Mr. Grasshopper plucked the string again then turned the tuning knob slightly before drawing his bow up and down the strings. Satisfied with the perfect sound, Mr. Grasshopper played a peppy little tune, glancing at James. James grinned at the music. He was backstage listening to the musicians tune their instruments. He sat on a crate, kicking his feet as Mr. Grasshopper carefully settled his violin into its case.

"Are your friends going to be here soon?" the grasshopper asked absently.

"Oh yes," James replied. "They're very excited to hear you play."

A pleased smile bloomed across Mr. Grasshopper's face and he straightened proudly. "Well then, you'd better go and wait for them then take your seats. It'll be starting soon. Go on now."

James hopped down and readjusted his clothes then hugged Mr. Grasshopper around his middle. "Promise you'll play your best."

Mr. Grasshopper embraced him back. "I always do, my dear boy. You should know that by now."

James pulled back and beamed then turned and hurried to the lobby. Their home concert hall was the finest out of all the venues, and it was befitting for the last concert, James thought. He lingered near the doors, peering through the crowd as he waited for the family. He wasn't worried about being missed because Mr. Centipede was so tall. Sure enough, he was spotted before he could spot them.

"Heya, Jimmy!" Mr. Centipede boomed, pushing through the crowd. The others hurried behind him, and then James was being hugged by everybody. He wrapped his arms around each of them and found he had to scrub his eyes to get rid of tears.

"It's good to see you all again," James explained when Miss Spider looked concerned. "I've missed you all."

"How's your wrist?" Mrs. Ladybug asked, gently picking up his arm.

"Much better. Mr. Grasshopper thinks the doctor should be able to take the cast off soon."

"That's the first thing we're doing on Monday," Mrs. Ladybug said. "I want to hear meself how the healing is going. But it's been about five weeks, so if there have been no complications yet, I don't think there will be."

James grinned and peered around at his family. They were wearing their best clothes, and even Mr. Earthworm wore a bowtie and a top hat. They looked so distinguished, but Mr. Centipede tugged at his collar a little. Miss Spider smacked him, and he settled and grumbled. James giggled and Mr. Centipede couldn't help but soften.

"Things ain't been the same at home without you, Jimmy," he said.

"Mr. Grasshopper and I are glad to be home. And I'm so glad that you've come to see his concert."

"Oh, we've wanted to come for ages," Mrs. Ladybug said. "But he's never invited us."

"That's because he doesn't want to bother you," James replied.

There was a pause.

"Bother us?" Miss Spider asked, puzzled. "Why would it bother us to hear his beautiful music?"

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but he's a bit shy about you hearing him play," James said.

"Whatever for?" Mr. Earthworm asked. "He plays for hundreds of people. Why worry about us?"

"Because our opinions matter far more to him than the whole rest of the concert hall combined."

The Glowworm smiled and placed her hand over her heart. "Oh, how sweet," she sighed.

"Well, I always like to hear him practicing," Mr. Earthworm said. "He's very good."

"Oh, but the performance is even better than his practice. They all play so beautifully together, and I can't wait for you to hear it."

The ushers came out and opened the doors for the audience, and James perked.

"Come on!"

They made their way to their reserved seats and settled in. There was low chatter as the audience began to take their seats. James didn't say much, peering at the sides of the stage as his family murmured together. He sat between Miss Spider and Mr. Centipede, and the cephalopod was tugging at his collar again. He caught James's eye and grinned, leaning close.

"Can you believe she made me put this on?" he asked.

James smiled. "Oh, I think you look very nice. And it's only a few hours. It shows Mr. Grasshopper you care. And he cares very much that you do."

Mr. Centipede perked. "So, I look nice?"

"I'd even say distinguished," James said.

"Well, it is polite," Mr. Centipede said then the owner of the theater came onto the stage to announce the beginning of the concert.

After the welcome and a couple of announcements, the quintet came onto the stage with their instruments. There was eager anticipation as the musicians settled in and looked at each other. A silent command seemed to pass between them, and they began to play.

The next hour and a half was filled with the most incredible music, and James knew that the troupe was in rare form. Not a single note was missed, and it was enchanting to listen to the notes as they combined into heavenly harmonies. James checked his family's expressions often, and he was thrilled to see them moved by each piece. Mr. Centipede in particular seemed to enjoy the more solemn pieces, and even as he tried to hide it, James could tell he was touched by the music.

