I run in out of breath. “Sorry I’m late, I’m here.”

“I’m glad you made it. Where were you?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I was ‘hanging out,’ I think they call it, with Tanasia, Lara, and Spike.”

“No, you weren’t,” Dr. K says with a grin.

“I was!”

“My goodness. What a week it’s been. What happened?”

“I don’t know where to begin. We started talking?”

“Wow, Sparrow. So, I’m guessing you know where they’re from?”

“Well, Tanasia is from Brooklyn, obviously. We’re going to the same high school next year. Spike is from upstate. She’s gay, and it’s awful for her there, so her parents send her here every year. Lara is from Connecticut. Her parents send her to fat camp every summer, but this year her music teacher convinced them to let her come here. She eats frozen yogurt at every meal. We all love Janelle Monáe. Spike and I love Nina Simone, and I played her Patti Smith.”

“Huh. Sounds like a band to me. How’s it feel?”

“Good?”

“Is that a question?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m still not used to it. It’s not like I’m talking to anyone other than these three people, but … ”

“It’s a start, don’t you think?”

“I think it might be. It’s hard to trust it. But I think I might be having fun. That’s new.”

“The girl I met in February didn’t know how to have fun.”

“It’s cool when it’s not scary.”

“A start.”

“Yeah. It’s crazy that next week is our last week. Next time I talk to you it’ll be in person.”

“How does that feel?”

“You are such a therapist.”

“Humor me.”

“It’s kind of hard to imagine past the show Sunday.”

“That’s the finale, right? You guys have a show?”

“Yeah, all the parents, all the kids, all the teachers, everyone. They even sell tickets to the community, like people who are up from the city come, the college kids in town, everyone.”

“Is your mom coming?”

“Yeah, Mom, Aunt Joan, and my cousin, Curtis.”

“Wow.”

“Ugh.”

“Fair enough. What are you going to play?”

“Well, we were having trouble getting started on a song, and then three days ago Lara comes in and she’s like, I found the most amazing poem. She woke up with it pressed against her window. She loves this poem, but it’s just the first three lines, and she wants to use it to start our song. So we get up every day at lunch and make this big announcement, like, ‘Who wrote this poem? We love it and we want to use it in our song,’ but no one has come forward.”

“Because it’s yours?”

“How did you know?”

“Part of the job.”

“Yeah, it’s mine. I was writing on my balcony and it fell to the ground right before curfew. I checked in the morning, but it was gone.”

“And you didn’t tell them?”

“Look, I asked some people where they were from and listened to a few songs with my roommate; I didn’t become a different person. Of course I didn’t tell them!”

“Are you going to?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But you guys wrote a whole song based on your poem?”

“Based on three lines, yeah.”

“I’m sure they’d like to know.”

“Maybe, but I have to get through Sunday first.”

“Will you tell me the lines?”

“Fine. It’s just the few lines. It’s I’m feeling restless, reckless, like flying up at night and never coming down.”

“Sounds like a pretty good start.”

“Not really, I couldn’t get the poem to go anywhere. I was going to throw it out, but now it’s the first verse of our song.”

“Well, I think it’s a pretty great accident. I hope you tell them someday.”

“We’ll see. I don’t need any bird questions, you know?”

“If they picked the poem, it sounds like they already know.”

“You think they know?” I hear the tremble in my voice. My face is hot.

“I don’t mean literally, but, Sparrow, if they picked the poem, it’s because something in it spoke to them. You’re not the only person who’s felt restless or reckless or like flying away and never coming down. You might be the only one in the band who’s experienced it, but they’re trying to tell you they know what that feels like and they feel that way too.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s human. I don’t think there’s a person on the planet who hasn’t felt that way. It might not lead them up to a rooftop, but when people hear your song, watch for the nodding heads. It’s not because of the beat, or at least not only because of the beat, it’s because they know exactly what you mean. You know that feeling, I know you do, when someone else says how you thought only you felt? You’re giving that to people, you’ve already given it to the band, and on Sunday you’ll give it to a few more.”

“A few.”

“Deep breath. You’ll be great.”

“Okay.”

“Next time I talk to you, it’ll already be over.”

“Okay, right. Good.”

“Sparrow, one more thing: Even if you can only do it for a minute, try not to fly away during the show. Stay there. You owe it to yourself, and you owe it to them.”

“I can’t fly anymore.”

“You know what I mean. No checking out, no hiding in the bushes. Be there. You won’t want to miss it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I’ll see you next week.”