Chapter Twelve
Gabby
Dr. Isaacson, our conductor, stands on the podium at the end of rehearsal on Tuesday and reads off a list of names, including mine and Lauren’s. “Please come talk to me once you finish packing up. Thanks.” With a nod to the orchestra, he collects his scores and batons and steps down.
Lauren and I exchange a glance. She’s the principal second violinist for this concert, and I’m assistant principal. Last year, we were swapped. Dr. Isaacson likes to move the violins around, give everyone a chance to sit in different places in the different sections. We both started in the middle of the seconds last year, then moved to the back of the firsts, then to where we are now.
“Any idea what this is about?” I ask as I pull my case onto my lap to put my instrument away.
She shakes her head as she removes her shoulder rest and tucks it into its pocket, then nestles her violin into its shaped slot. “No. But he called all the principals. I’m guessing it’s something good.”
Even though we all hurry to put our things away and gather around Dr. Isaacson where he waits next to the table at the front of the rehearsal room, it’s clear he’s waiting for the rest of the orchestra to leave before he addresses our group.
He adjusts his glasses and runs a hand over his flyaway hair. With his thin build, ash-blond hair, and tendency to wear charcoal suits and white shirts, he reminds me of Niles from Frasier. My parents liked to watch reruns of that show when I was a kid, so I ended up watching it too. Niles and Daphne were always my favorites.
Dr. Isaacson’s eyes track the last person leaving through the door to the instrument lockers, then turns his attention to us. “Thank you all for staying behind. I won’t keep you long, as I’m sure you’d like to get dinner and do whatever else you have to do this evening.
“As you know, we do a musical every year for homecoming. This year it’s Jekyll and Hyde. It has a big orchestra part without a lot of breaks, so we need a strong pit.”
Picking up a stack of papers from the table behind him, he starts passing them around. “Here’s the rehearsal and performance schedule. I know some of you might have classes or other things that conflict with this. If so, let me know and I’ll get someone else. But you’re all my first choice for this. Look over the schedule and let me know on Thursday if you can do it or not.”
He looks us over again, gives another nod paired with his usual pleasant smile, picks up his bag and slides past us.
Lauren grabs my arm, a big smile on her face. “Come on. Let’s put our stuff away and go celebrate. This is awesome!”
I return her smile, but mine’s more forced. Because I looked at the dates. The rehearsals aren’t a problem. They’re from six to eight on Tuesdays and Thursdays starting next week. But the performances are the same weekend Jonathan’s in Seattle. And I already have a plane ticket to go visit him.
My excitement at being Dr. Isaacson’s first choice for the homecoming musical’s pit orchestra is overshadowed by the sinking disappointment of having to turn it down.
Lauren doesn’t notice anything’s wrong with me as I follow her to put our instruments away and then out of the building. She heads for the dorm instead of the campus center, which houses the cafeteria.
“Where are you going?” I stop and tilt my head in our usual direction. “Aren’t we going to get dinner?”
She turns and rolls her eyes at me. “I said we should celebrate. You think the caf counts as celebrating?”
I shrug and catch up to her. “They have ice cream. And cake. That’s celebratory.”
Looking at me out of the corner of her eyes, she communicates her clear disagreement with that statement. “Riiight. I mean for real. Dry cake from food services isn’t my idea of a celebration. Let’s go out! I know you’re rationing your earnings from this summer, but surely you can splurge a little.”
I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. Lauren’s not going to be happy when I drop the bomb that I can’t do the show after all.
“You’re seriously going to turn this down?” Lauren hisses as I ready myself to talk to Dr. Isaacson during the break in rehearsal on Thursday.
Perched on the edge of my chair, violin tucked under my arm, I look over at her. Her mouth is tight and her brown eyes flash with anger. I sigh. “Yes, Lauren. I told you. I’m going to be in Seattle that weekend.”
“Did you even tell Jonathan about this? What did he have to say?”
“No. I didn’t tell him.”
She glares daggers at me. “Scared he’d agree with me?”
I sigh again and glance around, keeping my voice low so it’s not obvious to everyone else that we’re fighting. Fortunately, no one seems to be paying any attention to us. “Why are you so mad about this? We made these plans before I even came back to school. I’ve had my plane ticket for the Seattle show since August. I didn’t hear you complaining about me ignoring the need to practice and do homework this weekend at the festival or when we went to all those parties. How is this any different?”
Her mouth opens and closes, and she makes a choking sound like she can’t even come up with a response to what I just said. Then she leans closer to me, spitting out her words with barely restrained fury. “Because, Gabby, now you’re throwing away a performance opportunity. This isn’t just taking a couple days off from practicing or skipping a day of class—which, if you recall, I was pissed at you about the skipping. This is choosing your boyfriend over yourself. And I’m not okay with that. And I don’t think he’d be okay with it either, which is why you haven’t told him, even though I know you’ve talked to him at least three times since Tuesday’s rehearsal, not to mention however often you’ve texted between those calls.”
I press my lips together, my nostrils flaring. She argued with me at dinner on Tuesday, mad at me both for saying I couldn’t play the show as well as for ruining her celebration. Yesterday, she barely spoke to me. And today she’s been prodding me off and on to tell Jonathan or change my mind.
“Lauren. Look. I appreciate the concern. I’m glad you’re my friend and that you think you’re looking out for me. But I’m not canceling on Jonathan. I don’t know when I’ll get to see him again after the show in October. Thanksgiving, maybe? Christmas break?” I shake my head, my mouth still a firm line. “You don’t get it. I can’t handle waiting until November or December to see him.”
Her face softens a fraction, but before she can say anything, Dr. Isaacson resumes the podium. There’s a flurry of movement and sound as everyone heads back to their seats.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath.
Lauren has a satisfied smirk on her face. Like she’s won something.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I whisper. “I’ll talk to him after rehearsal. I’m still not playing the show. And there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”
She narrows her eyes at me, but Dr. Isaacson tapping his baton on the edge of his stand prevents her from speaking. “Alright. Let’s work on Egmont.”
Papers rustle as everyone gets out the sheet music for Beethoven’s Egmont Overture. Dr. Isaacson lifts his hands, and everyone prepares to play. He gives the prep and the downbeat, and my argument with Lauren falls to the wayside, eclipsed by the necessity of making music, working together in our roles as stand partners, our bows moving in unison, our tone blending together as a stand, as a section, as an orchestra.
I know I’ll hear more about this from her later. But right now I don’t have to care. All I have to care about is the music swelling and filling the space, its shimmering beauty transcending time, space, and self.