When what James expected to be the last note rang out, he moved to stand up for the ovation that was definitely going to come, but he was startled when another piece started. Checking the program, he saw that there was a new addition to the list of music. It was simply called 'Family,' and James knew at once that Mr. Grasshopper had written the piece. He could practically see the various stages of their journey on the peach pass in front of his mind's eye, and by the end, he couldn't help but wipe away tears. He wasn't the only one, and the audience rose to their feet to applaud the musicians after the last note faded.

The troupe stood poised for a moment before they relaxed and came together. They beamed as the lights dimmed so that they could see and appreciate the standing ovation. James knew the instant Mr. Grasshopper spotted him and saw just who he'd invited to the concert. For a single moment, he looked utterly terrified before he forced a smile and took a bow with the rest of the troupe. Instead of waiting with the others and leisurely heading offstage like usual, he turned and skittered backstage at once, leaving his friends startled and concerned.

James, too, was concerned by the abrupt change in routine. He quickly stood up. "You'll be allowed backstage when you get there," he said tightly. "I'll go now."

Without another word, James bolted through the crowd, leaving his startled family calling for him to wait. He was allowed through by the security guard and he peered around for his guardian. When he couldn't find him, he stopped to think then carefully made his way into a dark corner stacked with boxes. And there he was. Wringing his hands together and pacing and chirruping with nerves, Mr. Grasshopper looked desperately panicked. When he caught James's movement, his entire body stiffened and he looked at him, expecting an attack. When he saw it was James, he relaxed and swallowed several times.

"You invited the family?" Mr. Grasshopper asked shakily.

"Of course. They wanted to come," James said. "They were so excited when I extended the invitation, and they loved your concert."

Mr. Grasshopper's antennae perked and he looked a bit pleased through his fear. "They did? Are you sure?"

"Oh, most definitely," James assured him. "They'll be back here in a minute or two."

Mr. Grasshopper looked sick again and he swallowed and cleaned his antennae as he heard Mr. Centipede's voice.

"Jimmy? Where'd you get to?"

James smiled at Mr. Grasshopper and raised his voice. "Over here!"

Mr. Grasshopper wrung his hands together then placed them behind his back, aware of the weakness he was showing. He couldn't help but be leery of the family. He felt trapped and helpless, and for the moment he saw not only Mr. Centipede but the whole family as predators. He couldn't help feeling that way as much as he didn't want to.

The family came over, and the insect was glad to see that they were grinning. He relaxed a bit and even managed a small, nervous smile.

"Well, that was better than your practicing, just like James said," Mr. Earthworm said. "Normally I only hear your part, which is grand enough, but hearing it all together was just perfection! My ears are very happy!"

Mr. Grasshopper looked pleased. Mrs. Ladybug spoke next. "Oh, I've never heard such wonderful music! It made me feel such amazing things."

"It was very beautiful," Miss Spider said. "It stirred my soul in such a magical way."

"I could listen to you play all day and night," Glowworm said, her soft voice full of joy as she glowed with pleasure.

Mr. Grasshopper was practically glowing, too, and he finally felt like they understood the musical part of him.

"What did you think, Mr. Centipede?" James asked.

Mr. Centipede tugged at his collar and waved several hands. "It was okay."

While everybody else rolled their eyes, James saw a brief look of anger and hurt flash across Mr. Grasshopper's face before he hid his disappointment behind a tight smile. James didn't like seeing Mr. Grasshopper so wounded, and he knew that Mr. Centipede was downplaying his enjoyment of the concert. So he tried again.

"Surely you thought more than that," he pressed.

Mr. Centipede looked a bit uncomfortable. "What do you want from me, Jimmy?"

"I want you to say what you really think."

"I said it already. It was okay."

"Mr. Grasshopper?" Heather called. "Where are you?"

Mr. Grasshopper pushed past the family and came out of the dark corner to face the rest of the troupe. "Over here, Heather," he said crisply. "The family was just commenting on the concert."

"Yeah, you all did real great!" Mr. Centipede exclaimed, putting on his personable smile.

