I was nervous to go to school the next day – nervous as to how I should look or behave around Jude. A strange piece of knowing had passed between us in our miserable apologies, and I wondered whether we would have to act warmer or colder around one another. But I worried in vain, because Jude was not in school. Nor did he come the next day, or the next. An entire week passed, and he still hadn't returned. If it had been any other student gone for so long, I wouldn't have worried. Because it was Jude, though, I felt a small terror growing in me with each day he didn't come into the class.

I quickly forgot the friendship I'd wanted to form with Jill. Only Jude was in my thoughts. Whether I was awake or asleep, I was sure I was hearing his music. I couldn't hum the tune of it because I wasn't sure if there was one. But I felt the melody of it – was sure the notes were pulsing through me – and I became downhearted every time I realized I was thinking about it.

When over a week had passed with still no sign of Jude, I felt that something had to be done. I knew where he lived, so if he was sick I could take his homework to him. And if he wasn't sick, then where was he?

On Wednesday my mother dropped me off at school, but I didn't intend to stay there. As soon as our car was out of sight, I raced across the school yard, past the bushes containing the freak rabbits, and back toward the central part of town. Across the divided main street I ran, then past the grocery store, the Soup Bowl, and the various shops lined up in a row. I hurried into the alley next to Sue's Bakery and when I came out on the other end I felt the blood coursing through me like hot lava. I was burning, but I couldn't stop yet. I didn't feel far enough from school or close enough to Jude's house.

I kept on, and when I reached the path leading into the woods I lightened my thudding steps. Everything was too quiet to be disrupted by my clumsy footfalls. The air was cool and calm and I'd left my backpack at the edge of the trees, so I felt as light as the forest around me. The only sound was that of my feet against the leaves.

By the time I came upon Jude's house my body had cooled down. I was sweating slightly, but I wasn't hot. For some reason, the caution and anxiety that had caused me to hide the last time I'd been there had vanished. Maybe it was the surging energy from my run that made me walk directly up to Jude's front door. I didn't hesitate to knock like I had at Mrs. McBride's door. I just pulled back the screen and tapped my fist against the wood.

I didn't once stop to think that Jude's father would answer the door. I'd seen the man's arm and heard his voice, but to me, he didn't yet fully exist. I expected only Jude to answer, so when he didn't, I became irritated. I tried my luck with knocking a couple more times, but nothing happened.

My breath was turning to frost each time I exhaled. For a few seconds I watched it. Condensing breath is one of the wonders of the world. I wasn't certain what I should do. Should I stay on the front step and wait until someone came home? No, that wouldn't be smart. I didn't have to ponder for long, though. A thread of music came to my ears. It was faint, but I knew I heard it.

My feet were moving me again, trying to lead me in the direction of the music. I went around to the back of the house and there, about fifty feet away, was a small wooden tool shed. Leaves lay around it like a red and orange ocean. The door in the side of the shed was slightly ajar, and I could tell that the music was coming from inside. Once again, it was piano music.

There was no way I was going to make it to that shed without Jude hearing me. The crunchy leaves were piled all around it just waiting for me to step on them and tell the world I was there. But I had to get to Jude; there was no question of that. I would just have to go as quickly as I could. Pulling myself together, I made a run for it.

Fortunately, the sound of my feet in the leaves drowned out the sound of the music. Otherwise I never would have made it to the door; the pain and heaviness of the melody would've slowed me. I was so loud in coming that I was positive Jude had heard me — there was no way he hadn't. But he hadn't stopped playing. As I stood by the door catching my breath from my sprint, I listened.

All that I had felt the first time I heard Jude's playing returned in a rush. I balanced myself against the shed and tried to withstand the intense feelings of loneliness pouring through me. I had forgotten just how strong his music was. It was beautiful. I had never heard anything more beautiful. But ribbons of pain twisted through it as well. It sounded as if it was made of pain. Whose, I did not know. Maybe it was Jude's. And I almost thought I was feeling his pain too. The more he played, the more I felt it. I couldn't move. I closed my eyes against the gray around me and became lost.

Suddenly, a sound came from above me. My eyes blinked open. I didn't know how long I had been sitting in the leaves outside the tool shed. The music had stopped, and I realized that the creaking noise I'd just heard was the shed door opening. Staring upward, I saw Jude exit the makeshift building.

He looked down at me, and I thought he seemed startled. He turned his head and pulled his sleeve across his face. Then he moved quickly past me and started toward his house.

I couldn't let him go. I scrambled to my feet, shocked at how weak and trembly my legs were. "Wait!" I cried after him. "Jude, wait! Stop!"

He didn't stop. "Leave me alone," I heard him say.

