"Well, you don't know if you want to play piano until you try. You might find the experience wonderful, and you might make such progress so quickly, you'll get excited about it yourself," he reasoned. "You're a very intelligent young lady, Brooke. I'm sure you can understand my point."
I was silent a moment, and then I caught my breath and turned to him, the tears still burning beneath my eyelids.
"I hit a home run in gym class today," I said. "It was a grand slam."
"Really?" he said, his eyes widening. "A grand slammer?"
"Uh-huh. And it was my first time at bat ever at the new school. The coach asked me to be on the team. She needs a pitcher, and I always used to be the pitcher at my old school," I told him.
"Is that right?"
"The team practices every day after school. The next game is only a week away. Every practice is important for me."
"I see. And you told Pamela this?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting as his eyes filled with concern. "Yes."
"Now I understand," he said, nodding. He rose and walked to the window, paused there for a moment, and then turned and walked toward the door. "What if I could arrange for your piano lessons early in the evening after dinner' Do you think you could manage all that and your homework, too?"
"Yes," I said quickly, even though I had no idea if I could.
"It would only have to be this way until softball season ends," he explained, and I could tell he was still figuring out how to make it sound good to Pamela.
"But I thought the professor was doing us a favor and was only available after school," I said.
Peter winked. "We'll negotiate," he answered. "It's what I do for a living. The secret is never to panic but to step back, take a breath, and look for new doors through which you can enter the same house. This way, you get to be on the team, Pamela is satisfied that she is doing the best for you, and the professor is happier, too. I'll make sure of that. Sound good?"
I nodded. "Great. Then don't worry about it. Most of the time, we make our problems seem bigger than they are. When we look at them calmly, we realize that most of our dragons are created in our own imaginations. I want to hear more about that home run later," he said at the door. He gave me a big smile again and left.
I sighed with relief. I was lucky having someone like him for a father, I thought. No wonder he is so successful. He thinks of solutions and ideas so fast. He could probably even be president of the United States.
At dinnertime, however, I was still very nervous. Pamela sat with her lips firm, her back straight and stiff. I took my seat quietly, afraid to look at her, because when I did, she shot angry glances at me.
"Everything's arranged with Professor Wertzman," Peter said happily.
"I'm still owed an apology for poor behavior," Pamela muttered, her eyes lifting to focus on me. "Especially poor behavior in front of someone like Professor Wertzman. He goes from one important family home to another, and I wouldn't want him speaking poorly of us."
"He knows better than to do that, Pamela," Peter said.
"That's not the point."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I was just upset. It came as such a surprise."
"Here I am trying to do the best things for you," she whined, "and you make me look like a fool."
"I'm sorry," I said again.
"Everything's fine now," Peter said. "Let's just enjoy a great dinner and hear about Brooke's first day at Agnes Fodor."
"She could have had her first lesson today," Pamela said in a lower voice, retreating like a car engine puttering to a stop.
"She'll make up for it, I'm sure," Peter said. "Tell us about the school, Brooke."
I described my classes, teachers, and some of the students. Pamela was m
ost interested in whom I was making friends with. She wanted to know about their families, but I didn't know much about anyone else's family, and I couldn't give her the information she wanted.
"You should ask more questions," she told me.
"Show that you're interested in them. Even if you don't really listen," she added.