could be coming about.
He’d stopped playing.
His fingers were frozen on the strings. His mouth was still open on the last word he’d sung. He was staring at the back of the gym, and his face had gone white.
The music teacher, Mr. Lowe, half rose from the piano bench. Principal Whitfield stepped away from the wall with her hand already out, like she was going to stop them, or ask them to wait, or ask them what on earth they were doing interrupting a Father’s Day assembly in
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