Dell looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. "It absolutely does."
Over the next two weeks, a routine developed. Twice a week, Elijah would slip into the music room after detention or after school, spending an hour or more at the piano under Dell's gentle guidance. The old teacher didn't instruct so much as suggest, letting Elijah explore the instrument in his own way, while occasionally offering technical advice or historical context.
On the third such session, Dell placed an old leather-bound book on the piano. "I think you might find this interesting," he said. "It's a rare collection of compositions and techniques written by some of the jazz greats. People who transformed pain into beauty through their music."
Elijah opened the book carefully, its pages yellowed with age. Inside were handwritten notes, sheet music, and personal reflections from musicians whose names he recognized from his mother's old record collection.
"You'll find your mother in these pages," Dell said softly. "Not literally, of course, but in spirit. The same tradition, the same soul."
Elijah clutched the book like a treasure. "Can I borrow it?"
"It's yours," Dell replied. "I've had it long enough. Time for a new generation to learn from it."
That same afternoon, as Elijah was leaving the music room, he nearly collided with someone in the hallway. Stepping back, he found himself face to face with Alicia Tran, her violin case clutched in one hand.
"Sorry," they both said simultaneously.
Alicia recovered first. "You're Elijah, right? I didn't know you played piano."
Elijah nodded uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Alicia was Lincoln Heights' star music student: first-chair violin in the orchestra and winner of numerous competitions. Her father was a music professor at the local university, and rumor had it she was already being courted by Juilliard.
"I heard you," she continued, gesturing toward the music room. "Just now. What you played... it was insane." Her dark eyes were alight with genuine enthusiasm. "You've got to do the talent show."
Elijah felt his chest tighten at the mere suggestion. "No, I... I just mess around. It's not performance ready."
"Are you kidding? That improvisation was better than half the conservatory students I know." She tilted her head, studying him. "Why don't you ever play for anyone?"
The question hit too close to home. Images flashed through Elijah's mind: the community center stage, the laughter, his mother's face.
"I have to go," he muttered, pushing past her and heading down the hallway at a brisk pace.