Honey (Shooting Stars 4)

"Never mind, you will," he said.

I couldn't remember the two of us having a more warm and wonderful conversation. It did help me to regain my composure, and that night. I played the violin better than I had for weeks. When I looked out the window. I saw Uncle Simon had come to his. I couldn't see the expression on his face, only his big body was silhouetted in the frame. but I knew that he was wearing a smile. I could feel it even across the yard.

I never stopped mourning the death of Uncle Peter, but in the days that followed my quiet conversation with Daddy at the pond. I felt myself emerging from the darkness and looking forward to the light. I began to talk more at school, cared more about my appearance, and practiced my violin with greater determination. Mr. Wengrow was very pleased with my progress and told me so.

One day he made a surprising proposal.

"I have another student I tutor. He's a pianist, and I think it might be of great benefit to you both if you practiced some music together. I don't know if it's possible. but I would suggest you come to my home to do so. I have a piano there. What do you think of the idea?

"Actually." he said before I could respond, "the two of you are my most exciting and promising students. I would want to give you both extra help and not charge you for it. I wouldn't be in this work if I didn't have a passion for it and I didn't get great satisfaction out of finding students like yourself and Chandler,'" he added,

"Chandler? You don't mean Chandler Maxwell?" I asked.

Chandler Maxwell was a very wealthy boy in my class whom everyone considered to be the poster boy for being stuck-up. Except for some geeky younger boys who seemed to idolize him, he had no friends whatsoever. He came to school in a shirt and tie, with his hair trimmed almost military style and his slacks perfectly creased. There wasn't a single school activity that appeared to interest him. He didn't belong to any team, any group, any club. Everyone had the feeling he was looking down on their efforts, and everyone wondered why he didn't attend some expensive private school anyway.

Apparently, his father, who was president of one of the local banks, didn't believe in sending him to a private school. He had succeeded with a public school education and his son should do the same was the philosophy he preached to anyone who asked.

Most of us knew Chandler played piano. There were times when he played it at school, and the choral teacher and the band instructor both tried to get him to participate in their concerts, but he steadfastly refused, simply shaking his head with a smirk that suggested he thought their suggestion was ridiculous.

Naturally, the other boys mocked him, teased him, even tried to get him to fight, but he never did. If I could say anything on his behalf it was that he had remarkable self-control and the ability to more anyone and anything that displeased him.

He was not bad-looking, either. There were occasions when I stared at him and his eyes met mine, but he always made me feel guilty, made me feel as if I had stolen a look at a forbidden subject. I know I turned crimson and shifted my eyes away guiltily, and then chastised myself for being so interested, even for an instant. I wanted to hate him and despise him as much as all my friends did. But something kept me from doing that, something kept me stealing glances.

"Yes," Mr. Wenrow said. "Chandler Maxwell I've already discussed the possibility with him and he is willing, especially after I described your talent."

"Maybe he won't think I'm so talented once he hears me play," I said.

"Chandler respects my opinion on such matters, Honey. He wouldn't be working with me otherwise, believe me. He's a very opinionated and an

extraordinarily self-confident young man. Personally, I think he has musical genius."

I raised my eyebrows. I knew Chandler was a good student, but not within the top ten students in my class. He was in all of my classes-- including my language class, even though I suspected he didn't have any interest in taking Spanish. He always looked so bored, but took it because there was a language requirement. Whenever he was asked to pronounce or recite something, he did it so softly Mrs. Howard had to ask him to repeat it, and eventually would give up on him.

"I don't know," I said.

The idea was intriguing, but at the same time frightening. What if he made fun of me? I knew how sarcastic he could be. Most of the boys who jeered him didn't even understand his comebacks and how degrading and nasty they were. When that happened, I could see the self-satisfaction in his eyes. If he caught me looking at him. He tightened his lips and narrowed his eves with suspicion, as if he was afraid I might expose him.

"Well, would you like me to speak to your mother about it?" Ms. Wengrow asked. "Because of her background, she has a real appreciation for good music."

"I don't know," I repeated.

"Well, let me mention it and then you and your family can discuss it. I suppose there would be some consideration about getting you to my home and back."

"I have my license," I said quickly. "I've been driving since I was ten. actually. On the farm. I mean. I'm sure I could use my daddy's pickup.'

I realized I was solving problems

enthusiastically. I did want to do this.

"Fine. We'll talk about it in more detail next time I come," he said.

Before he left, he did talk to Mommy and Daddy. Grandad was present, but made no comments, unless we counted his grunt.

"It sounds like a good opportunity," Mommy told in later that night. "Mr. Wengrow's so excited about it, he says he won't charge for the added time. What do you think. Honey?"

"I guess I could try to see how it goes," I offered.

Daddy looked pleased and nodded.