Chương 6
“You said my sponsorship was merit-based.”
“It was.”
“It was Aunt Claire.”
“Because of your talent.”
“Did she tell you that?”
Vanessa stood. “You are upset. I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“We will fix the school situation.”
“How?”
“Your father is working on it.”
“With the Harrison closing?”
Vanessa’s face changed.
Sophie had heard the name the previous night. Until then, she assumed Harrison was a person who owed her father money. Now she saw the same look her mother had given Claire when the appraisal tag appeared.
“What is Harrison?” Sophie asked.
“A project.”
“Is it real?”
Vanessa walked to the door.
“Mom.”
“It is not your responsibility.”
“You keep saying things aren’t my responsibility right before they ruin something that is.”
Vanessa opened the door.
Sophie said, “Tell Dad how the bracelet broke.”
Her mother turned back slowly. “We agreed it was an accident.”
“It was.”
“Then there is nothing else to say.”
“You were pulling it out of my hand.”
“You grabbed me.”
“You were going back inside to take the loan.”
“I was returning the pen.”
“You had the bracelet in your pocket.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled, but her voice remained controlled. “I was trying to keep your life intact.”
Sophie looked around the bedroom: upholstered headboard, framed concert posters, a velvet bench beneath the window, three shopping bags still holding clothes from the previous weekend.
“My life looks pretty intact.”
“You have no idea how quickly that can change.”
The fear in Vanessa’s face was real. Sophie recognized it because she felt the same fear every time she imagined entering Calloway and having everyone know the sponsorship was gone.
Still, she said, “You should tell him.”
Vanessa wiped beneath one eye with her finger. “Your father does not need another reason to fall apart.”
She closed the door behind her.
At Calloway the next morning, Sophie arrived twelve minutes late to chamber rehearsal.
Mr. Bennett stopped the quartet in the middle of a phrase.
“Nice of you to join the living,” he said.
Normally Sophie would have smiled and made a small show of apologizing. She took her violin from its case without looking at anyone.
Lena Ortiz, the violist, leaned closer. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You look gray.”
“Thank you.”
“I meant—”
“I know.”
They restarted.
Sophie missed her entrance.
Mr. Bennett lowered his bow. “Again.”
The second time, she came in early.
On the third, her left hand tightened so badly she clipped a note she had played correctly since August.
“Outside,” Mr. Bennett said.
The room went still.
Sophie looked at him.
“Take five minutes.”
“I’m fine.”
“That was not a diagnosis.”
A few students looked down to hide smiles. Sophie put the violin in its case with more force than necessary and carried it into the hallway.
Mr. Bennett followed.
He was fifty-something, narrow-shouldered, and almost always dressed as though someone had warned him at the last minute that clothing was required. Today his shirt was wrinkled beneath a brown cardigan with one missing button.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“Your nothing is sharp and twenty beats ahead.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“Then tell me that.”
“I just did.”
He leaned against the wall. “Do you need to go home?”
“No.”
“Do you need to call someone?”
“No.”
“Do you need me to stop asking questions?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. That one I can provide.”
He started toward the rehearsal room, then paused.
“The winter merit audition list goes up Friday,” he said.
Sophie stared at him. “Why are you telling me?”
“Because you’re eligible.”
“I already have funding.”
He studied her face.
The hallway seemed to narrow.
“Do I?” she asked.
Mr. Bennett straightened. “That is a conversation for the financial office.”
“Did they tell you something?”
“No.”
“Would they?”
“No.”
“Then why did you mention the audition?”
“Because you’re eligible, Sophie.”
“Everyone is eligible.”
“Not everyone should apply.”
She heard the compliment and hated that she needed it.
“What does it cover?” she asked.
“Up to twenty thousand, I think.”
Not enough.
The number moved through her like cold water.
Mr. Bennett did not ask why it mattered. He returned to the room and left the door open for her.
Sophie stood alone for another minute, then took out her phone.
She opened Claire’s contact.
Typed: Did you tell Calloway?
Deleted it.
Typed: Can I come over?
Deleted that too.
At lunch, she sat with Lena and two other students in the courtyard, where damp leaves stuck to the metal chairs.
Lena complained about her mother canceling a weekend trip because of a plumbing leak. Jonah Price watched a video with the sound off. Amelia Chen peeled the label from a bottle of sparkling water in one continuous strip.
Sophie usually filled silences. That day she listened.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jonah asked finally.
“Nothing.”
“You’re being quiet.”
“Maybe this is my new personality.”
“It’s unsettling.”
Lena kicked his chair.
Sophie looked at the academy windows. Three years earlier, she had stood on the other side during her tour and imagined that admission would transform her into someone who belonged in every room. It had not. It had simply moved the rooms.
“Do people know who pays their tuition?” she asked.
Amelia laughed. “My father reminds me every Sunday.”
“I mean scholarships.”
Lena shrugged. “Financial aid office?”
“Do other students know?”
“Only if you tell them.”
Jonah glanced up from his phone. “Or if your mother posts about it.”
Sophie looked at him.
He raised both hands. “Not you specifically.”
It was her specifically.
Vanessa had posted photographs from every donor recital with captions about talent opening doors. Sophie had liked them. Sometimes she had reposted them.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Claire.
Mr. Salazar can repair the bracelet. I have not authorized the work.
Sophie read it twice.
Then she typed: How much?
Claire answered: Approximately $4,500.
Lena saw Sophie’s expression. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying that.”
May you like
Sophie locked the phone and put it facedown on the table.
Her mother owned boots that cost almost that much.
