Cressida sat, much like before, in the big chair off to the side, while Sasha had her lesson. She watched as Graham showed his pupil what to play, then went over it again and again. Sasha was never going to be a pianist, probably.

"Is she your girlfriend?" Sasha asked shyly when introduced to Cressida.

"No, she's my upstairs neighbor," Graham responded with a laugh.

"She's really pretty."

"She is, isn't she? Now, how are we doing with the Burgmüller?"

This was a whole new Graham, one she'd never seen before. He was not impatient at all, he was funny, making little jokes, with none of the pent up anger and resentment he so frequently displayed.

And Sasha was obviously in love with him from the depths of her twelve-year-old heart. She looked at him adoringly, leaning into him as far as she dared when he showed her some tricky fingering, or how to cross over.

Graham seemed to be oblivious to the unrequited love being heaped on him.

"You get it, Sasha? See how if you lower your wrist, you have more room? It needs to be relaxed, so you can hit the key just with the strength of your fingers, not your arms." He picked up her wrist and shook it back and forth. "Let all the tension out, wiggle wiggle wiggle, okay?"

Sasha giggled as he released her hand.

"Now feel my forearm, how relaxed it is? Later, when you play really powerful pieces, you might need to flex a little, but for now, your strength has to come from your fingers."

Sasha nodded, staring at him, hands on his arms.

"Look at my fingers, not my face, silly," Graham admonished.

Cressida, watching from the chair, felt sympathy for Sasha, who looked down, embarrassed. Her hair, cut in a simple bob, hung down, obscuring her face, but Cressida could still see the flush in her cheeks.

Eventually, her lesson finished, Sasha packed up her books and left, throwing a last, lovelorn glance over her shoulder. "Thanks for the lesson, Graham, see you next week."

"Bye Sasha."

Cressida shook her head as Graham grabbed some water. "Poor little thing."

"Oh, I know, she's having a terrible time with her fingering. Her mother wanted her to quit, but for some reason she wants to continue."

"No, idiot!" Cressida laughed. "She's got it for you so bad."

Graham put his water down and stared at her. "What? Really? You think so?"

"Graham, are you blind?" Cressida shook her head again. "Still, I suppose there's something to be said for a nice, unrequited love for your piano teacher when you're that age. Perfectly acceptable, and safe."

"Safe?"

"Yeah. No chance of anything happening, just pure emotion. Perfect for a twelve-year-old. It would be different if she were, say, fifteen or sixteen."

"Why? You saying I'd do something?"

"God, no! It's just that feelings run so much deeper at that age, and physical feelings are involved, too. Not to mention, there are horrible people out there who would 'do something,' take advantage of a young girl."

Graham sat on the arm of the chair, looking down at Cressida's laptop. "I suppose so. How awful."

"Yes. But young Sasha can count on you not to break her heart, see? You're perfect."

Now Graham was embarrassed. "I don't know about that." He shifted his gaze to Cressida's face, his expression darkening. "It's a pretty terrible feeling to have your heart broken by someone you trust, that's for sure."

Cressida desperately wanted to know what had happened to him, but knew that the subject was off limits, and that she shouldn't ask.

"Well, all I know is that I'd love to have piano lessons from you," Cressida said lightly, changing the subject.

"Really? You never had music lessons?" Graham looked at her inquiringly.

Cressida shook her head.

Graham rose and walked to the piano, where he sat and looked at Cressida expectantly.

"What, now? You're going to give me a lesson now?"

"No time like the present, as they say." He patted the bench next to himself.

Cressida sat next to him and looked at the book he'd opened. It had a drawing of a kitten on it, and was obviously intended for very young children. She smiled.

"Okay, so this is middle C," Graham said hitting a note. "It's just the C that's closest to the middle of the piano, it really doesn't have any other significance. You can find it because it's right below these two black keys, see?"

Cressida nodded, and put her finger on the note.

"There are seven white notes, starting with C, and they go over and over, to the top and bottom of the keyboard. C D E F G A B, then we're back to C, get it?"

"And all the Cs sound the same, just higher or lower? Like words that rhyme?"

"Exactly!" Graham said, delighted. "You're a natural, I knew it."

"Yeah, right," Cressida said drily, looking at Graham out of uptilted eyes, rolling them slightly.

He nudged her shoulder. "Pay attention now." He played the notes in order, crossing his thumb under at the appropriate place. "That's called an octave."

"Why an octave when there are only seven?" Cressida wanted to know. "Wouldn't that be a 'septave'?"

Graham grinned. "Smartass. If you'll notice, I played an extra note at the end, the next C. That makes eight notes, an octave."

"What about the black keys?"

"Hold on, hold on, you're getting ahead of yourself." Graham nudged her again, and Cressida got a whiff of him. It nearly made her swoon, being this close to him.

