Sunday comes all too soon. I’m packed and ready to go, but I’m riddled with nerves. And it’s not just the audition that has my stomach tied in knots.

Caleb has been distant since Friday when I told him I had to go to Pittsburgh. I’m not sure what I expected him to say. I suppose I should be glad he’s been so supportive. He’s only had positive things to say about it. He’s proud of me. He’s excited for the opportunity. He’s sure I’ll do well. They’d be crazy not to hire me.

In fact, he’s told me how excited he is so many times, I’m starting to wonder if he wants me to go—as in, permanently.

I could convince myself I’ve been imagining the distance between us, if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve slept alone the last two nights.

Is he pushing me away because he knows that if I get the position, I’ll have to move? Or is it because he wants me to leave anyway, and this is an opportunity to break things off?

I thought Caleb and I had something special. Something real.

But my track record for understanding men is pretty poor. I thought the same thing about my boyfriend in college—that we had something special. I knew he was applying to Master’s programs out of state. I didn’t think that would mean the end of our relationship. But just like that, as soon as he was accepted, he informed me that we were over.

I was so used to being pushed aside—to being the invisible girl—I simply accepted it. No one had ever wanted me in their life badly enough to fight for me. Maybe it’s the same now.

Caleb insisted on taking me to the airport. The closer we get, the sicker I feel. I try to remind myself this will be a short trip. I’ll go to the audition tomorrow, and I’ll be back Tuesday. What I’ll be coming back to, I’m not sure.

Caleb navigates us to departures and slows with the flow of traffic. I wish he wasn’t being so quiet. He’s hardly said a word since we left the house.

“Linnea?” Charlotte says from the backseat.

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’ll be back for parent night?” she asks.

I turn around so I can look her in the eyes. “Of course I will. Do you remember what I promised, way back on my seventeenth day?”

She nods.

“I promised I’d be here for you. I always will, okay, Bug? I’ll always be here. I promise.”

She smiles and nods again. “Okay.”

I reach back and squeeze her leg. “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

We pull up to the curb and my tummy churns. Caleb and I get out and he takes my bag out of the trunk, then comes to stand beside me on the sidewalk.

He passes the handle to me and meets my eyes. “Don’t promise her things like that.”

I blink at him, stunned. “What?”

“Don’t make her a promise you can’t keep. You’re not always going to be here.”

My throat feels like it’s going to close up and cut off my air. “No, I didn’t… I’m coming back on Tuesday. I’ll…”

The hurt look in his eyes stops me short.

“You’re amazing.” He squeezes my arm. “The Pittsburgh Symphony is going to love you.”

I watch him get back in the car and drive away, feeling like I just got punched in the stomach.

* * *

I barely remember the flight. Even the short layover in Denver is a blur. My back and legs are stiff from sitting in the cramped seat for so long, but otherwise, it’s like it didn’t happen. I get off the plane in a daze, rolling my bag behind me. A taxi takes me to my hotel, and between the long flight and losing three hours to the time difference, it’s late when I arrive. I should probably eat something, but I’m too tired to care. I make it up to my room and fall into bed.

My phone wakes me early. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I grab it and look at the screen. It’s my mother. Knowing she’ll gripe at me for it, I decide not to answer. She’ll either complain that I missed her call, or complain that I was asleep when I should have been up already, so I suppose I’m just picking my poison. I set the phone back down, resolving to call her when I’ve had a chance to wake up.

After a shower and some tea, I’m awake, although I don’t feel much better than I did yesterday. Thinking about how Caleb left me at the airport makes me tear up. Don’t promise her things like that. I hate that he thinks I didn’t mean it. I will be back for her performance at school. That’s why I’m getting to the airport well before dawn for a flight at six in the morning.

But he wasn’t just talking about tomorrow night.

The thought of leaving them and moving away is devastating. But this was always supposed to be the plan. I went to school for this. I’ve been practicing for hours every day for this. The Pittsburgh Symphony is highly respected. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

And Caleb said I should go. He practically insisted.