That stung even worse, and though Mr. Centipede and the family couldn't see Mr. Grasshopper's expression, the troupe did, and they knew at once that Mr. Centipede was bothering their friend. A chill seemed to settle over them.

"Oh, hello there," Veronica said coolly.

Mr. Centipede faltered, a bit surprised by the hostility. Usually people were at least polite, but he became aware that he might have done something wrong as he took in four frosty glares.

"We should go and mingle," Oliver said. "It's the last night. We should make the most of it."

"Very well," Mr. Grasshopper said, his tone clipped. "I'll see the rest of you back home."

There was something off, something the bugs couldn't place, and Mrs. Ladybug peered around. "Where are you off to now?"

Mr. Grasshopper gave them an empty smile. "I'm going to talk with people who actually enjoyed my music before I come back home."

Mr. Centipede realized at once what Mr. Grasshopper meant. He was so used to the jabs and arguments between the two of them that he picked it up at once. But he also picked up a hostility that wasn't usually there. As he stared into the empty smile of his friend, his instincts screamed at him that he needed to run because in that moment he knew what he'd said to Mr. Grasshopper had cut him more deeply than anything he'd ever said before. He had finally pushed too far, but it came at a time when he wasn't even trying.

"Hey! No, hey!" Mr. Centipede exclaimed, a clicking noise under his tone. "Mr. Grasshopper! I didn't mean it like that!"

Mr. Grasshopper ignored him, turning to stride away with the troupe. Mr. Centipede desperately wished to take back his stupid words when he noticed James staring at him with a cool expression.

"Jimmy," he begged. "Please, I didn't mean nothing by it. It… I just don't…" He trailed off and looked frustrated.

"I'm going to go out and talk to the audience," James said evenly. "I'll be home with Mr. Grasshopper. Don't bother waiting up."

With that, James turned and followed the troupe into the lobby. The bugs stood there in stunned silence. Besides Mr. Centipede, they were all confused as to what had happened. They could tell that something had from the stricken look on Mr. Centipede's face. They didn't move for several moments as Mr. Centipede wilted and looked down. He took off his hat and tugged at his tie.

"We, ah, we'd better get back home. It's gettin' late," he muttered.

"What is wrong, Mr. Centipede?" Miss Spider asked, reaching out to take one of his clawed hands.

Mr. Centipede flinched away and shook his head. Without a word, he led them out into the lobby. When he saw Mr. Grasshopper nearby, he stopped and stared. James was entertaining a group of laughing children, but Mr. Grasshopper was talking to an excited young lady.

"Oh, I loved your playing," the young woman was saying. "I hope to play just as well as you do one day."

Mr. Grasshopper smiled, but the bugs could see a tinge of bitterness in the gesture as he responded. "I'm nothing special, my dear. Trust me."

"You have hurt him," Miss Spider murmured in realization. She nudged him. "Go and talk to him. It is a simple misunderstanding. Explain and he will understand."

"No," Mr. Centipede said sadly. He looked at her with a tired expression. "Pretty sure I've done enough for one day, angel fangs."

Without another word, he trudged out into the streets, his entire posture defeated.

"I'm sorry, but what just happened, Miss Spider?" Mrs. Ladybug asked. "I thought things were going swimmingly, and then they weren't."

"Mr. Centipede hurt Mr. Grasshopper," she said softly. "I fear our friend said the wrong thing when he said Mr. Grasshopper plays 'okay.'"

"Why does it matter?" Mr. Earthworm asked. "That's exactly what Mr. Centipede would say about what we just experienced. It shouldn't surprise him."

"Remember what James said," Glowworm said softly. "Our opinions matter more to him than everybody else combined. And music is a very important thing for Mr. Grasshopper. What if a very important thing of yours was called 'okay' and dismissed?"

They all went quiet as they watched Mr. Grasshopper mechanically greeting the audience. He looked stiff and uncomfortable, nothing like the lively insect they'd seen on stage. Mr. Earthworm couldn't see the grasshopper, but he could hear the strained smile in his voice as he spoke.

"We're never going to be invited to another concert, are we?"

They all exchanged glances then headed out into the streets without a word. They already knew the answer, and it saddened them more than anything to know that they'd never get to hear their friend play like that again.