“Jamie McCorkle,” she said automatically.
“That’s it,” he said, pointing at her. “I hope she went on to do something with that instrument of hers. You don’t get many students who can sing like that, believe me. But when she got sick, we lost any chance we had. We weren’t good enough. And you were... well, what I recall is that you were very earnest in wanting to help, but you didn’t have a lot of talent. It was your hard work that led to you standing up there.” He smiled, like sheought to be pleased with his assessment. “I felt a little sorry for you, to be honest. I put too much pressure on you. Kids get sick when they have a lot of anxiety.”
She’d been filled to the top with anxiety. But he wasn’t remembering correctly. “But my sister—”
“I don’t know anything about a sister,” he said, shaking his head.
How was that possible? Hadn’t everyone seen Kristen and the guy? It had seemed to Lorna that they were moments away from an audience uproar over their antics. Had she imagined it? She couldn’t have—she saw them making a scene.But wait...She’d been a pity backup singer? And he hadn’t really cared how they did in the contest?
She was suddenly struck with the realization that he had not been harmed by her. He hadn’t evennoticedKristen. For years she had lived with the shame of what she’d done to the one teacher she thought believed in her.
“If you need me to accept your apology, consider it accepted,” he said. “Good to see you,” he added, and turned as if to go.
“Lorna!” Bean said. “You have to make it up to him.”
“What?” Mr. Sanders asked.
“He’s right.” Lorna nodded. “I came here to make amends. It’s part of my... therapy,” she said, uttering that word out loud for the first time. “I am addressing old wounds. For my sake, this time.”
Mr. Sanders looked confused. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “This touchy-feely new age business baffles me.”
“Me too, Mr. Sanders. I just know I need to do this. It’s helping somehow.” She couldn’t explain how important it was to erase this mark from her slate. He might not have noticed Kristen, but she had, and she was certain she had not imagined what happened. “There must be something I can do for you.”
“I can’t think of—” Mr. Sanders suddenly stopped talking, then turned back to look at her. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay!” she said, relieved. “What can I do?”
“Our youth group is putting on a musical this weekend. It’s a fundraiser to send them to Guatemala to help build schools.”
A worthy cause! That was precisely the sort of amends she wanted to make.Thiswas the kind of thing she wanted to achieve. She’d do something noble to atone for what happened, to erase her mistake from the universe. She and Bean beamed at each other. “I can help,” she said quickly, before Mr. Sanders changed his mind. She could man booths or hand out flyers along with the best of them.
“Well, good. Because my moneylender can’t perform Friday night.”
She nodded, awaiting her instructions.
“So I need a moneylender.”
She was pretty sure he didn’t mean she should literally lend money.
“It’s only one line,” Mr. Sanders continued. “You come in, sing the line, then the townspeople attack and kill you.” He cast his arms out wide, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
“They kill me?” Lorna repeated uncertainly.
“Sure. You’re a hated moneylender.”
“That’s cool!” Bean said enthusiastically. “You get todie.”
“There’s a mattress to fall on if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mr. Sanders said, and pointed to the back of the stage. There, under a black cloth, she could see a lump that she supposed was the mattress.
“Can I try?” Bean asked, already headed for the mattress.
“One of the kids’ dads was set to play the moneylender, but he claims to have something for work on Friday that he has to attend,” Mr. Sanders said, rolling his eyes. “I ask that they commit tothe monthlong preparation and program—that’s it. You wouldn’t believe how many times they say, ‘You bet, we’ll be there,’ and then bail at the last minute.” He sighed. But then he looked at Lorna again. “Perfect. You solve all my problems.”
“Lorna, watch me die!” Bean shouted, then threw himself onto the mattress with a guttural moan of death.
“See?” Mr. Sanders said. “Your kid gets it.”
“Can I come?” Bean asked.
