Sparkers by Eleanor Glewwe Page B

myself into learning the Shevem solo.
    On Fourthday morning, seven days after the First Councilor’s speech, I arrive at school to find dozens of students clustered around the front steps, talking noisily in the snow. Miriam elbows her way through the crowd to me.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I ask.
    â€œNobody knows. The doors are locked.”
    Miriam and I hold our instruments close and search the throng for our friends. Then the school doors open. The headmaster appears at the top of the steps, flanked by several teachers. He begins to speak, but we can’t hear him.
    A hand falls on my shoulder, and I jump. It’s Aradi Imael, and her face is grave.
    â€œGirls, the school is closed.”
    â€œWhat?” says Miriam.
    â€œThe Assembly has closed all the schools in the city to prevent the spread of the dark eyes,” our teacher says.
    Miriam and I exchange stunned looks.
    â€œMarah, I know we were going to practice after school today,” Aradi Imael says, “but now I’m going to be busy with staff meetings. Maybe you could come to my house this weekend instead. Would Seventhday afternoon work?”
    I nod.
    â€œMy thanks,” she says before rushing away.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    A SIDE FROM MEDSHA , I never thought I’d miss school, but without it the hours are interminable. Visiting Leah helps, but it’s hard to watch her suffer: from the cough that makes her ribs sore, from the aches in her limbs, from the fever that keeps returning. I find myself feeling glad that Raspberry’s wing was broken because the little finch is the only thing that seems to cheer her.
    To distract her from her misery, I bring my violin every day and play. While she listens, I practice my three-octave scales, sight-read passages from
Medsha Excerpts: Volume I
, and work on the Shevem solo. I receive a letter from Qirakh setting my audition for a date a little less than four weeks away.
    On Seventhday morning, while Mother is out shopping, Channah Hadar calls again.
    â€œI’m only staying a minute,” she says when I greet her. “You’re invited to the Rashids’ again tomorrow evening. For supper. Also, Azariah asked me to tell you he’d like your help again. I didn’t realize you two had gotten on so well.”
    â€œI’ll come,” I say, excited at the prospect of discovering what Azariah’s Hagramet book contains.
    â€œI’ll pick you up at the same time, then,” Channah says.
    After lunch, I leave for Aradi Imael’s house with my violin, cutting through the kasir neighborhood and its grandiose apartment buildings again. I’ve almost reached Mir District when I turn a corner and slam into someone coming the other way.
    â€œExcuse me,” I gasp. I look up into the face of Melchior Rashid.
    He steps back on the sidewalk, his eyes wide. “What are you doing here?” he says in an undertone.
    Before I can reply, two kasir boys his age, both wearing Firem Secondary pins, come up behind him. Melchior turns to go back the way they came, but one of his companions catches him by the shoulder. “Wait. It’s a sparker.”
    My heart starts thudding. It’s the middle of the day, and there’s no one on this block but me and the three boys.
    â€œLet’s go, Shimon,” Melchior says.
    Ignoring him, Shimon seizes my arm. “Your kind doesn’t belong around here.”
    I glance at Melchior, but Sarah’s brother looks at me as though he’s never met me.
    â€œLet go of me,” I croak, trying to wrench away from Shimon.
    He shoves me so violently I stumble, and the third boy takes this opportunity to grab my violin.
    â€œGive it back!” I lunge for my instrument, but Shimon holds me fast as his friend opens my case on the sidewalk.
    â€œLeave it, Ayal,” Melchior says.
    Ayal lifts my fiddle from its case and wrenches out the wooden tuning pegs. I watch in a stupor as they