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and it takes some serious effort to pretend that I’m in love with Celtic music.
    Of all of us, Shamus and Kathy are best at the schmoozing thing, probably because they’re older and have had more practice. The twins just stick close to Mom and smile and giggle at everyone, which, of course, people love. At least Johnny hates the meet-and-greet as much as I do. Dad won’t let us skip it, though, so we usually stick together as far away from the crowd as possible.
    â€œWhat is up with all the hipster families?” I ask him when we’re standing off to the side.
    â€œI know, right?” he says. “I guess Dad’s onto something when he talks about us catching the wave.”
    â€œWhat wave?” I ask.
    â€œAre you serious?” says Johnny. “He’s always going on about how Celtic music is coming up, and we’re totally in the right place at the right time. Do you ever bother to listen to him?”
    â€œNot really,” I say. “He talks too much. I just hop on the bus when everyone else does.”
    He laughs. “I should try that.” He glances past me. “Incoming.”
    I turn around in time to see the old lady from the front row hurrying up to us, clutching her program in her hands. Red-glasses girl and the little kid are following her.
    â€œOh my goodness!” says the lady. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed that show.”
    â€œThanks,” Johnny and I say simultaneously.
    â€œHonestly,” she says. “I grew up in Cape Breton, and I was transported right back to my childhood. How wonderful that you’re all keeping it alive, and in such fine fashion!”
    We get a lot of this kind of nostalgic enthusiasm at our shows, from people who grew up here or who had parents who grew up here or who’ve always been fans of traditional fiddle music and just had to come hear it for themselves .
    â€œThanks,” I say again. “I’m glad you liked it.”
    She looks past me at Johnny. “You know,” she says, “I always wanted to play the bagpipes. Do you think it’s too late for me to pick it up?”
    I slide out of the way and leave Johnny to give her a pep talk. Red-glasses girl smiles at me and holds out her hand.
    â€œHey,” she says. “I’m Sandy.”
    I shake her hand. “I’m Neil.”
    â€œI know,” she says. “Your name is in the program. This is Beast.” The kid makes claws with his hands and growls at me.
    â€œBeast,” I say. “That’s a pretty wild name.”
    Sandy leans in as if she’s about to let me in on something big. “His name isn’t really Beast,” she says in a mock whisper. “It’s Bailey. He only answers to Beast these days, though.”
    I look at the kid, who narrows his eyes at me and emits a low snarl.
    â€œI can see why,” I say. “So are you guys around for a while?”
    â€œGrandma’s rented a cottage for the month,” she says. “We’re here until just after Deep Cove Days. Then we head back home to Toronto.”
    â€œCool,” I say. This is the part where any clearheaded red-blooded teenage dude would ask if she wants to hang out sometime, but of course I can only come up with “cool.”
    â€œYou guys were really good,” she says.
    â€œOh yeah?” I ask. “This your kind of thing?”
    She leans in again. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really into Celtic music.”
    I laugh. “To tell you the truth, neither am I.”
    â€œI’m serious though,” she says. “I was totally digging your playing. You’re really good.”
    â€œYou think so?” I ask, thanking my DNA for the millionth time that I don’t blush like the rest of the clan.
    â€œTotally,” she says. “I actually play a little bit myself.”
    â€œNo way,” I say. “That’s really