“I know. I was petrified when it fell. A broken spring, I guess.”
They neared the entrance door. The music stands were folded and the players were talking and laughing among themselves. Judy and Karl left unnoticed and ran swiftly down the two long flights of stairs.
“They’ve stopped practicing!” Judy said, surprised at the silence in the halls.
“Of course, lunch time. Most of the students eat at the houses, you know, the dorms where they live.”
“You too?”
Karl shook his head. “I came weeks before the Music Festival started. I live with my uncle.”
They stood for a moment. The sun felt warm and pleasant after the mustiness of the Opera House. They looked at each other curiously.
“Well,” the boy smiled, about to leave.
“Karl,” Judy said hesitantly. She didn’t want him to go, not just yet. He was nice—didn’t treat her like a child.
“Karl,” she said with a little more confidence, “where are you going to eat your lunch?”