Dicey's Song by Cynthia Voigt

after all, just like Dicey, and he picked out the littlest potato when the plate came to him, and he had only a couple of slices of tomato.
    Finally, Sammy couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “You don’t eat very much,” he accused the guest.
    Mr. Lingerle flushed again. Dicey wondered about this, because he was entirely grown up and not even that young any more, not even a young grown-up. He took a deep breath and answered Sammy, and all the rest of them. “Let’s just acknowledge that I’m fat.”
    â€œNobody said anything,” Gram snapped.
    Mr. Lingerle drew back. “I just think it’s better to say,” he apologized.
    â€œWell, you’re right,” she snapped. “On both counts.”
    Dicey giggled. She thought her grandmother was pretty funny sometimes. Dicey enjoyed her grandmother, and the way her grandmother’s mind worked. Mr. Lingerle gave Dicey a curious look, then he gave Gram a curious look, and his eyes became less wary. “You Tillermans certainly take some getting used to,” he remarked. “Maybeth has been surprise enough. I’m a simple man,” he said, with a smile that creased the flesh around his mouth. “I’m planning to relax and enjoy myself, unless you object?”
    â€œWe want you to,” Maybeth told him.
    â€œ
Did
you eat enough?” Sammy asked.
    James tried to shush him, without success.
    â€œFrankly, no. But here’s what I’ll do. When I get home, I’ll stuff myself with something. I’m always nervous, the first time people meet me, and I’m never hungry when I’m nervous. Does that answer your question?”
    â€œYou count your blessings, young man,” Gram said to Sammy; but her eyes were twinkling.
    â€œYes, Gram,” he answered. “Next time I won’t say anything.”
    â€œGood.” Then Gram sent the little kids into the living room to do their homework. Dicey rolled up the crab shells in newspaper, washed and dried the dishes and glassware. She heard Mr. Lingerle ask Gram if Maybeth couldn’t have two lessons a week instead of one. She heard Gram say no.
    â€œListen to me for a minute,” Mr. Lingerle pleaded. “I’m not saying Maybeth is a genius, or anything like it. But she
is
one of those people, one of those lucky people, who will always have music in their lives. People who can always find pleasure in music, no matter what else — hurts them, or goes wrong. I’d like to give her as much music as I can, because — because I want to. It’s a pleasure for me. And then” — his chair creaked as he leaned forward — “when I hear what the other teachers say about her — and when I see how hard she works — at the piano she has success. Don’t you want her to be successful, somewhere?”
    â€œOf course, we do,” Gram snapped. Dicey, polishing plates dry, knew what was bothering Gram. Money. But Gram wasn’t going to admit that. Dicey admired her pride, but she thought Gram was wrong not to tell Mr. Lingerle.
    â€œI know what you’re thinking, girl,” Gram said. Dicey came to stand beside her.
    â€œI’m right,” Dicey said.
    â€œYou always think you’re right,” Gram said.
    Dicey just went back to the sink. She could have been finished five minutes ago, but she wanted to listen in.
    Gram was silent, then said, “We don’t have the money.”
    â€œI wasn’t asking for money,” Mr. Lingerle cried, exasperated. “Did I mention money?”
    Dicey turned around to catch the end of Gram’s quick smile. “If you can afford it,” Gram said.
    â€œI can’t afford not to,” Mr. Lingerle told her. “I guess you can’t know — how exhilarating it is to teach someone like Maybeth. So, we’re agreed?”
    â€œEntirely,” Gram said.
    Before he left, Mr. Lingerle played them all a couple