What Hearts by Bruce Brooks Page A

songs. Now, people, go to your places.”
    So far, most of the performances had been better than anyone could have hoped. Hands caught and tossed precisely, memories flashed, voices found a key and held it. Asa was amazed. Something about the oddness of Mrs. Brock’s impromptu singing had cleared the nerves of his classmates. He had a feeling he too would be enjoying the same ebullience if his nervousness merely came from the prospect of standing up in front of a bunch of adults and doing something artificial. But his nervousness was different. He was thinking about Joel.
    Asa was worried that of all the performances onstage tonight, his would be the only one with consequences that stretched into the future. He knew hurt feelings could last. And the more he thought about it, the more he was certain Joel would be hurt. What could his mother have been thinking? Or, more to the point, what could he have been thinking?
    The ballet dancers finished with twin spins, each slashing the air with a satin foot held high and curved. The girl without makeup hadrecovered her enthusiasm toward the end of their dance: her last few steps were sharper, and her leaps higher, than those of her partner, and as they stood panting slightly, grinning at the audience’s applause, her face shone with a pink radiance that shamed the powder and technique offered beside her. Asa, breaking the rules, clapped. The girl waiting to go on in front of him—Amy Louise, dressed in a baggy gray uniform that might have fit General Lee—turned in horror and shook her head. He stopped. The ballerinas curtsied twice and came off. In her joy, the second of them gave a flip to the velvet side curtain with her hand. Asa happened to be looking at her, and as the curtain swayed, it gave him a glimpse of the rear doors of the auditorium. In that instant, he saw Joel’s mother dash in, looking distraught.
    Amy Louise was already walking out toward the center of the stage. In a second he overtook her, pulling her by the elbow and mumbling an apology as he passed. She took one look at his face and turned back to the wings without a word.
    He found himself standing in bright lights, facing perhaps 800 people. He looked past them to the back and located Joel’s mother. She raised her hands at him and shook her head. Then she pointed at the back door. Then she held her hands as if she were riding a bicycle, and pointed at the back door. Once more she held up her hands as if helpless. Then, finally, urgently, she motioned him to start.
    He nodded. From the wings he heard Mrs. Brock’s voice: “Asa. What the dickens are you doing out there?” Asa realized she had not asked about Joel’s absence; this meant she had been squared by Joel’s mom. Asa did not look at her. Instead, he stepped up to the apron of the stage and lifted his chin.
    â€œGood evening,” he said. He noticed several people looking at their yellow mimeographed programs, noting he was out of order. He gave them a second to stop rustling. Then, just as his tongue touched his top teeth to make the first sound in announcing “ ‘The Highwayman,’ by Alfred Noyes,” the same back door flew open and in ran Joel.
    He was panting and his face was even redder than usual. He was wearing a blue blazer hitched back on his shoulders as if the wind were blowing down the back of his neck, a very wrinkled white shirt, and an orange clip-on tie fastened only on one side of the knot: his right leg had a rubber band around it at the ankle, to keep his good gray trousers out of his bicycle chain. His eyes shot to the stage and found Asa. Right away all the haste and tension left him, and he grinned: Hey! I made it! He gave a little wave and started to trot down the center aisle. But somewhere on the way another thought hit him and he stopped. This time, when he looked up at Asa, Joel wasn’t grinning.
    Asa had not moved; his expression had not changed. He took a