He explained to her about how there were different musical keys, like C major, which was what he'd just played, and how the black keys were necessary for the other ones, like G major, F major, and so on. He played them to demonstrate.

Graham was having so much fun. He was enjoying just having Cressida next to him, her slight form in a gingham blouse and jeans. She smelled of shampoo and something else, something floral, and it was dizzying. He scooted over just a fraction, hoping she didn't notice.

He finally showed her the chords to "Heart and Soul," and once she had them down, he joined in with his right hand, playing the treble part of the fun, beginner's tune.

"Ha! We just totally played a song!" Cressida crowed when they were finished. She clapped her hands together. "It was only 'Heart and Soul,' but who cares?" She turned sideways and threw her arms around Graham, her joy unbounded.

He hugged her back enthusiastically. "Good job," he praised, tucking his chin into her neck and inhaling deeply. Holding her in his arms felt so right, so right.

Finally, knowing the hug had gone on too long, he released her, reluctantly.

"You know, I'd be willing to teach you, if you want."

"What, you mean like regularly? Like lessons?"

"Yeah, like lessons."

"I can't afford you."

"We could word out a trade?"

"What on earth do I have that we could trade for?" Cressida looked at him skeptically.

Graham considered. The truth was that he'd do it for free, but he didn't want her to feel bad. "How about this? How about you make me dinner a couple times a week? You've seen how I eat, what kind of food I keep around here. That would be more than a fair trade."

"Really? You'd do that? Just for food?"

"And your company, of course," he said with another smile. "I hope you weren't thinking you could just drop the food outside my door?"

"Oh, okay, sure." Cressida clapped her hands again. "This is going to be so much fun!" She stopped cold as a thought struck her. "I don't have a piano, though, how will I practice?"

Graham shrugged. "I guess you'll just have to use this one when it's available."

"So that means I'll never get to practice, except when you're sleeping, I guess," Cressida said with a grin. "You're practicing all the time. Or giving lessons. I feel like I hear this piano 24/7."
"You make it sound like I have no life," Graham protested.

"You don't!"

"I do so! I have friends that I go out and see, I go to the movies and stuff like that—" Graham realized as he spoke that his words weren't true, that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a movie. "I did, anyway, and I will, once this competition's over."

"Whatevs." She looked at him, serious once more. "Play me something?" She rose and stood next to him, close enough that their bodies were almost touching.

He thought for a moment, and placed his hands on the keyboard, producing a beautiful little melody, lilting and haunting, very short, that brought to mind soft rain, misty mornings and something unnameable and wonderful.

Cressida was silent for a moment when he finished.

"What's it called?"

"Postcards From Far Away," he told her. "It's by Coldplay."

https://youtu.be/v77Fz9Fp4CA

"It's lovely."

"Yeah. It reminds me of you." He rose and stood, facing her. He put his hands on her shoulders.

She looked up at him.

The doorbell sounded, the buzzer to the front.

He looked confused and went to the intercom. "I'm not expecting anything.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

He could tell, just from those two words, that it was Professor Thurman.

"Oh."

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Sure." He buzzed her in and opened his door. He turned to Cressida, fighting the urge to tell her to hide somewhere.

Professor Thurman entered the apartment, saying, "I was in the neighborhood so I thought I'd stop in and see how you were doing with the third movement—" She stopped talking when she saw Cressida, still standing near the piano.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you had company."

"It's okay, I was just leaving," Cressida assured her. "He was just giving me a piano lesson."

"You're one of his pupils? Aren't you a little old?"

Cressida nodded, holding her hand out. "Cressida Parker."

The professor blinked. It was obvious she knew the name. "Yes. Well. I thought you were his upstairs neighbor?"

"I was. I mean, I am," Cressida stuttered. "I mean, I still live upstairs."

"She's my neighbor and my pupil," Graham said smoothly. He put an arm around Cressida's shoulders. "She's my friend."

"Anyway, I'm going," Cressida assured Professor Thurman. "Thanks for the lesson, Graham, see you around."

She let herself out, but heard the raised voices before she got to the first landing.

"Don't give me that look. You know you're not supposed to be fraternizing with anyone right now."

"I'm not 'fraternizing,' she's my neighbor, I told you—"

"Oh please, if you two aren't shagging I'll eat my handbag!"

Cressida stood frozen on the landing, unable to not listen.

"Well, I hope you like the taste of Italian leather then, because we're not. Dolce and Gabbana, am I right?"

Cressida heard Mikey's door open above her and continued up the stairs, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping.

"Hello, dear."

"Hi, Mikey." Cressida continued past her and up the last flight of stairs.

"Cressida?"

"Yes?" She turned around to look down at the woman.

"Be strong, dear. And stay kind."

What a funny thing to say.

"Okay, Mikey. Okay."