Annie

I woke the next morning after sleeping like I was dead, feeling refreshed, if not a little foot-sore and jelly-legged. Everyone was awake when I exited my room, and I found Elle, who helped me wash my tattoo and rub on a little salve. But as I dressed and got ready for work, I found myself musing over the day before.

It really had contained its own magic, something simple and subtle, something I hadn’t even really noticed or acknowledged until it was almost over.

Greg was a good friend, the best kind of friend. The kind you could spend a whole day with and never lack for conversation. The kind you’d lose track of a whole stack of hours with.

I tried not to think about the notion that he liked me as more than a friend. I also tried not to consider that I might like him as more than a friend too.

Like I’d told my sister—when you know, you know. And I didn’t, which could only mean that it was all wrong for the romantic kind of relationship. On top of the fact that he had become my real and true friend, a friend I didn’t want to do without.

I could do without kissing Greg, I told myself, but I couldn’t do without his companionship.

A little voice in my head pointed out that I hadn’t ever kissed anyone, so of course I could keep doing without it.

True as that might be, I’d said my piece and counted to three. Which was to say that I’d decided, and once I decided something, I’d be hard pressed to change my mind. It was a stubborn streak that had run in my family for at least three generations.

I headed out of my room and into the kitchen that Sunday morning. The cook had set up a whole spread—eggs and bacon, pastries and oatmeal, breakfast potatoes and tortillas and salsa—and I loaded a plate as I greeted everyone.

They sat at the table, eating without any ceremony, so I took a seat and tucked in.

“I hope you had a nice time yesterday, Annie,” Susan started, smiling. “It was about time you saw the city for yourself.”

“Oh, it was great,” I said between bites. “Did y’all have a good day yesterday?”

“It was lovely, thank you. Oh!” she sang. “John. John!” She whacked his arm when he hadn’t looked up from his paper.

“Hmm?”

“Tell Annie about lunch yesterday,” she said with great intention.

He shook his paper out and folded it closed, a smile brightening his face. “Ah, lunch.” He set the folded paper on the table and sat back in his chair, a little askew as he crossed his legs. “An old friend of mine, Kurt Dobson, and I had lunch yesterday. He’s been the head of the board of trustees at Juilliard for…oh, what would you say, Susan? Ten years?”

“Twelve, I think.”

He nodded. “Anyway, Valentin Fabre gives money to a large number of causes, including substantial annual donations to Juilliard. And while we were eating, I mentioned you to Kurt.”

Numbness spread down my arms and across my palms, trickling down each finger. My fork hung suspended over my plate, loaded with a salsa-slathered bite of eggs.

“You did?” I breathed.

“I did. Your mother told me that by the time you graduated, you’d outgrown your piano teacher by a few years, that she was having a hard time finding music that challenged you, and it got me thinking. Kurt said the applications for next year were due December first, but he was interested in hearing what you could do and would make an exception, if you were interested.”

Thank God he kept talking because I couldn’t speak.

“He said for you to go to the website and take a look at the prescreening requirements. If you can get him everything he needs by Friday, he’ll consider you for auditions.”

“I…how…”

He waited for me to finish, but I couldn’t, my thoughts moving too fast for my mouth to catch one and speak it.

Mama looked just as stunned as I did.

But it was Elle who spoke. “Uncle John, that is an incredible opportunity. But…” She paused, her cheeks flushing, back straight. “We…we don’t really have the means to pay for Juilliard. Do they…do they offer scholarships?”

John chuckled at that. “If Annie is accepted, her tuition will be covered. Don’t worry.”

I dropped my fork and drew a startled breath.

Mama finally found her voice. “John, we can’t accept that—it’s too much. Too generous. You’ve already done so much for us.”

“Em, listen,” he said, his face soft but his voice was insistent. “The vast majority of my money is yours as much as it is mine. Please, let me help. I already donate to the school, why can’t I sponsor a scholarship? I can’t think of a more worthy cause.”

“I…I just don’t know,” Mama said.

Juilliard, my mind whispered. Could I even do it? Could I even make it past the first round of auditions? I thought the chances were beyond slim. I wasn’t that good.

Was I?

I had outgrown my tutor, and she had found difficulty to challenge me. I mean, there were things that were hard, believe me, but I mastered everything she threw at me, including Chopin’s Études, a few that I even memorized. We made a game of it; she would bring me a piece and give me a week to master it, and if I did, she’d drop a quarter into a jar she kept on her mantel. When I filled it up, we would go out to dinner together.

I’d never missed a single week, and I’d earned dozens of dinners.

The bigger truth was that this was an opportunity I wanted. It was everything I’d ever wanted but never thought I could have.

There was nothing to do other than look my uncle in the eye and say, “I want to try.”

He smiled broadly. “I thought you might—Emily, don’t look at me like that. I can give this to her. I can give her something that could change her life. Won’t you let me?”

After a long, tearful look, she conceded with a nod. “Of course I will,” she said softly. “Thank you, John.”

I pushed back from the table and stood, hurrying over to him to give him a hug swiftly enough to send a little oof out of him just ahead of a chuckle.

“Thank you isn’t enough,” I said quietly.

He patted my back. “Oh, it really is nothing. I only had lunch with a friend. The rest is up to you.”

I straightened up and smiled. “Then I’ll do my very best.”

“And I’m quite sure that will be more than enough.”

Everyone broke out in chatter, and Aunt Susan pulled up the prescreening requirements on her phone, reading them off with her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. I’d have to submit a résumé and write an essay, submit my transcripts as well as academic referrals, and record a video of myself performing three pieces by memory, using a provided list as a guideline.

My confidence wavered when I heard that list.

The two sections of required selections were at the highest level—I didn’t know why I was surprised; it was Juilliard after all—chosen to show skill and speed, timing and movement, emotion and feeling. And the third was a piece of choice from a list of composers.

I mentally flipped through the pieces I already had in my toolbox; there wasn’t time to learn anything new, not at that skill level. And, preoccupied with the task, I waved goodbye to my family and headed downstairs.

Aunt Susan had called the driver, who was waiting for me at the curb, but I sent him on. Armed with several bottles of water, my notebook, an hour to kill, and the good fortune of a beautiful day, I decided to walk, to think, to plan.

I set off up Fifth, turning into the park. I had plenty of time and decided to kill it by taking the long way around the top of the reservoir. Every ten minutes or so, I’d stop at a bench and open my notebook, my fingers tapping my leg as I thought through the pieces in my repertoire, my gaze roaming my surroundings and the chilly breeze cooling my skin, damp from exertion.

By the time I reached the reservoir, I’d chosen my first piece—Chopin’s Études Op. 20, No. 6—and my sonata—Haydn, Hob 23—and I was trying to decide on my third piece as I stood at the rail, looking over the length of the lake at Midtown, the buildings in miniature at that distance.

It started as a squeezing in my chest so complete that there was no point of origin. My breath slipped away, and I glanced down at my hands. My nail beds looked as if they’d been smudged with ink. And I couldn’t call out with empty lungs, couldn’t do anything but reach for the rail as darkness crept into my vision like tendrils of smoke.

My knees gave out, and I sank to the ground, blinking out of consciousness.