CHAPTER THREE B — THE FIRST PARENT CALL

Asha Patel did not believe the problem was merely administrative.
She invited me to her kitchen after school and placed her son’s rehearsal calendar between two cups of tea.
“Every month June asks the parents to trust her with one more thing,” she said.
“I thought it was because the center was short of volunteers.”
Asha worked evening shifts at a pharmacy and rarely had time for committee meetings.
She had always been grateful when June offered to collect forms or communicate with the council.
But her gratitude had started to feel like a debt she could not finish paying.
“She told me Dev shouldn’t apply for solo competitions,” Asha said.
“She said they would distract him from the ensemble.”
I remembered Dev asking for extra practice time after rehearsal.


He had never mentioned being discouraged from solo work.
“What does he want?” I asked.
“He wants to find out how good he can become,” Asha replied.
“That’s all he ever says.”
We looked through the calendar together.
Some rehearsals had been marked mandatory even though the council’s general guidance allowed individual absences for auditions.
June had told the parents that missing two sessions would disqualify their children.
I knew that was not true.
Asha called another parent on speakerphone.
Felix’s father answered from his workshop and confirmed that he had heard the same warning.
He also said his son had been offered a school science trip that conflicted with rehearsal.
“June said Felix would lose his percussion chair if he went,” he explained.
“I told him to stay with the music.

”
Asha pressed her palms against the table.
“We’re all making decisions from what she tells us.”
I wanted to say June must have misunderstood the rules.
But she had handled those rules for two years and had corrected me more than once when I misread a deadline.
I asked the parents not to confront Wren or discuss their suspicions with the children.
“We’re responsible for sorting this out,” I said.
“They are responsible for practicing.”
Felix’s father offered to help review the published council requirements.
Asha agreed to gather copies of emails she had received directly.
I wrote down the dates and returned home before the evening rehearsal.
On my porch, someone had moved the two tomatoes June left earlier into a small paper bag.
The bag was dry even though rain had fallen all afternoon.
I knew then that someone had approached my front steps while I was away.
I left the bag where it was and called Asha back.
“Would you mind walking with me to the post office tomorrow?” I asked.
She did not hesitate.
“I’ll meet you at nine,” she said.