“She doesn’t know any English, and yet she can answer that question,”   My best friend had said to me after class. She looked at me accusingly as if I did something really bad. She was talking about a new girl from China who she automatically had made friends with. The new girl didn’t know much English, but even she knew the difference between a clarinet and a oboe.   The music room was bright, stuffy, and old. There was a silence in that room. It was the age of the classroom. How many of us had sat here before?   This was not music. I never felt it was. It was a drill, like a fire drill. My hands would sweat and my…