Sunday, the next day, I returned. I had to know if he was better. But when I got to his house, I didn't see him outside. It was still the weekend, so I didn't think I should go to the door. Fathers worked on weekdays, but on Sundays they were home. At least, that's how it had been with my father. Still, I knew I wanted to see Jude. I had no idea if he was home or not, but I decided to wait and find out.

I grew cold sitting out in the open. So I crept to the toolshed in back and slipped inside. In the duskiness, I looked at the piano sitting there. The keys were hidden by a cover, and the bench was pushed close against the instrument. Suddenly, I felt as though I was back at the old stump in the pine forest. The same sense of sacredness came flowing through me, as if I stood in the presence of something inanimate but alive – more alive than the world around me.

"Why did you leave yesterday?" said a voice behind me. I turned, and there stood Jude.

I blinked. "I . . . didn't think you wanted me to stay."

He shrugged. "Don't touch it," he said.

A moment passed before I realized he was talking about the piano. To convince him that I had no intention of touching it, I took a step to the side. I expected him to move forward, but he stayed where he was. Somewhat uncomfortably, I asked, "Were you all right yesterday? You didn't look well."

"I told you I was sick."

"But you aren't sick . . . at least, not the kind that you stay home from school for. And when I saw you yesterday you seemed more as if you. . . . Well, it didn't look like the flu or any normal sickness. And today you look better."

"Today I am a little better."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

He frowned. "Just a little. But it will come back." His voice lowered a notch. "It always does." Before I could ask him what he meant, Jude pushed past me. He went to the piano, pulled out the bench, and lifted the cover off the keys. Then he seated himself at the instrument. Both of us were quiet for a while. I could only guess what he was thinking while he stared at the black and white keys. Was he wishing he didn't have to look at them? Was he hating them with his very soul? Was he loving them despite his hate?

"If you're staying," said Jude sharply, not bothering to face me, "don't come any closer. I don't want to see you there."

I didn't have the chance to wonder whether he was insulting me. With a sweep of his thin arms, Jude brought his fingers to the piano keys. His hands hovered above them for a moment, and then his left hand dipped into broken chords.

Just as he'd asked me to, I kept my distance. I watched him play, and it was incredible. There were no words to describe it. The melody was beautiful, but it hurt to listen to it. This time, though, the feeling was somewhat different. The sorrow was not quite as strong in me as it had been when I'd listened the two other times. Jude's touch on the notes was lighter, it seemed. While I continued to feel a deep sadness in my chest, I also felt a faint glimmer of hope. The melody Jude produced carried some small promise that whatever was wrong could be put right.

As I watched him, his bony shoulders hunching over and his dark head leaning downward as if his whole body was being drawn to the instrument, I began to wonder about him. How on earth did he know how to play so beautifully? So intricately? So delicately? When I'd heard him playing the school's piano, the tune had been more furious in its bitterness. Now, it was ever-so-slightly sweeter. I didn't know what to make of him. Although I wanted to move closer, to see his face while he played, I stayed away. I wasn't going to give him any reason to lose trust in me, no matter how badly I wanted to go against his words.

Jude must have played for nearly half an hour before bringing his piece to a soft close. I realized that he didn't even play real, written songs. He made the music up as he went along, melding old melodies into new ones and weaving back into tunes he'd previously played. I couldn't think of it in any way other than "genius."

Neither he nor I moved an inch in those first few seconds after he finished. I was afraid he'd forgotten I was there, and I didn't want to startle him. Besides, I hadn't a single clue as to what I should say. My legs ached from standing still for so long, but I couldn't complain. I would have stood as still as a picture for hours if it meant I could listen to Jude. When I heard his music, I felt like something was being put back together inside of me. When his music ended, I was sure the pieces fell back apart.

"Are you still there?" he whispered.

I nodded my head, forgetting that he couldn't see me. "Yes," I replied.

His whole body seemed to relax, and he rested his head on the piano, on the wooden part above the keys where the sheet music (if there had been any) would have rested. I let him sit there like that without any interruptions from me. I was feeling so privileged to have been allowed to watch him that I was worried he would find me irritating if I asked too many questions.

Eventually, Jude sat up. Turning, he looked at me. For the first time, I felt as if he really saw me. He wasn't staring through me. "What's your name?"

Had I not been on the verge of understanding him, I would probably have been hurt. But I saw his eyes glisten, and although he did not smile, I could tell he was more light-hearted than before. "Nat," I said.

"Nobody's ever watched me," he quietly went on.

