Vanished by Sheela Chari Page A

felt incomplete compared to the one on her grandmother’s veena with its spectacular, fully carved body and wings. This dragon was made from papier-mâché and painted crudely in bright colors, reminding Neela of her frog puppet from school.
    She smoothed out the pages of the exercise book and began with the recital piece she had screwed up at the last lesson. She went over all the lines, repeating the ones where she had made mistakes. Her concentration grew stronger until she forgot the time, focusing on the notes and their exact pitches. If Sudha Auntie could only hear her now. If anyone could hear the way she played when she was by herself.
    There was a rustling in the room, and Neela immediately stiffened. But when she turned around, she saw that it was only Sree, lying on his stomach under the coffee table.
    â€œGo away,” she said. “I’m practicing.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGo away.”
    Sree stayed where he was, his chin propped up on his hands.
    She turned back to her music sheets, deciding to ignore him. As she continued, the blood pumped through her body, flushing her cheeks, warming up her muscles. Slowly the area behind her shoulder blades relaxed. She ran through the piece a half dozen times and felt completely awake, as if a great eye inside her had opened. In the background, she could hear Sree stirring, but it didn’t bother her after all. He didn’t say a word, and it was actually nice to have someone listening who couldn’t tell if she screwed up or not.
    Her thoughts drifted to Parvati. It seemed impossible to go through life with just a single instrument. Yet Parvati had expected to do just that, and when she lost her veena, she gave up playing forever, and even put a curse on her lost instrument. Some people might call it crazy, but Neela could understand that feeling of dedication. And even if it was only a story, the part about Parvati had felt very real to her. After all, there was something special about her grandmother’s veena, something Neela couldn’t quite explain. She had felt it herself; she had seen it in the way her grandmother practiced on it, as if no one else existed in the world.
    By now Sree had crept out from under the table and sat next to Neela. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him beating his knee with the flat of his hand.
    She stopped practicing, surprised. “Sree, are you tapping the beat?”
    He shook his mop of hair from his face and looked at her.
    â€œWhere did you learn that?” she asked.
    â€œI watched you.” He showed her by tapping some more.
    Seeing him reminded her of the first time Lalitha Patti had shown her how to count the beats. Neela was only three. She barely understood anything. But it thrilled her that her grandmother thought her important enough to learn. Neela rested the student veena on the floor. “Not bad, Sree. That’s almost right.” And then she tapped the beat out slowly for him, until he joined in.

Pavi came over on Friday . They were at Neela’s window, which was frosted and covered in the corners by snow. “Maybe we should go to Lynne’s house and spy on her.”
    Neela drew a smiley face on the windowpane with her finger. “I’m done spying,” she said. “I suck at it.”
    Pavi drew a cat. She always drew cats. She had always wanted one, but couldn’t because of her allergies. But that didn’t stop her from drawing them everywhere.
    Neela started to add a dog to the windowpane. “And I’m not going to Somerville.”
    â€œSomerville? How do you know she lives there?”
    â€œI saw her address in her notebook.”
    â€œWhy is Lynne living in Somerville and going to school in Arlington?”
    Neela frowned at her dog. It was starting to look like a frog. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”
    â€œHello? Have you heard about school districts?”
    Before Neela could answer, they heard a