Excerpt:

“I’m setting the timer, Harper. Start practicing NOW,” Dad said in That Voice, the one that would make George Washington, the bravest man to ever live, shiver in his revolutionary boots.
“Okay, okay.” I hitched myself off the sofa where I had deposited myself after shooting hoops in the driveway with Annie and Maud D’ib . I walked to the piano, tugging my sports bra down as I went. It always rode up because frankly, there wasn’t much to keep it in place.
“I’ll push the start button when I hear something,” Dad’s voice floated in from the kitchen.
“Jeez, Dad.” I ripped a scale up and down so he’d get off my case, and then bent to untie my basketball shoes.
“I don’t hear anything.”
I pressed a few random keys with my elbow while I wrenched off the right shoe, and then started prying the left one off with my right toes.
“What is that noise? That’s not music. I’m going to start the timer over.”
“It’s modern.”
Good grief. Could he be more uptight? I mean, did he expect me to execute the nuances of the pedal with basketball shoes on? I wriggled my toes inside my damp socks and flipped open the Well-Tempered Klavier.