I colored. “Ah. I thought she seemed kind of upset over a bird. No wonder I’m flunking Earth Lit. Allegory goes right over my head.”

Tamara laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Seriously, though, Tam,” I said. “That was really beautiful. Everyone at the museum is going to be blown away.”

Tamara beamed for a moment, her face relaxing. Then she frowned and blew out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just not sure about the bridge still. Do you think it should be in this octave”—her fingers played out a short melody—“or this one?”

“Um,” I began with a sheepish shrug. “They both sound good? Sorry, you know I’m not very musical.”

Tamara giggled and shook her head. “But that’s why I want your opinion. You’re not going to get all technical on me like one of my teachers at Herschel would—it’ll give me a fresh perspective if I use your ears to decide.”

“Well, er—” I reached out my hand to the keys she had played before. “This one?” I tried to repeat what she’d done, but it came out like pots banging together or something. I cringed with embarrassment.

Tamara reached out her hand, but instead of stopping me like I thought she would, she placed it over mine. “Relax your fingers,” she instructed, pressing gently on my digits. “Now, the fingering goes like this.” Like a master puppeteer, she moved each of my fingers slowly over the keys to produce the melody.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, I finally managed to reproduce the tune, albeit clumsily. I grinned at her, and she beamed back. She was so close—this felt so natural. My nerves began to disappear. Maybe I could finally—

“Anyone want cookies?” Bryn called from the kitchen.

It’s not like I meant to knock the vase over. It’s just that one second I was sitting there—Tamara beside me, so close, her face mere centimeters from mine—and the next minute Bryn was yelling about cookies, and I was leaping to my feet in a burst of adrenaline-fueled panic. I didn’t even see the end table with the vase of lilies on it—actual lilies, not even fake ones!—until it was careening to the floor.

At least it didn’t break. It was made out of brass or something, so all it did was make an ear-splitting crash as water and flower petals went all over the torquing place.

“Isaak, are you okay?” cried Tamara.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’ll clean it up…”

Bryn hurried into the room, a handful of dish towels in hand. “Here, Isaak, let me get that.”

“No, no, let me.” I took a couple of towels and clumsily began to mop up the spilled water. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“It was an accident,” Tamara said. “It’s no big deal!”