Two

“You have to get Wolski,” a girl said. “If you play cello, you need Mr. Wolski.”

“I have Abrams,” a girl cradling a cello said.

We were in a lecture hall at the university on the first day of the summer program. I sat down away from everyone else, and three girls decided to sit near me and then immediately pretend I didn’t exist. It seemed as if a lot of the kids already knew one another, though there were a few like me scattered among the clusters—wide-eyed kids sitting alone, clutching their instruments.

“Mrs. Abrams?” the girl barked. “Mrs. Abrams shouldn’t even be here. She’s never really played. She’s never done any solo work. She’s never even been in a professional orchestra. I have no idea where she trained. Probably just at a university somewhere out west.” The girl crossed her arms and shook her head. “I mean, why bother?”

“Oh,” the cellist said. She looked back at the schedule in front of her. “I have her for two sessions.”

“Two sessions?” It seemed like the first girl, a skinny redhead with a violin resting on her lap, was going to lose her mind. Instead, she just shrugged and gave the cellist a pitying look.

“Do you have Wolski?” the girl sitting next to me asked the redhead. She had thick brown hair and chestnut eyes. When she caught me glancing at her, she shot me a quick smile.

“I play violin,” the redhead said, holding up her instrument. “So, obviously, I have Powell. If you play violin, you absolutely have to have Powell.”

“Okay,” the brunette said. She turned to me, raised her eyebrows in an exaggerated motion and mouthed “Wow.”

“How do you know all this?” the cellist asked.

“This is my third time here,” the redhead said. “And this is my year. The Juilliard people are going to be snatching up the best of us. I intend to blow their minds.” She nodded as though agreeing with herself. “Juilliard is where I belong.”

Alisha walked onto the stage. It made me feel a little more secure seeing her there. I barely knew her, but we’d talked a lot since she’d asked me to join the program. There were forms to complete, questions to answer, permissions to be given. My parents were thrilled for me. And eventually, I started to see what it was I’d signed up for.

The weird thing was that I’d never thought about where all the practice was taking me, which might sound stupid—I don’t know. I am fifteen though. I kind of doubt anyone at fifteen really has a clear picture of how they’ll spend the rest of their life. You practice something and get good at it because you love doing it. It never really feels like work. It doesn’t feel like something you need to do to get somewhere. I couldn’t imagine ever not playing.

As Alisha had explained it, this program was a giant stepping stone to greater things. You could be the next James Ehnes, she’d said.

Which, to me, meant I could do nothing but play violin all the time. I didn’t hate school, though I could do without all the tests we were forced to take. I liked some of the English courses, but that was because we were just reading books. My school didn’t have a music program, so that wasn’t even an option. Every day was kind of the same. I spent my time waiting to get back to Mr. Jorgensen’s apartment to practice.

This program, once I began to understand it, felt like a gift. Before I even went in that first day, I knew Alisha was right. I needed this.

I wanted it.

Up on the stage, Alisha clapped her hands to get our attention. “Hello, everyone, and welcome,” she said. “It’s nice to see so many familiar faces. And just as many new ones. I’m very excited for this year to begin.” There were some cheers and clapping, and then Alisha went on to talk about the program. The two weeks we would have at the university. How we would be working with some of the very best musicians in the area. And then she dropped an absolute bomb.

“It is also a great honor for me to announce,” she said, stopping and looking out at the audience over her glasses, “that violinist James Ehnes will be joining us for a master class on the final day of our program.”

I almost dropped my violin. It was in its case, but still.

“He will work with five students individually,” Alisha said after the muttering and muffled clapping ceased. “I know there are more than five violinists here, so this will be a difficult decision to make. Luckily, James has invited us all to his performance at Chamberfest on Thursday night. And he will do a Q & A, so everyone will be able to gain valuable insights from one of our country’s most accomplished musicians.”

I set my violin down because I didn’t trust my hands. They were suddenly sweaty and shaking.

“As some of you have heard, two representatives from Juilliard will be here with us as well. Though they haven’t signed on to do any specific sessions, they’ll be watching all of the students to see how we do things here. Now, give yourselves a big round of applause because each and every one of you has made it this far, which is, in and of itself, a huge accomplishment.”

Everyone began clapping.

Everyone, that is, but me. I just stared at Alisha. She was smiling and clapping along with the crowd. In that moment she reminded me of her father, and I felt a little more comfortable. I grabbed my violin and hugged it to my chest.

“We have twenty minutes before the first session begins,” Alisha said. “If you see someone you haven’t met, introduce yourself. There are volunteers in the hallway who can help you with directions. Enjoy!”

The brunette girl turned to me with her hand outstretched. “I’m Danielle,” she said.

“Will.” I shook her hand.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” I said.

She wrinkled her forehead at me. “But you need to be sixteen to be here, right?” She tapped the redhead’s shoulder. “Don’t you need to be sixteen to be here?”

“Of course,” the redhead said. “Why?”

“He’s fifteen,” Danielle said.

“Do you turn sixteen this week or something?”

“No,” I said. “I actually just turned fifteen.” I had no idea there was an age requirement for the program.

Alisha was walking past, and the redhead called to her, “Miss Jorgensen!”

Alisha stopped and leaned against a seat. “Yes, Cathy?”

“This boy says he’s fifteen.”

Alisha looked at me for a moment. “Don’t you worry about that,” she said.

“But you need to be sixteen!” Cathy said.

Alisha looked at Cathy’s schedule. “I see you have Mr. Powell this year. You should be very happy about that, Cathy.”

“Of course I am.”

“I’m certain he’ll help you a great deal.” Alisha carried on up the walkway and out the door.

Cathy turned back to me. “Are you sure you’re only fifteen?”

“Yeah,” I said. It was a really stupid question. As if I’d momentarily forgetten how old I was.

She shook her head. “Who do you have for your sessions?”

I hadn’t looked at my schedule yet. Just being in that massive room had been enough to put me on edge. I pulled the folded sheet from my backpack. There was a piece of tape holding the edges together. I started working on it with my thumbnail. Before I could get the tape off, the sheet was yanked from my hand.

I looked up to find Cathy ripping the tape off and flicking the schedule open.

“Powell,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at me, then turned to Danielle. “He must be special.” She looked back at me. “Are you special?”

I had no idea how to answer, so I didn’t say anything.

Cathy stood and held my schedule out toward me. Before I could get my hand on it, she let it drop. “I guess we’ll see,” she said. Then she slipped out the end of the aisle, taking the cellist with her.

Danielle picked up my schedule and looked at it. “We both have group performance first,” she said. “I think I know where the room is, if you want to go together.” She had her violin case in one hand and a bag over her other shoulder.

I wiped my hands on my jeans and grabbed my violin and backpack.

We moved down the aisle to the walkway. She opened the door for me, and as I passed through, she asked, “So are you special?”