The volunteer stopped moving.
Jonathan’s eyebrows rose.
Malik immediately wished he had said nothing.
Then something stubborn held.
He continued.
“You don’t have to think I’m good.”
“I just mean you haven’t heard me yet.”
Jonathan stared.
Walter glanced toward several nearby staff members.
The situation had become uncomfortable.
Jonathan gave a short laugh.
“You are very confident.”
Malik shook his head.
“No.”
That surprised him.
Malik continued.
“I’m actually really nervous.”
He looked toward the piano.
“But that’s different.”
Walter studied the boy.
Then looked toward Jonathan.
“Come on.”
They walked away.
No apology.
No confrontation.
Just two important men returning to important work.
Malik remained beside the piano.
The volunteer approached.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at her.
“For what?”
“I should have checked your name first.”
Malik shrugged.
“It’s okay.”
She looked at him.
“Is it?”
He thought.
“Not really.”
She nodded.
Fair.
Then Nadine Foster appeared from the escalator.
She was fifty-four, Black, wearing a long brown coat over a red sweater and carrying enough sheet music to open a small library.
She saw Malik.
Then his face.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Nadine stopped.
“Try again.”
He sighed.
“Some people thought I wasn’t supposed to be here.”
“Were they rude?”
“Not exactly.”
“That is usually worse.”
Malik almost smiled.
Nadine put down her bag.
“Who?”
He pointed discreetly.
Walter and Jonathan stood near a sponsor banner speaking with television staff.
Nadine recognized both.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You did the face.”
“What face?”
“The adult face.”
“All adults have faces.”
“That is not an answer.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to say something?”
“No.”
“Do you want to play?”
Malik looked toward the piano.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Do not play at them.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Do not turn this into revenge.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were thinking it.”
Malik looked away.
Nadine knew him too well.
She continued.
“If you play to make those men feel stupid, you give them control over your tempo before you touch the first key.”
Malik stared.
“That sounds like something teachers say because they want children to be mature.”
“Yes.”
“Still true.”
He sighed.
Nadine smiled.
“Play the train.”
That was easier.
Southbound, 7:03 had started eighteen months earlier.
Every Tuesday, Darius took the Airport Line south from Center City before sunrise to reach a maintenance depot. Malik sometimes rode with him during school breaks.
He loved the sound of the train leaving the station.
The warning tone.
Doors.
Low mechanical vibration.
Then sudden movement.
The city sliding backward beyond the windows.
He began hearing intervals inside it.
A minor third in the door chime.
Repeated rhythms in the rails.
Long suspended chords in the sound of braking.
Nadine helped him turn fragments into structure.
The piece was only six minutes.
Not revolutionary.
Not impossible.
It had problems.
Nadine said the middle section repeated itself too much.
Malik said repetition was the point.