I scratched the back of my neck, thinking I should make some reply. "Oh. I thought it was great. More than great – but I don't know what to call it. Do you just make all of that up?" He didn't answer me, so I said, "Have you ever had lessons? You have to have had lessons."

Jude's eyebrows lowered. "No," he said.

"Then how do you know what to do?"

He shrugged languidly.

I was confused. "Did you teach yourself? I don't know how you could play if you've never had a lesson."

"I just play," he replied. His eyes left me and shifted to the side. I grew nervous that he was going to forget me. He didn't, though, because he said in a hushed tone, "Are you scared, Nat?"

To hear him use my name gave me a feeling of immense importance. "Scared of what?" I asked him.

Then his dark holes of eyes looked back and me, and he replied, "Of being all by yourself. Of sitting in the dark during the nightmares of your own thoughts. Of not being sure whether those thoughts are even yours. Of not knowing if you have a purpose other than to be miserable for reasons you can't name . . ."

Tingles prickled up my back. Nightmares? Loneliness? Misery? My brain struggled to organize the things Jude had said. I'd never heard him say so much at once, and now that he finally had, I wasn't sure if he was even speaking common language. People didn't normally talk about those sorts of things to someone they hardly knew. "I'm not sure," I finally managed to reply. "I get scared, but I don't know if it's for the same reasons. What exactly are you talking about?"

All he did was turn to the door. He didn't get a chance to answer me because a voice from somewhere outside was calling his name: "Jude! Jude, boy? Where are you? Out in that shed again? Come here!"

I recognized the harsh voice of his father. A quick fear jumped into me. The last thing I wanted was to meet that man. Catching the look on Jude's face, I knew he felt the same. Rising from the piano bench, he stepped past me out into the daylight.

"There you are. Why you're always skulking in that shack I'll never know. Come on here; I've got some things for you to take care of."

I heard Jude's father talking and then their footsteps through the leaves heading away from the tool shed. When the sound of a door slamming reached my ears, I knew that they had gone inside. That was my cue to leave.

When I reached my house I was surprised to see Jillian Lee sitting on my front step. I just looked at her. She wore a scowl that would have made the grim reaper look cheerful. The expression was comical on her round, wide-eyed face. I caught myself before I raised my eyebrows.

"Where have you been?" she asked, standing when she saw me.

"You sound like my mother," I replied, not bothering to answer her question. I didn't want to tell anybody where I'd been, especially Jill. She'd think I was stupid. She didn't like Jude, and I couldn't quite say I blamed her. I still didn't know how I thought about him. I felt something toward him, but the boundaries of "like" and "fear" were still hazy.

"I saw your mother, and I don't think she knew where you were either. She said I could just wait for you to come back. She said I could stay inside, but I love the cold air. And besides – it's going to rain."

I glanced at the sky. The brownish-gray clouds looked threatening again. Then I turned back to Jill. The scowl had vanished from her face. "I like to be in the rain, too," I told her, offering up a small piece of my soul as I said it.

"Of course!" she cried. "That's the only time to see if you're a witch! Witches can dance between the raindrops."

"Can you do it?" I asked. Everything in the world might have been explained to me if she'd told me she could.

But she said (with serious disappointment), "No. Not yet."

I sighed.

"The strangest thing happened after you went home yesterday," Jill went on, talking as if she had a hundred things to say and only half a minute to get them out. "The most beautiful little kitten came around the corner of a building – straight from the alley like it was meant to be! His fur was soft and gray, and he had a black spot around his nose. Oh! He was just beautiful"

"Did you keep him?" I asked.

"Of course not!" She looked truly scandalized. "You can't just keep animals; they choose to stay with you! Now, the fact was, he followed me for a ways . . . but he chose to stay with Mr. Pebble. And the most warming light came to the man's eyes! I never thought I'd see him happy again, but that little kitten brought some part of his heart back from the corner it went into when Sadie died."

Jill's eyes were wide, and they were staring at something neither she nor I could actually focus on. The way she'd worded Mr. Pebble's happiness returning – like his broken heart had picked up its pieces from the shadows – reminded me of something. I noticed that that was how I felt when I listened to Jude. No matter how much it did or did not hurt, every time I listened it was as if my broken parts were being put back together.

"I wish you had stayed," Jill interrupted my thoughts. "You would have seen how quickly the little old man changed from tearful to joyful. Oh, he was so pleased." She clasped her hands together against her chest and smiled at me. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." And off she went.