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out, even though I couldn’t for the life of me tell you where it came from. I strum and pick faster, humming along with the guitar. I want to be sure I commit the melody to memory before I get distracted and lose it forever.
    My father sticks his head into the room. “Neil! Quit goofing around and help your brother run cables up to the speakers in the balcony. We’ll be playing in less than an hour. Get a move on!”
    â€œYou got it,” I say, jumping up from my chair. I’m still hanging on to my guitar, and I quickly run through the melody line one more time before I place it carefully into its case. Then I grab a couple of brownies and head out front to help.
    * * *
    The show goes well. There are definitely more people here than last year. The pews are so full that some people have to stand around the edges. Dad’s been saying for a couple of years now that as word spreads, we’ll become more and more in demand. Looking out at today’s audience, I get the feeling he’s right.
    For one thing, the average age of the audience seems to have dropped by quite a bit. The old ladies who’ve flocked to our past performances are still here, soaking it up, but there are also quite a few young people in their twenties and thirties, many of them with little kids. I’m not surprised that the audience is almost entirely devoid of teenagers, but there is one notable exception. She’s around my age, and I’ve never seen her before. She’s got short black hair and glasses with bright red frames, and she’s wearing jean shorts and a plain white tank top. She’s sitting in the front row with an old lady and a little boy who keeps fidgeting. The old lady is so engrossed in the music that she doesn’t pay any attention to the kid, but the girl manages to keep him under control. Every once in a while she leans in and whispers something in his ear, and he laughs and calms down.
    My best guess is that the old lady is their grandmother, and red-glasses girl has been dragged along to the show to babysit. She’s pretty cute, and throughout the show I keep stealing glances at her, hoping nobody catches on. I’m not too worried. The chance of anyone paying attention to me while the rest of the McClintock circus sings, dances and plays weird instruments is pretty slim.
    Afternoon shows are usually a bit more subdued than nighttime performances, especially when they’re at churches or community centers. Something about the surprising energy of today’s crowd gets us going, though, and by the fourth tune we’re really pumping out a good set. Even though I am not a fan of the music, I have to admit that it’s pretty cool when a show goes especially well. We’re always well rehearsed enough to sound good at any performance, but every once in a while we’re on fire, and today is one of those days.
    Without even noticing, I start to really get into what we’re playing. The piano and fiddle are pounding away, and the twins are at center stage, facing each other and doing a dance-off. For little girls, they sure can move. They play to the audience, throwing in some hand gestures and occasionally snapping their heads sideways and winking to the crowd at the exact same moment. People go nuts for the mirror-image stuff.
    I take advantage of the audience’s focus on them to glance at red-glasses girl and realize with a shock that she’s looking right at me. I immediately drop my eyes, but when I peek again, she’s still staring, only now she’s smiling at me. I’m so surprised that I miss a few chords. I catch the tune again almost immediately, hoping nobody will notice, but something tells me it didn’t slip by my dad.

Six
    After the show, we bring our instruments into the back room and put them safely away before heading back out to mingle with the crowd. I hate this part of the job more than anything. I’m no good at small talk,