6

 

After the recital, there were snacks and juice in the lobby. Kind of like a reward to the audience for making it all the way through.

“I thought you were fantastic,” said Nana, chomping on a cookie.

“Thanks, Nana.”

She could tell I was upset, so she tried to cheer me up by smacking me on the head, which was kind of an unusual method. “What the matter? So you dropped the bow? I’m sure Casals dropped his bow all the time!” Pablo Casals was like the most famous cellist of all time, and I’m pretty sure he never dropped his bow in his entire life.

“I guess so,” I mumbled, more than ready to change the subject.

My mom and dad were a couple of feet away, talking to some other parents about how wonderful we all were. Eventually they made their way over to me.

My mom hugged me. “Fantastic, honey!”

My dad was smiling, but I could tell he was thinking about the bow incident. “Great job, Jack.”

“Sorry about the bow,” I said.

He shook his head. “Hey, it happens. You didn’t let it get to you; you plowed right through it. That takes guts. I’m proud of you.”

Then he hugged me, too. I felt like I had disappointed him, and I was mad at myself for caring that I disappointed him, but I hugged him back.

“Let’s get ice cream,” Nana announced, and I immediately felt better. Ice cream is a much better way to cheer up a grandson than a smack on the head, by the way.

On our way out we passed Lucy Fleck, surrounded by her family. Mrs. Fleck was taking pictures and shouting at her daughter, trying unsuccessfully to get her to smile. Lucy saw me and came over.

“I’m sorry you dropped your bow,” she said.

“Thanks. You were awesome tonight.”

“Thank you.” Lucy still didn’t smile. I’m not sure she knew how to smile. Maybe because Mrs. Fleck was her mother.

“LUCY, WE NEED YOU! EVERYONE WANTS A PICTURE OF THE STAR PIANIST!” shouted Mrs. Fleck.

“I have to go,” Lucy said to me, and went back to her mom.

Nana shook her head at Mrs. Fleck. “Something is wrong with that woman,” she announced, way too loudly.

My mom went white. “Mom, sshhh!”

My dad chuckled.

“What?” said Nana. “She’s a whack job, and I don’t care who knows it.”

Luckily, the whack job was too caught up in her daughter’s amazingness to hear a word my grandmother said.