old high school, and the sensory overload crashed over me.
The smell of Axe body spray, feet, and musty carpet. The sound of kids practicing different songs on different instruments at the same time. The sound of a trumpet-player hot dogging, completely unable to help himself. A trombonist making the weirdest swooping noises he could with his slide.
About a dozen kids—mostly brown, a few white—sat at different spots around the room, obviously waiting on their director to wrangle them, but not in any hurry while they waited.
The only other adult in the room was at the piano, standing over another young man who looked as if he was listening intently, his hands tracing over the keys as his eyes read the music.
“Got it?” The man said, straightening and offering knuckles. He was a dark-skinned guy in his early thirties at most, thin as a rail in jeans and a Jazz and Heritage Festival T-shirt with funky black glasses that were cooler than anything I’d ever owned.
The pianist nodded and gave him a fist bump.
“Miles,” the man said, smiling when he saw us and starting over. “You brought company.”
“Jordan, this is Elle Jones. She’s helping me find a spot for the Turnaround. Elle Jones, meet Jordan Goodman. He’s my partner at the Turnaround.”
We shook hands and said our hellos, but I wasn’t sure what I was doing here yet. “Am I going to start finding a new location for this place too?”
Miles smiled. “No. I’m trying to make a point, but I’m not going to tell you what it is yet.”
“Uh...”
Jordan laughed. “That sounds extremely annoying,” he said to me. “If I knew what it was, I’d tell you.”
“I’m all for surprises, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here,” I admitted.
“Are you?” Miles asked.
“Am I what?”
“All for surprises? You seem like you wouldn’t be.”
“You’re right. I’m not,” I admitted. “I usually find them irritating.”
“Try to lean into this one. I promise that by the time you go home for dinner, you’ll know exactly what I’m up to.”
“Okay,” I said. I looked around the room. “What do I do in the meantime?”
“I thought I’d have Jordan explain what he does here,” Miles said. “Jordan?”
Jordan nodded and swept his arm to encompass the whole room. “Behold the work of a madman.”
“Or genius,” Miles interjected.
“Madman,” Miss Addie said. I turned to find her leaning against the doorframe. “And genius.”
“You know Tremé has birthed some amazing musicians,” Jordan began, and I nodded. Everyone from New Orleans knew that. “The Dirty Dozen Brass Band formed its roots over at the community center, but I’ve seen a need for the same kind of renaissance in piano jazz.”
I wrinkled my forehead, trying to figure out what he meant by “piano jazz.” I knew my music roots pretty well, but piano jazz covered a broad spectrum. “Can you be more specific?”
Miles’s smile widened, and Jordan grinned. “Yeah. I can. Boogey,” he called, and the young man at the piano straightened. “Miss Elle here would like to know what do I mean by piano jazz. You got it?”
Boogey smiled. “I got it.”
“A one, a two, a one two three four,” Jordan said, and Boogey’s hands exploded across the keyboard, sending out a rush of notes that climbed and waterfalled, dancing with each other then separately, then on top of each other, his eyes closed the entire time. Wherever that was coming from, it wasn’t his sheet music. In sections, I could hear the sound of New Orleans jazz with trombones, trumpets, clarinets, but then new chords would mix in and transform into something else, something alive and electric, improvising over a two-beat rhythm, finally concluding after a few minutes with a wild crescendo that ended on a spicy chord.
The kids in the room broke out clapping. They all looked like high schoolers too, and friendly shouts of “Get it, Boogey,” and “You did that, Boogey!” flew around the room.
I clapped too, but it didn’t feel like enough, so I stuck my pinkies in the corner of my mouth and gave the whistle my dad had taught me to do for Saints touchdowns.
Miles’s jaw dropped slightly, and Jordan grinned. “Respect,” he said. “Kids, talk amongst yourselves. I’m going to step out in the hall with our visitors. Boogey, you run point.” Boogey nodded, and we followed Jordan into the hall.
“I wanted you to meet Jordan because he’s the reason the Turnaround is going to be something special,” Miles said. “He’ll be managing it and helping scout local talent to