“And,” I go on, skipping right over his correction, “as long as there was a piano in the general area, you would rush over to play it like it was your own private concert.” At this, the muscles in his face relax enough for his mouth to twitch. “I had no idea that you watched me.” “Like, once.” Or a dozen times. It was one of the only occasions when he wasn’t pestering me at school. When he wasn’t causing any trouble at all, but completely focused, his boyish features serious, his fingers elegant and swift over the black and white keys. He played piano like it was obvious, like every note
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