I’ve never been so confused. If Caleb had asked me to stay, what would I have done? Would I have turned down the audition?

I guess it doesn’t matter. He didn’t ask me to stay. And this is what I’ve been working toward.

My phone vibrates with a text. I hope it’s Caleb, but it’s my mother.

Mom: Are you ready? Meet me in the lobby.

The lobby? Oh my god, is she here? I didn’t expect her to come. I scroll back and realize I missed a text from her last night. She is here, staying at the same hotel.

This is not doing anything for my nerves.

I’m dressed for the audition in a long black dress with a V-neck and three-quarter length sleeves. I smooth it down and take one last look at my hair before I go downstairs. I have it up in a twist—partially because it looks nice, and partially so it won’t get in my way while I’m playing. I put on some red lipstick and blot my lips. I’m nervous, but at least I look the part.

My mother is indeed in the lobby, dressed in a navy jacket and slacks, pearls at her neck. She’s always kept her brown hair short, and her makeup is tasteful as usual. Her eyes flick up and down as I walk toward her—analyzing my outfit, no doubt.

“Are you sure about the shoes?” she asks.

I glance down at my red heels. They’re my favorite pair of shoes, and they hardly show beneath my dress. I decide to ignore her question and hope she drops it. “I didn’t know you were coming. Is Dad here too?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” she says. “But I wouldn’t have missed this.”

That pulls me up short. “Really? You want to hear me play? I don’t know if they’ll let anyone in during the audition.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard you play before,” she says, and starts walking toward the front doors. “We should get there early.”

“If you didn’t think you’d hear me play, why did you fly all the way out here? Just to sit in the lobby while I go in?”

The doorman holds the doors open for us and we step out onto the sidewalk.

“No, I’m having lunch with Dr. Singleton and his wife.” She gives me a knowing look as we turn toward Heinz Hall. “It’s his wife who is on the board of trustees. This is all about who you know, Linnea. It’s important to foster connections with the right people.”

My heart sinks. For a second, I thought she cared about hearing me play today. But of course she doesn’t. She’s just here because she doesn’t think I can do this on my own.

Heinz Hall, the beautiful venue the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra calls home, is just steps away from our hotel. In the 1920s, it was an opulent movie house, but fell into disrepair. It was almost demolished, but was eventually renovated for the symphony.

We step inside and my mouth drops open. I’ve seen pictures, but nothing is like seeing it in person. The lobby is stunning, with walls of cream and gold, huge columns, and a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the tall arched ceiling. It’s like walking into a palace. The wide staircase is carpeted in red with a dark wood banister. Every inch of the place says luxury, wealth, and style.

“Close your mouth and stop staring,” Mom says. “Where are we supposed to go?”

I close my mouth and look around. There’s a sign on a black stand that says auditions with an arrow pointing left. I find a table with a woman seated behind it outside one of the doors to the main hall. She has an open laptop and a stack of folders next to it. My mother hangs back while I approach the table.

My hands are already trembling and all-too-familiar pings of nervousness roll through my belly. “Hi, I’m here for my audition. I’m Linnea Frasier.”

She looks at something on her screen and clicks the mouse a few times. “All right, Ms. Frasier. They’ll call you when they’re ready for you.”

I’m not the only one here. Several other musicians linger nearby. Most appear to be alone, although one woman is sitting on a padded bench holding a man’s hand. They’re all dressed professionally—everyone in black, or black and white. I glance down at my shoes again, wondering if red was a mistake.

My mother finds a seat and busies herself with something on her phone. I wander away from her, trying to get my pre-performance jitters under control. I feel increasingly like I might vomit. Taking slow, deep breaths, I walk and stretch my fingers. I don’t know if they’ll give me time to warm up before I have to play, and I want my fingers to be limber.

Two of the other musicians are called in, one after another. They’re each gone for about ten minutes before coming out again. One has a look of triumph on his face; I can tell he’s happy with his performance. The other looks more relieved than confident.

