The Boy Behind the Counter

✑ chapter nine: tiny dancer

piano man, he makes his stand in the auditorium
looking on, she sings the songs: the words she knows, the tune she hums
but, oh, how it feels so real— lying here, with no one near
only you, and you can hear me when i say softly, slowly:
"hold me closer, tiny dancer / count the headlights on the highway
lay me down in sheets of linen / you had a busy day today"

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

"Please, she's so overrated! Lisista's good, but she plays like a computer."

"She does not! Playing with emotion doesn't have to mean looking like an idiot, like Perahia does! And Kempff skips half of the notes! You can go on and on about the emotion in a piece all you like, but it hardly counts for anything if you can't nail down the technical basics."

"Yeah, but speed isn't everything, either. Have you heard Lisista play the first movement? She barrels through it! Technical skill means very little if you can't understand the basic language of the piece!"

Miles sighed in annoyance. He had nothing to add.

He was in his music theory class, and the other pianists had asked about his orchestra audition. His mentioning that he played the Moonlight Sonata had caused an argument about whose version was best. It seemed that no one could agree. Armando's tapping of his podium brought the argument to a sudden stop.

"Now that I have your attention," he began teasingly, "I'd like to announce to those of you in our orchestra that we'll be increasing after-school practice to four times a week, in preparation for our upcoming performance at the local symphony theatre. I'll go over the details at this evening's practice."

Miles feebly began to raise his hand.

"And yes, Miles, that includes you. We'll be performing a piano concerto. You'll be informed of which later this evening."

Miles nodded, somewhat weakly, and felt one of the other students pat him on the back. As loud and obnoxious as they could be, the students here were kind. The other pianists at Prestige had scoffed and turned up their noses at him when he was selected for his first performance.

Within moments, Armando dismissed the class, and Miles made his way for the Literature building, where Ema, Maya, and Iris waited for him. He arrived early. As always, the girls had saved him a seat. Dahlia, thankfully, seemed to be busy preparing her latest victim— or, rather, talking to a boy who was interested in dating her. Phoenix had told Miles all about what happened to men who dared get too close to either of the Hawthorne girls, though he'd been curiously vague about how he'd come by the information in such intimate detail.

Ema forced Miles into his chair while Maya sat on the desk directly in front of him, wiggling back and forth. He'd made the mistake of sending her a brief text message on his way over. He wasn't sure why he'd felt compelled to do so.

"Tell us, tell us! How do you feel? What do you think you're gonna play? When can we come and see you?!"

Miles stopped her there.

"Coming to watch seems a bit, er, excessive—"

"It's not!" Ema insisted. "It's what friends do, silly! They support each other's endeavors! ...Besides, Iris is gonna be there, and so are Adrian and Franzy!"

Miles flinched at the mention of his 'sister'. Ema frowned. She always realized what she'd said just a moment too late to retract it.

"Has anyone spoken to her?" he asked tentatively. Franziska had been very busy recently. So much so that she had little time to spend with any of her "friends"— especially with how often her father had been calling her, or, allegedly, stopping by to check on her. She didn't seem to be intentionally avoiding anyone, but she hardly ever ate lunch with them anymore, and she hadn't tagged along for an outing in a while.