The music teacher perked. The two gym teachers were immediately ready to bark, but she raised her hands like the conductor she’d wanted to be as a child, and silenced them.
She fixed her eyes on the husky piano dropper. “You know why you dropped my piano?”
“Well, we were horsing around…”
“You dropped it because it wasn’t built to be lifted. It was built to be played delicately and passionately. To be tuned and polished. Actually it was built far more with polish in mind than lifting in mind.”
The gym teachers looked as baffled as the boy piano dropper.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, unable to look her in the eyes. “Are you going to kill me over this?”
She rose and swept the triscuit crumbs from her skirt. “No, I’m not going to kill you. You are a teenager, and a big one, but not big enough to lift a piano by yourself. You came here alone. That means you’re the only one who’s responsible who came to fess up, and before we even knew something was wrong. Now, come on. Show me where you dropped it.”
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