Page 70 of Second Song

Maybe it shows again now. Luke is reassuring. “That will have been so good for them. Well done. And then what?”

“And then we role-played helping each other get over tough times.”

“Why?” Luke asks quietly.

Music used to be my self-regulation. No wonder I couldn’t deal with life when I lost it. Knowing that now makes answering Luke so easy. “Because life isn’t all sunshine, is it? Sometimes there’s thunder.” Or lightning. “It’s going to rain.” I nod at a line of watering cans I’ve watched transform learning. “You can’t change that, only how you cope with a soaking.”

“Resilience,” Luke murmurs. “And how does that link?”

“To music?” This would have choked me once. Now it’s the easiest question yet to answer. “Because I’ve failed at that in public, right?”

Luke doesn’t nod in agreement. I do it for him, because all I ever wanted to escape were feelings I couldn’t handle, and here’s Hadi facing way bigger ones than me. Who would have guessed that freedom would sound like his song or like Teo’s drumming? Not me, but I glance at a glitter-sprinkled teacher who taught me this lesson. “Sometimes you need other people’s perspectives to see yourself. People who care. Who don’t have reason to keep you in line or scare you.”

I’m never going to forget Luke Lawson if I have to leave here.

He’s the only person who ever asked me this question.

“You were scared?”

I nod, and it’s fucking wild how I can do that now and still sound steady. “That’s why I planned this. So the kids got a chance to know what their friends see in them.” I grab the closest portrait.

“Maisie,” Luke murmurs, which isn’t a surprising guess given that this painting is a bright orange muddle dotted with what Glynn Harber’s youngest students had to say about her.

Luke reads some of those words aloud. “Funny.”

She is that.

“Friendly.”

I’ve seen that so often.

Now Luke swallows the same way that I did when I transcribed a final sentence, so I know what blocks his throat before he reads it.

“Maisie keeps falling over.”

I worry that I’ve fucked up then and dart a quick and probably panicked look at Charles. He gives another of his many thumbs-ups of this final session, and Luke continues reading aloud, so maybe I haven’t messed up. “We’ll always help her get up.” He meets my eyes then, back to his usual laser focus. “Do you know what the Arabic parts of Hadi’s song mean?”

“No.” This is all I can tell him for sure. “I asked them all to add something about themselves once they read what their friends had to say. Because songs only ever have real meaning when there’s part of you in them.” This is why I’m gutted that I never got a chance to sing my own composition in front of millions. Fuck the prize money. Someone I loved still lived as long as I sang those lyrics.

No wonder losing my voice slayed me.

I grab his son’s self-portrait. “I’m guessing that Hadi’s song is about being brave.” That’s what so many of the children said about him. “And that he’s a good friend.” Trust Maisie to notice that Hadi is always there when she needs a shoulder.

“Who suggested this one?” Luke touches a word I’d written faintly for Hadi to trace over.

“Strong? That was me.” I meet eyes that gleam as Luke blinks. “Because he is, isn’t he? The way he keeps going? How he won’t let his past stop him?”

And this is what I keep circling back to.

“He isn’t on that plank today because we told him he had to sing there. He’s choosing to face what scares him. Gotta be pretty strong to do that.” It’s exactly what that workbook suggested would happen with repeat exposure, but witnessing that progress happen? I’ll never forget that either.

Luke nods, his eyes still gleaming. He attempts to speak, but can’t, and I know that feeling, so I keep going for him.

“It’s hard for him. But it won’t get easier if he avoids it.” I know that’s what I’m doing by backing away from training that could keep me here for longer.

I know it.

I still can’t help swerving away from that subject by asking a different question. “Which words did he add to his song?”

---