One question was still blank on the exam. He checked the clock. Her last piano lesson was almost over. He read the question again and put the pencil to the page.
Then stopped. A line from the newspaper came back to him.
I kept thinking I would see you someday.
He looked at the clock again. Set down the pencil. Picked up his exam and stood. At the front of the room, the teacher looked down at his paper.
“You’re not finished.”
“I know.”
“Go back to your seat. You still have time.”
“I’m leaving.”
“If you walk out now, this exam is a zero.”
“I know.”
“You need this class to graduate. You know that, right?”
Still holding the paper, he looked at the clock.
“You’re really leaving?”
“Yeah.”
He put the exam on the desk, grabbed his bag, and walked out. He took the stairs down, pushed through the doors, and started running. He ran all the way to the piano studio. When he turned the last corner, he could see the door.
It opened just as he reached the block. She stepped outside. He’d made it. He stopped with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
When he looked up, she still hadn’t noticed him. She started walking away. He ran again. The distance between them closed.
“Wait!”
She turned.