the day. As the kids cascaded out of the auditorium, the volume of their chatter rose.
But out of all that jumble, a single dark shape made its way down the aisle, away from the door, from the corridor, from the boisterous joy from the end of the school day. Sam was collecting the left-over flyers, tapping them together into a single neat stack. Intent on keeping the corners from turning under, she barely looked up as the child came to stand before her.
“Miss Samantha?”
The voice was so small that she took an involuntary step forward. That was when she looked up, when she actually realized that the child in front of her was Daniel Thomas. She called out his name in pleased surprise.
“Miss Samantha, can I take music instead of math class?”
The boy was so serious, she had to fight not to laugh. “I’m sorry, Daniel. Musicall is an after-school activity.”
“But we learned about it during social studies, today.”
“Today was special. We’ll meet on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons for the next month.”
“But I can miss Mondays and Wednesdays, right?”
“No, Daniel. If you make a commitment to the program, you have to commit to being there all the time.” Each lesson built on the one before; kids would be lost if they skipped meetings. Besides, dedication was important. That sort of obligation had given Sam’s life structure when she’d first discovered music. The precise day of her lessons had changed from home to home, but once the commitments were written on her mother’s master calendar, they’d been carved in stone. Music lessons had become the skeleton that Sam had relied on, the framework that had brought logic and order to the rest of her chaotic life.
The boy’s lower lip started to tremble. “All right,” he whispered. “Thank you, Miss Samantha.”
“Daniel!” She had to say something. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t see him dash away a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand. “What is it?”
“I have baseball practice on Mondays and Wednesdays.”
Baseball practice . The two words were simple enough, but they were filled with emotions—dread and hatred and despair.
Sam shook her head and guided the boy toward a chair. “What’s wrong with baseball practice?”
Daniel shrugged.
“Are you not good enough for the team?”
He shook his head and refused to meet her eyes. Sam wasn’t a fool, though. She knew that if she waited, he’d be forced to fill the silence. Her own pulse beat loud in her ears, and she had to fight the temptation to shift from foot to foot. But her instincts were right. Daniel finally said, “I’m the best hitter we have. And I’m the best at second base, too.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
Another interminable wait. This time Sam nearly did break the silence; she couldn’t believe the boy would ever gather the wherewithal to speak. His eyes were filled with misery when he finally pulled his gaze from his tangled fingers. He whispered, “I’m not as good as Daddy.”
Her heart swelled with pity. “Daniel, your father is a grown man! He’s had years and years to become the baseball player he is today! I’m sure you’re better than he was, when he was ten years old.”
The boy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Daddy wants to play for the Rockets.”
“What team do you want to play for?”
Apparently, that was the wrong question. Daniel lost his valiant effort to keep his lower lip from trembling. Instead, tears broke over the
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