Pieces of Why by K. L. Going

neighborhood had been forced to evacuate. I was too young to remember, but you could still see the water marks on some of the buildings.
    Ms. Marion stood up.
    â€œWell,” she said, “I guess God never said He was going to make things easy, now did He? But we’re going to do what we always do, which is to band together and sing our hearts out. Can you do that for me, Tia?”
    I nodded. More than anything, I wanted to make things better for Ms. Marion.
    â€œChoir! Assemble!” Ms. Marion called, holding up her arms. Her voice boomed into the evening air, and one by one, kids emerged. I stepped onto the lowest riser and started a weak hum to warm up my vocal cords.
    Mary-Kate brushed past me. “I can’t believe you showed up,” she hissed, tossing her long brown curls over her shoulder. “That’s nervy. Considering.”
    She stepped away before I had a chance to respond, taking her place on the top riser, and I could feel her eyes burning into me. I wondered how she’d found out. Had her mother told her last night, the way Ms. Evette had told Keisha? Or had she known all along? Was that the real reason she’d always hated me?
    My knees were weak. Straight ahead of me, Ms. Marion was addressing the crowd, talking about loss and what it means to be a community.
    â€œWhen bad things happen,” she said, “we must pull together and focus on the goodness all around us, like these beautiful children who will bless us tonight with the power of their music.”
    The audience clapped, but I felt the
how-could-she-show
-up
underneath their applause.
    â€œAnd now,” Ms. Marion said, “the Rainbow Choir will perform in honor of the child that was taken too soon from this world. Our first selection, ‘I Know,’ features our lead soloist, the talented Tia Rose Frank.” She turned and motioned for me to step forward.
    Everyone waited, but I couldn’t move. In the evening sunlight, I could see all the eyes staring at me, and I imagined each person wishing I hadn’t come, wondering what right I, of all people, had to sing in honor of a murdered baby.
    â€œTia,” Ms. Marion said, her brows crinkling. “Whenever you’re ready.”
    The audience shuffled nervously, and I saw people whispering to one another. A man scowled and then spat on the ground, and several teenagers laughed. My heart was pounding, my palms were sweating, and the silence stretched on, taut as a rubber band about to snap.
    But no matter how hard I tried to move, I remained frozen in place.
    Finally, I shook my head.
    That’s when I heard a voice above me. “I can sing thelead, Ms. Marion.” It was Mary-Kate. I glanced up at her fake angelic smile and knew she was stealing my part.
    But I didn’t care.
    She could have all of my beautiful colored scarves. I didn’t deserve them.
    Ms. Marion looked at me, concerned, but finally she gestured for Mary-Kate to move down front.
    â€œMs. Mary-Kate Torelo,” Ms. Marion said to the crowd, sweeping her hand in a dramatic arc. The band started up, and when Mary-Kate began to sing, I tasted the salty tears sneaking past my lips.
    Without any warning, I was four years old again, visiting my father in prison, strung tight with fear and grief. I remembered his unruly hair, so like mine, his high forehead, hollow cheeks, and dark stubble. Tattoos peeked out from the collar of his orange jumpsuit, and his upper lip rose into a sneer when he saw that Ma had brought me.
    â€œDon’t be bringing her here.”
    I’d hid behind Ma, but he’d glared straight at me.
    â€œLook kid,” he’d said, “it ain’t your fault you’ve got a trucker for a dad. Last thing you need is to go through
this
crap.” He’d gestured around the big room where all the inmates were visiting their families, but I’d known he meant the other part—the scary part where we’d had to get