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A doorway for two
Nine-year-old Nia stopped beside the park bandstand. Her two dark braids swung against her bright coral raincoat, and a raindrop shone on her brown skin. Beside her, Grandfather shook rain from his gray hair and straightened his green waistcoat. Someone beneath the bandstand had just said, very clearly, "My drum appears to be wearing a sandwich."
The park sloped beside the bandstand, leaving room for a broad, lit doorway at path level. A tortoise in a yellow bow tie opened it. "Tavi, conductor," he said. "Would you both care to visit our music room? We have chairs your size. We have a small difficulty with our afternoon concert, too. The chairs are not the difficulty."
Nia looked through the open doorway with Grandfather beside her. Lamps brightened a smooth floor; teal roots curved along the walls above painted red mushrooms. Small woodland musicians waited at stands holding oversized leaf sheet music. A hedgehog lifted a sandwich off his seed-pod drum with two wooden spoons. Nia had plenty of questions. First, she wanted to hear what had gone wrong.