I wore a white organdy dress, white shoes, and thin, high white socks. Mom tied and retied a blue ribbon that held my hair out of my eyes, and she dabbed a bit of pale pink gloss on my lips. Dad rubbed it off with a handkerchief. "Do you want me to leave right now and take Tess with me?"

I tugged on his hand. "Please stop being mad. I'm going to play really good."

We were getting ready in a classroom a few doors down from the auditorium where I'd perform. People passed by, looked in, and waved.

Mom waved back. "Oh," she said, "the Smith-Callahans have come," and "Dear Mrs. Breyley is here with her cronies."

When she took me down the hall to use the women's room a last time, we found it full of more ladies that Mom knew, and they all told me how sweet I looked.

Then the bathroom emptied, and then die corridor and Mom said, "Three o'clock!"

She led me around a back way into die recital hall, into a space hidden from the audience. Out on the brightly lit stage, Mrs. Armitage already sat at the grand piano. Mr. Capianelli strode out and introduced himself and then began talking about me and the music I was going to present.

Mom straightened my dress and said, "Play your best. Don't forget to smile." She gave me a little push when Mr. Capianelli gestured for me to join him. "I'm counting on you."

People applauded, and then Mr. Capianelli left the stage. I raised my violin and nodded to Mrs. Armitage to begin, just the way we'd practiced.

I played with my eyes mostly closed, because that was how I listened best. Sometimes, though, I watched my fingers flying through especially hard parts. Once I glimpsed pleased feces and understood that the audience liked my music. I felt glad, because I liked it, too.

Actually, I loved it. This was the most gorgeous, shining violin music I knew, and I played every note the very best I could. The lovely sounds carried me along and made me forget everything else. Except that there was a moment in a pause between two sections when I glimpsed the audience again. For an instant it was as if I could see what they were seeing: me in my white dress, so carefully positioning my bow for the next downstroke.

And then it was time to play again, and I closed my eyes.

When I was finished—after the final notes faded away—everything was silent for a moment. Then people began clapping, and the clapping grew louder A camera flashed, and Mom put a big bouquet of pink roses in my arms. With my violin they made a lot to hold on to, but I held them close and smelled how sweet they were.

Then we went out to the front lobby, where everybody was sipping fruit punch and nibbling on little cookies. They lined up to tell my parents and Mr. Capianelli and me what a pleasure my performance had been. Mr. Dreyden, my very first violin teacher gave me a big hug "You played beautifully," he said.

I asked why his eyes were shiny. "Are they?" he asked. "Must be hay fever."

Even after we went out to the parking lot, people kept saying nice things. One man called me a "dear little wunderkind" and said he'd like to hear just one more piece. I thought he was asking me to play again, but Mom covered my hands with hers and shook her head. If she hadn't, I might have taken out my violin and played a whole second recital, I was that wound up.

"WHAT DOES wunderkind mean?" I asked.

"It means you did yourself proud," Dad answered, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

"It's a German word," Mom told me. "It means 'wonder child.' That's you, Tessie. Our wonder child."

"How about stopping for an ice cream cone?" Dad asked. "I'll treat to two toppings."

"Not in her good dress," Mom answered.

Anyway, I wasn't hungry even for ice cream. My stomach still twirled with excitement, and I felt like I did after a whole day of going on rides at the county fair: tired but full of happiness.

That night, when Mom and Dad came in to turn my light out, I asked, "What was that word again? The one about how wonderful I was?"

Dad frowned. "Tessie, you mustn't—" he began, but Mom cut him off.

"Wunderkind," she said. "You're our darling little wunderkind who amazes everyone."

Wunderkind. I went to sleep trying on the word, and the next morning, I learned another word that meant almost the same thing I found it in a newspaper that had been put at my place at the breakfast table. It was opened up to a photo showing people clapping and me hanging on to my violin and the roses. Mom read the caption with me: "Child prodigy Tess Thaler nine, delights an audience with her grown-up skills."

Wunderkind. Prodigy. Me.