He was upset, but the fact that he was talking gave me confidence. "No! I just want to talk to you. Please. Why haven't you been at school?" I caught up with him just as he reached the back door of his house. I nearly ran into him.

Finally, he faced me. "Go away. Just leave me alone."

He spoke so quietly that I almost didn't hear him. He was very tired, but I wasn't going to give up. "You haven't been in school."

"I'm sick."

"You look fine." It was a lie. He looked paler and thinner, but I didn't think it was due to an illness.

"So."

"So, what? I think you play . . . really good. You sound perfect, almost. I bet you love to play."

He studied me. His nostrils flared slightly. With strain in his voice, he said, "I hate it."

My eyebrows lowered in wonder. "Then why do you play? Why don't you just stop?"

"I can't," was all he replied. Then he turned to the door and twisted the knob. When it didn't move, he didn't appear surprised. He was locked out, and he'd known it. "Go away," he repeated, his words sharp and spoken as if he were spitting out daggers. He leaned his forehead against the door and shut his eyes. He wasn't going to say anything else. He was just going to stand there.

Nothing was left for me to do but leave.

At home my mother was angry with me. She'd gotten a call from the school. They'd told her that I hadn't come into class. That was true. After I'd been to Jude's house I'd just spent the day wandering the woods. I sort of thought I'd try to search for Jillian's fairy rings. I had no idea if they were even in the woods I was in, but I had to center my wandering on something or I knew I'd just think about Jude – about what he'd said. About the fact that he'd actually had a conversation with me. And I couldn't think about that quite yet.

My mother was more worried than angry when they phoned from the school to tell her I wasn't there. She said she'd dropped me off, and she had. Rather than tell her where exactly I'd been, I told her that some kids at school had been bothering me and I needed a break from them, so I'd hidden out on the playground. Of course, that almost made things worse, because then my mother wanted to know who the kids were and said she wanted to talk with the teacher if anyone was teasing me. I tried to tell her it wasn't that big a deal. I hoped she wouldn't be calling Ms. Montague.

For the next couple of days my mother watched me enter the school building before she drove away; I had to go inside. But I walked home, so I just decided to go to Jude's house Friday afternoon on my way. I went past the woods every day anyway; since the man at the grocery store had told me about the shortcut, I'd gotten used to taking it.

This time I was more cautious approaching his house, because it was late afternoon. During the morning, I hadn't worried about his father being home. I'd assumed he had to have a job. Now, however, the man could be there. I did not want to meet him.

What I did when I drew near was go directly to the tool shed at the back of the house. I didn't bother with going to the front door. As I had suspected, Jude was inside. He was not playing music. When I reached the shed door and peeked inside, he was sitting at the bench of a dusty old piano, staring at the keys. His hands rested in his lap.

"Hello," I said. He did not turn around. Stepping into the shed, I glanced at the objects filling it. There were a couple of piles of boxes, an old bicycle, a cobweb-covered lawn mower, and the piano. The junk filled the shed so that there was only a small standing space right at the doorway. I couldn't move much once I was inside. The only place to sit was the piano bench, and that was occupied.

"Why are you here?" said Jude, not facing me. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

I couldn't answer him, because I wasn't sure what to say. I had no idea why I was back at his house. Instead, I diverted the conversation. "Does your father know you don't come to school?"

He turned to me and in the gloom of the shed he resembled a ghost. "No."

"Is that why you don't go in your house? You come here and then he goes to work and locks the doors?"

"Yes."

I thought about how the school called my mother to tell them I wasn't there the other day. "Didn't Ms. Montague call him and tell him you weren't there?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. They're probably glad I'm not there."

I sighed, wishing that they hadn't cared about me so much. Maybe I wouldn't have to go to school if I became as stubbornly resistant as Jude. "Why aren't you playing it?" I motioned to the piano.

Jude stared at me quietly. I wasn't sure if he was going to answer me, but then he said, "I don't have to right now."

On Wednesday he had told me he hated playing but couldn't stop. Now he was telling me that he didn't have to play. Jude Wood was becoming more contradictory every moment I spoke with him. "Will you play tomorrow?" I asked.

"I don't know. I hope not."

"Can I come listen? Will you wait until I come?"

I was afraid I was beginning to get pushy, but my words were coming out before I could fully consider them. I didn't know where the courage was coming from. The next day was Saturday, and I had nothing to do.

"I don't know when I'll play," he said, sounding as if he were guarding against something.

But I wasn't giving in. "I'll come over in the morning, and I can stay all day until you do. Is that all right?" I wondered if his father would be home, but I didn't mention that. I was afraid that if I brought him up, Jude would stop being so talkative.

Turning back to the instrument, the boy replied, "I don't care what you do."