"Her name is Gloriana." Dietre found it easier to keep talking if he only looked at what he was doing. He now began to take seeds from the water and arrange them on the paper towel to dry. "...She's a dancer at Mrs. Fox's studio, where I play the piano." He didn't know what he would have done if Mrs. Fox didn't want him there anymore, it was the only place he could touch a piano now. He was so grateful, and if he were braver, and wasn't sure that Francis would be annoyed by it, he'd ask to go there every night just so he could play.
The conversation could have stopped there, yet Dietre felt compelled to continue. There was no need to explain anything, in fact, it was probably a bad idea, but he kept going anyway. "I scared her..." A look of grief and guilt crossed over the boy's face. "It wasn't my intention. I didn't think she'd want to talk to me again. ...I thought I lost her too." The pain faded from expression, "But I was wrong." Maybe. It was stupid to be too optimistic.
He had run out of room for seeds, and now he glanced up, looking perfectly composed despite whatever turmoil going on inside, to ask, "May I have another paper towel, please?"