Maya stood outside the fancy restaurant and watched people eat through the big glass windows. Her stomach made loud noises. She had not eaten anything for two days. The smell of food came through the door every time someone walked in or out; it made her feel even more hungry.
The restaurant was called Bella Vista. It had white tablecloths and shiny glasses. People inside wore nice clothes and laughed as they ate.
Maya looked down at her own clothes. Her jeans had holes in them. Her shirt was too big and had stains on it. Her shoes had tape holding them together. Maya touched the small bag she carried. Inside were some old papers with music written on them; they were the only things she had left from her old life. She held the bag close to her chest.
A man in a suit walked past her. He looked at her with disgust and moved away quickly. Maya was used to people looking at her like that. When you live on the street, people think you are dangerous or dirty; they don't want to be near you. But Maya was not dangerous. She was just hungry and tired.
She had been sleeping in doorways and under bridges. Sometimes she found food in garbage cans behind stores. Sometimes kind people gave her money or food, but not very often.
Maya watched a family inside the restaurant. They were eating pasta and bread. The children were laughing; the parents were smiling. Maya remembered when she used to eat dinner with her family. That felt like a long time ago now.
She walked closer to the window. Inside, she could see something that made her heart beat faster: in the corner of the restaurant, there was a black piano. It looked old and dusty. No one was playing it; some people had put their coats on top of it.
Maya knew about pianos. She had played piano since she was very small. Her father had taught her. He said she had magic in her fingers; he said she could make the piano sing. But that was before everything went wrong—before her father died, before her mother got sick, before they lost their house, before Maya ended up alone on the streets.
Maya stood there for a long time, just looking at the piano. She imagined sitting at it and playing music. She imagined her fingers touching the keys and making beautiful sounds. She imagined people listening and smiling.
Then Maya made a decision. She was going to go inside and ask if she could play the piano. Maybe they would give her some food if she played music for them. Maybe they would be kind.
Maya pushed open the heavy door of the restaurant. A bell rang as she walked in. The warm air hit her face; it smelled like garlic and bread and soup. Her stomach made another loud noise.
Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at her. Their faces changed when they saw her dirty clothes and messy hair. Some people frowned. Others whispered to each other. A few people looked angry.