Chapter 37

Rohan nodded in agreement, or maybe for another reason. “See. Instead of trying to make you sing like everyone else, someone should have found a way to make how you do sing fit in.”

Why had none of Atticus’s teachers thought of that?

“Your tone, your pitch, your inflection…all perfect.”

AC was smiling, ear to ear, close to laughing, even. So, why was he suddenly taken over by another emotion, one that made him check his eyes for tears.

* * * *

Terrel and Rohan shared the front seat heading back to the motel. It was a tight fit, and likely illegal, but it was hard to say no to Terrel.

AC asked Rohan, who sat closest to him, what he did when not performing. “You n-n-never said l-last night.”

“Believe it or not, I talk for a living.”

“As w-w-what?”

“I’m an auctioneer.”

Terrel piggybacked. “‘Give me fiddy, fiddy five? Do I hear sixty?’ and all that.”

“Yup. Car auctions in upstate New York,” Rohan said.

“C-cars? I l-l-love c-cars! Old, n-new, vintage, y-you n-name it.”