Если я останусь

           Therewasanimpishkidwhocouldn’thavebeenmorethantenyearsold.Hehadablondbuzzcutandaconstellationoffrecklesfallingdownhisnose.

           "Iknow,"Isaid."I’mfromtheNorthwest,thoughitwassunnywhereIlivedthismorning.It’sthemeatloafI’mworriedabout."

           Helaughed."Thatdoesn’tgetbetter.Butthepeanut-butter-and-jellyisalwaysgood,"hesaid,gesturingtoatablewhereahalf-dozenkidswerefixingthemselvessandwiches."Peter.Trombone.Ontario,"hesaid.This,Iwouldlearn,wasstandardFranklingreeting.

           "Oh,hey.I’mMia.Cello.Oregon,Iguess."

           Petertoldmethathewasthirteen,andthiswashissecondsummerhere;almosteveryonestartedwhentheyweretwelve,whichiswhytheyallknewoneanother.Ofthefiftystudents,abouthalfdidjazz,theotherhalfclassical,soitwasasmallcrew.Therewereonlytwoothercelloplayers,oneofthematalllankyred-hairedguynamedSimonwhoPeterwavedover.

           "Willyoubetryingfortheconcertocompetition?"SimonaskedmeassoonasPeterintroducedmeasMia.Cello.Oregon.SimonwasSimon.Cello.Leicester,whichturnedouttobeacityinEngland.Itwasquitetheinternationalgroup.

           "Idon’tthinkso.Idon’tevenknowwhatthatis,"Ianswered.

           "Well,youknowhowweallperforminanorchestraforthefinalsymphony?"Peteraskedme.

           Inoddedmyhead,thoughreallyIhadonlyavagueidea.