Jonathan nodded.
“Oh.”
Again.
That small word adults used when they believed a category had been successfully filled.
Employee’s son.
Walter looked toward Malik.
“Young man.”
Malik looked up.
“Yes, sir?”
“We’re going to need the immediate stage area clear.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Malik remained where he was.
Walter waited.
Malik looked around.
He was outside the taped area.
Perhaps eight feet from the piano.
Walter pointed toward a row of benches.
“You can wait over there.”
Malik frowned slightly.
“Why?”
Walter seemed surprised by the question.
“Because this area is for performers and event staff.”
Malik looked at the green volunteer.
Then Walter.
“I’m performing.”
Walter’s expression changed.
Not belief.
Confusion.
“What group?”
“Myself.”
Jonathan smiled.
It was not openly mocking.
Still, Malik recognized it.
“Piano?”
he asked.
“Yes.”
Jonathan looked toward Walter.
“Maybe they have student volunteers before the actual program.”
Malik’s face tightened.
“I’m in the actual program.”
The volunteer finally checked the clipboard clipped beneath her headset.
“What’s your name?”
“Malik Carter.”
She ran one finger down the page.
Stopped.
Her expression shifted.
“Oh.”
Walter noticed.
“What?”
She looked up.
“He’s on the eleven o’clock set.”
Malik corrected:
“Ten forty-five.”
She checked.
“Yes.”
“Ten forty-five.”
Walter looked toward Malik again.
Different now.
Slightly.
“What are you playing?”
“A piece I wrote.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows.
“You wrote something?”
Malik nodded.
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
Jonathan smiled.
“Well.”
He turned toward Walter.
“That should be charming.”
Malik heard the word.
Charming.
Not difficult.
Not serious.
Not good.
Charming.
Walter asked:
“What is the piece?”
“Southbound, 7:03.”
Jonathan laughed softly.
“What does that mean?”
“The train.”
“What train?”
“Airport Line.”
Jonathan nodded as though the answer confirmed his expectation of something childish.
“Ah.”
Malik looked toward him.
“You haven’t heard it.”
Jonathan stopped.
“What?”
“You’re deciding already.”
Walter’s face tightened.
“Careful.”
Malik felt his stomach drop.
Not because he thought he had done something terrible.
Because he knew that word.
Careful.
Adults used it when a child had said something accurate in the wrong direction.
Malik lowered his eyes.
“Sorry.”
Jonathan adjusted his cuff.
“No harm done.”
Then he smiled.
“I’m sure you’ll do great.”
There it was again.
The voice adults used before school talent shows.
Malik looked toward the piano.
Then at the men.
“Can you wait?”
Walter frowned.
“For what?”
“Before deciding what I can do.”
Silence.