Katie is excited about some new pieces her school choir has been working on, until a girl named Mia starts making fun of her.

Read part 1 of this story here.

The next several days, we worked again at the music, and Mia was always waiting for me at the backpack table as we went out. She always had something to say. According to Mia, not only could I not sing, but I couldn’t read music, I couldn’t say things the right way, I couldn’t dress right, I was stupid, and I was a showoff.

Which exactly matched the way I was feeling when I walked into the classroom the Monday afterwards. This time, I thought, it would be different. I wouldn’t sing so loudly. Mia would have nothing to say, because I really was stupid and couldn’t sing. We worked through the pieces. The choir was making improvement. I barely moved my mouth.

We all gathered at the backpack table to get our stuff. Mia said as she passed me, “You still can’t sing, loser.”

I walked out of the classroom. “Katie Fischer.” It was Miss Whitley. I turned slowly and dragged myself up to the piano, where she sat arranging music.

“What has happened to your voice, Katie?” she asked. “You used to be such a lovely singer. But today, I barely heard you.” She looked up at me and shrugged, a question on her face.

“I had a sore throat.” I said quietly.

“A sore throat.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m supposed to believe it?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” She turned to me and kind of half smiled with her eyebrows raised.

“Can I go now?” I asked because I wanted to leave and we weren’t really doing anything productive right then. Also, I didn’t want to talk about Mia.

“Not just yet. I want you to hear one of my latest projects.” She put her hands on the beautiful shining ivory keys of the piano and played Beethoven’s Minuet in G. I had heard it several times before, but still enjoyed it. When she had played the last solemnly bouncing chord, she turned to me.

“That was nice,” I said, less nervous. “I like that piece.”

She just sat there, kind of nodding and looking at her sheet music. Then she hopped up from the bench. “Have you ever played?”

“I used to.” My dad got lessons for me a few years ago. We quit them when we moved, when he got sick.

“Would you like to now?” She moved away from the piano bench so I could sit down.

“I should really go, I’m late for class…” I wandered away from her.

“Katie!”

“I don’t want to be late.”

And you would think that this reason, the part of me that doesn’t want to be late, made me get out of her classroom. But that’s not true. I just really, really didn’t want to think about my dad right now. Because when I asked my mom if he would get better last night, she smiled her extra-cheery smile.

I hopped into Miss Whitley’s class during second period that next day. I was feeling good. We were making excellent progress on the three pieces and should have them down perfectly by the time the Neighborhood Outdoor Event rolled around.

“Backpacks on the table! Get in your places! Come on, come on, you guys,” said Miss Whitley, almost like she said the same thing every time she taught choir, which she probably did. “The faster we get started, the more we learn! Ashley, switch sides with Jessica…thank you, thank you. Hi, Katie.”

I froze halfway through the door. The flooding torrent of teacher’s words had never been directed at me, and I was surprised.

“The Fischerman is back,” sniffed Mia and her clan.

I didn’t bother to tell them that Fischer had a C in it and fisher didn’t. Miss Whitley went to the side of the piano, her hand on its shiny surface.

“I would like to address you on two matters. First, you are progressing well. I am very proud of some of my choir members. You have grown as a musician in more ways than one. Second, as you may have noticed, one of our pieces has an opportunity for a solo. I have been listening closely to your singing, each one of you, at the beginning of the year, and have been thinking hard about who will do it. I have reached a conclusion.” She paused and looked out over the sea of heads. I trembled. How I wanted that solo!

“I’m sure it was me,” said Mia, way too loudly.

“It was not you, Mia. It was Katie.”

Not Mia. Is Katie.

Is Katie.

Katie.

“Yahoo!” I yelled, and catapulted myself into the air.

Miss Whitely smiled. “Come tomorrow during lunch and we’ll go over it.”

“No!” yelled Mia. “You made a mistake!”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get it, Mia, but this solo is best fitted for Katie this time. There will be more opportunities.”

I ran all the way home that evening. I was so excited! So happy! And my mom was going to be so proud of me, and my dad… My dad will be proud, too. He will.

“Guess what!” I yelled as soon as my head was though the front door. “Guess what!” My mother didn’t answer. Okay, I thought, she was in the bathroom or something. I walked into the living room.

Silence.

My mother was sitting on the armchair in the living room. She stared blankly at me.

“Guess what!” I said.

The stillness of her posture, of the room, of the wind which suddenly died, creeped me out.

“Guess what?”

“Who are you?” she asked.”

I laughed faintly. This was the weirdest joke! “Oh, Mom, you know who I am! I’m Katie!”

“Why are you in this house?”

“This is my home.”

“I still don’t know who you are.”

My stomach flip-flopped. “You forgot me?”

“Leave this house. I don’t know you.”

I backed up.

“Leave now.”

I closed the front door behind me, acting on the impulse of doing what people tell me to do, not realizing, not understanding.

What had happened to my mother?

To be continued!