“Ms. Frasier?” The woman at the table looks toward me. “They’re ready for you.”

My mouth goes dry and I avoid looking at my mother. “Thank you.”

Deep breaths, Linnea. Deep breaths.

The concert hall is even more intimidating than the palatial lobby. The walls are detailed in cream, gold, and red. A beautiful grand piano is on the large stage, its dark wood gleaming beneath the lights. Most of the seats are empty, but a small group of people sits front and center. The audition committee.

I’ve been to auditions before. I tried out for the local youth symphony in high school, and I had to pass a series of auditions to gain acceptance into the music program in college. But I’ve never faced anything like this.

The expressions of the audition committee are passive, even bored. They each have a folder in their hands and pens for taking notes.

I step up onto the stage and my heels click against the hard surface, the sound echoing in the acoustics of the hall. It feels as if every breath I take must be audible against the gaping silence. My heart thumps uncomfortably hard and my hands shake. I hope I can steady my hands so I’ll be able to play.

When I get to the piano, I turn to face the committee and pause, waiting for the go ahead to begin.

“This is Linnea Frasier,” a woman on the end says. The other committee members consult their paperwork. “You have one minute to warm up, Ms. Frasier. Then you may begin.”

I nod, but don’t trust my voice to speak. My throat is so dry. The room feels cavernous. I’m so small in comparison. So small and quiet. The invisible girl.

I slide onto the bench and rest my fingers on the keys. It’s the most gorgeous instrument I’ve ever touched. My hands tremble and I swallow hard before tentatively pressing down. The C major chord rings out, clear as day. Just that simple sound is so breathtakingly beautiful it makes me gasp. The piano is exquisite, the keys smooth, the action utterly perfect. Every detail of the room is designed to enhance the music, letting the harmonic stream of those three notes played together fill the air.

With less than a minute to warm up my fingers and get used to the feel of this incredible instrument, I begin my scales. My fingers move up and down the keys in an exercise I’ve done thousands of times. The familiarity takes the edge off my anxiety, allowing my hands to relax. My stomach still churns with nerves and my heart races, but at least I know my hands work.

I finish my scales and pause, putting my hands in my lap. I look over to the audition committee and the woman on the end nods.

My piece is Schubert’s Impromptu in G-flat, Opus Ninety, Number Three. I’m what conductors call an expressive pianist. My hands aren’t large, but my fingers are fast, and Schubert’s piece showcases my strengths.

As I begin, I close my eyes and let the music come. It originates deep in my chest, and flows through my body into my hands. The song soars through the room, ringing out even at my gentle touch. It’s exquisite. My left hand plays the melody while my right softly plays the rapid notes of the accenting harmony, my fingers flying across the keys. I let my body sway to the sound as the music fills me.

I’ve never touched an instrument so perfect. Never heard my music in a venue so beautifully made. I’m overcome with the simple pleasure of playing—of creating something lovely and pure. I’ve played this song so many times, but never heard it sound like this. I’m swept away by the beauty of it. By my love for the music.

I pour all my fear, all my doubt, all my confusion over Caleb, and Charlotte, and this audition into the song. I let my emotions run free, expressing them in the music in a way I never could with words. I bare my soul in the notes I play, leaving nothing behind. I forget that anyone is listening, and for the space of one beautiful song, my anxiety melts away.

The song ends and I slowly open my eyes, bringing my mind back to the present. I take a deep breath and gently caress the keys one last time, brushing my fingertips across their smooth surface.

That’s it. My audition is over. I stand and thank the committee, although my voice comes out so softly, I doubt they hear my words. I leave the hall and walk out into the lobby feeling dazed. It’s like waking up in the middle of a dream.

“Linnea,” Mom says, like she’s trying to get my attention. I don’t remember her approaching, but she’s standing in front of me. “Linnea, how did it go? How did you play?”

I blink at her. “I’ve never played so perfectly in my entire life.”