Joshua nodded, then shaded his eyes against the setting sun. “Can I come along and listen?”
My heart thumped. He was so pretty to look at, with his brown hair all golden in the setting sun, I didn’t know what to do. The only boys I’d been around were my own brothers. And now here was Joshua Johnson.
“What do I care?” I said. But I did care. I did. There was Joshua with those warm-looking eyes of his and that cute face and Look how tall he is, I thought, way taller than me, and he looks so good in that plaid shirt and those blue jeans.
Don’t look at those blue jeans.
You looked at his blue jeans.
I reached for the Fellowship Hall door, but Joshua caught it first and opened it for me. He motioned for me to go ahead.
I did with a flounce, but my foot caught on nothing and I stumbled forward.
Just get to the piano without falling and breaking a bone, I thought. Just make it to the piano.
I could hear some boys playing basketball in the gym, could hear the squeak of their tennis shoes on the floor and the echoey pounding of the ball.
“You look pretty today, Kyra,” Joshua said. He opened another door for me and we stood in the near darkness of the Assembly Room.
I looked toward the piano. Just make it there, I thought. He is so cute. So cute.
“Want me to catch the lights?” he said.
“If you’d like,” I said. I sat down at the piano, my legs shaking so I wasn’t sure I could work the pedals.
The fluorescent lights overhead flickered on and a low buzz filled the room.
Joshua pulled a seat up near the piano bench.
I flipped open Beethoven. Why, I was so nervous my eyes couldn’t make out even one note at first. My fingers trembled and for a moment I wasn’t sure if I could even feel them. It was like I was numb. I ran through scales once.
“That was good, Kyra,” Joshua said. And then he grinned.
A little laugh slipped from me. “I’m just warming up.”
“Play something,” he said.
At first my fingers wouldn’t work. Then, as I played Beethoven, I almost forgot Joshua was sitting right there.
Almost.
Oh, all right. I snuck quick peeks at him the whole time we were together.
And every time, he was looking right back at me.
“You’re good,” he said when I’d finished my practice. He nodded toward the piano.
“I know it,” I said. I wasn’t being stuck up. That’s a sin, to think you’re better at something than another person. But the fact is, I know I’m better than any of The Chosen Ones so I wasn’t being a braggart.
Joshua raised his eyebrows. “And modest,” he said.
I shrugged and my brain all on its own thought, I cannot believe someone like you is talking with me. You smell so good.
“It takes a lot of work to succeed at this,” I said. “A lot of practice. And I want to be good.” I waved my hand over the piano, then turned back to the score. Leaning in close to the music, I made marks on the page. Here, here, and here I needed more intensity. Here, I needed less dynamics.
“I want to learn.” Joshua stood and moved right next to me. He hit the low E note. The sound thumped in the room.
“Sister Georgia teaches,” I said, not even glancing at him, my heart thumping like that low note. “Talk to her. Tell your mother. I’m sure she has time for you.”
“My mother?” Joshua asked.
“Of course your mother,” I said. I was grinning now. “And Sister Georgia.”
“But I want to learn from you,” Joshua said. He stood behind me now. I could feel his knees in my back. Bony and warm.
Sun broke through the stained-glass window, coloring the air. I could smell the wood oil used to polish the piano. Could hear the boys playing basketball a room over, calling to one another.
His hand rested on my shoulder and my body was flooded with unexpected happiness.
“What?” I should run, run, get away from this sin. Get away. But the bigger part of me wanted to relax into Joshua.
“You’re good. You said so yourself. Think you could teach me?”
His hand. His knees. My confused state. I wanted to turn around and hug him. Where were these thoughts coming from?
“Maybe. Maybe, I can.” I’m not sure how I got the words out. “I gotta go.” I pushed the bench back and struggled to make my legs work. Joshua and I walked across the room. His hands were shoved in his pockets.
“Now, Kyra,” he said. We were at the door getting ready to walk into what seemed to me the real world. “What will you charge for lessons?” His face was just a few inches from mine.
I couldn’t find my voice. Then I said, “I’m not sure. What do you think is fair?”
Our faces were so close I could feel his breath on my lips.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said at last.
A CHILLING BREEZE blows across the desert. All around me life has settled in for the night.
I drag an old chair, one I have used at this window, close to the trailer.
I know he sleeps in this room with three other boys. I’ve never gone to him unless we have planned it first, so he’s awake. Usually Joshua comes to my place. Or leaves me a message under a rock in my garden and we meet in the dark near the Temple.
But I have to talk to him. I have to.
“Joshua,” I say, whispering through the screen that smells of dust. “Joshua.”
My voice is so low, I’m sure he cannot hear it. And I’m shaking. All over shaking. My shin hurts.
“Joshua,” I say, his name louder this time and it sounds like thunder. Good grief! Whisper or scream? Choose one, Kyra.
Somebody in the room moves, I can hear them.
“Joshie,” someone says. Maybe it’s Bryant? The voice is young, not more than two or three. “Joshie, somebody wants you outside.” There’s a pause and then, “I’m scared.”
I should leap down from this chair and take off running, but what worse can happen to me than already has—already will? What can be worse than Uncle Hyrum as my husband? So I wait, still.
“Don’t be scared,” Joshua says and his voice fills my shaking stomach with relief. “I’m right here.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. He’s said those very words to me.
THE NEXT DAY AFTER JOSHUA stood so close to me and asked for piano lessons, I found Father. He was coming in from the alfalfa fields, sweaty from the sun and hard work.
“Father,” I said before I lost my nerve, “Joshua Johnson wants to learn how to play the piano. May I teach him?” I couldn’t quite look my father in the eye. So I stared at the mark his hat left in his hair when he took it off and wiped his face dry.
He considered. “Joshua Johnson?” he said. “Where?”
“In the Fellowship Hall. On the old Kawai.”
My father, so trusting, who had no idea I had been a moment away from a kiss, nodded and said, “Take Emily with you. Make sure your own music’s done. And your chores.”
“Yes sir,” I said. Had he noticed my pink face? Did he see me blushing?
So I took Emily. She sang the simple notes Joshua played, her voice always right on key. Her voice like a butterfly, fluttering in the air above our heads.