The hum in the hall fills your ears. Rows of chattering girls sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by teachers awaiting further instructions. They’ve all been sprung here by the shrill bell of a fire drill. Now, they’re just chilling.

“Do we come down here often?” Daina asks Sofija, inching her knees over to the side, to give the girl on her right more space.

“Not like this. But yeah. There’s gym, like, twice a week. It’s fun.”

Ball caddies, gym benches, and a pile of rubber mats are lined up against the wall, where sports paraphernalia hang from racks alongside rolled up screens and audio equipment.

A wooden stage fills the far end of the room.

Daina points to it. “What’s that?”

“It’s a stage.”

“I know. I mean, what’s it for?”

“Plays n’ stuff. And some girls take music lessons, and they put on concerts sometimes.”

Music. Daina leans closer. It’s hard to hear above the noise. “Really? What kind of music lessons?”

“Oh… I dunno. There are girls who play the piano. Some take guitar lessons. And voice training, I think. But it’s an extra kind of thing, not regular studies. You should see the music room, it’s pretty cool.”

Music. Daina plays with the word like her little kitty with a ball of wool. Her Teplidskai school flyer still rests folded in her satchel. The old excitement, though, is gone. It has crept away and nursed its disappointment through stolen moments of truth. Vilnius is a long way away from Jerusalem.

Sofija jabs her in the elbow. “I’ll take you, if you like.”

“Take me where?”

“To the music room. Just as soon as they let us out of here. No one’s going to notice we’re skipping class after this balagan.”

The lights are off. Cushioned by the dimness, Daina twirls in excitement.

Silver notes dance up and down the walls, and low green stools are scattered around the floor, with a piano, a set of drums, and string instruments for company. Sheet music lies open on a row of metal stands, and a classical violin rests sanguinely against the wall.

“Pinch me!” she tells Sofija, who answers with a bemused look.

“I mean it! This is incredible. We had music in Lithuania, but nothing like this.”

Sofija shrugs. “Yeah, well. It’s a separate program, really. It isn’t part of the….”

Click. The room is awash in light.

A slender woman stands by the door, her face framed by a pink satin scarf. Of medium height, the accordion case she carries almost reaches her eyes. She walks in and sets it down by the violin, a questioning frown on her face. Daina shifts. She isn’t looking for trouble.

Sofija finds her tongue. “Err… sorry, Morah Chagit. I didn’t know we’d be disturbing. Daina is a new girl. I’m just showing her around.”

Morah Chagit gives Daina a welcoming smile, before raising her eyebrows at Sofija. “This room is off-limits, surely you know that. I’ll have to report you. Who is your mechanechet?”

Sofija looks contrite. “Morah Gila. But b’vakashah, Morah Chagit, Daina loves music! She studied in Lithuania!”

Chagit eyes Daina with interest. “Really? What did you play?”

Daina scratches her neck. “No instrument — though I would love to take voice lessons! I sing. I was meant to appear in a national competition, but…” Her voice trails off.

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 624)