My mother sets the timer on the piano and I sit on the piano bench with my practice book. First I do scales and then stupid little songs about snow flakes and rain drops. When the buzzer goes off, I bolt from the piano.
“You could at least finish the song,” my mother says in her disappointed voice.
“I hate practicing,” I say as I open the refrigerator.
“But playing the piano will make you popular,” my mother says. Lord knows I want to be popular. I want to be Cookie Jones because all the boys love her. I wonder if she plays the piano but she never talks to me.
I ask my piano teacher if I can play the songs I hear on the radio. Miss Wurzburg says I’m not ready. Miss Wurzburg has dyed red hair under her little felt hat and lives alone with four cats.
“If Miss Wurzburg was so popular, why didn’t she get married?” I ask my mother.
After a long silence, she says, “If you want to stop at the end of this year, you can.”
And I do.
