The cello is steadied on the lower bout between my knees and the upper bout is against my chest. I position the neck of the cello above my left shoulder, while the C-String tuning peg is positioned just behind my left ear. I draw the bow horizontally across the strings. I make sure my thumb is positioned at the end of the fingerboard to provide stability.
I prepare to practice my cello composition, a rendition by Saint-Saëns.
The fingertips of my left hand stop the strings along their length, determining the pitch of each fingered note. Stopping the string closer to the bridge results in a higher-pitched sound because the vibrating string length has been shortened. My elbows float as I make bow strokes, showing off my Vibrato technique that is the harmonious fluctuation of the pitch up and down. My fingertip on the string absorbs the motion by rocking back and forth.
Elenore, my childhood mentor, observes with concentrated stoicism.
When I finish the piece, I look up at her, seeking judgment. She is seated on the headless stool in my music room, solemnity masking her pale face.
"So..."
"Magnificent," she breathes pensively. "One more hour of practice."
I give her a nah-uh look. "I've been practicing for four hours straight."
"And there is another child who's practicing for two more." The frown lines on her pallid skin deepen. "There will be a lot of big names attending this concert and scouts from prestigious universities. Though I know there's only one you care about."
I use the bow to point it at her.
She gives me a meaningful look. "How hungry are you?"
"Starving."
"And your dedication?"
"Unquestionable."
¬¬¬
The English literature teacher drones on tirelessly. "Macbeth, and even his wife, were victimized by making a fatal error that led to their downfall. Their vaulting ambition could be seen as the mistake or error that led to their demise. How might have Macbeth changed his ambition so that it did not become his fatal error? What can we learn from this play? What is the moral lesson?"
The silence is so shearing, you can hear people breathing.
"Right," she says awkwardly, clapping her hands. "I want you guys to partner up in twos. Discuss Shakespeare's use of the technique of elision, in which certain key events take place offstage. Why do you think he uses this technique? Okay, go."
Kenji whips around to give me a goofy look and I return one back. The ear-piercing sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floors ensues as everyone makes a mass migration to their friends. Kenji takes up his chair and sets it down beside my window seat.
"Okay, so what are we actually going to talk about?"
"Uhhh." I snap my fingers. "Your mom's birthday. I hear your dad wants to do a surprise birthday party, like that's so fricken sweet."
"Nah." He leans back into his seat, folding his arms behind his head. "He just wants a chance to brag that his son is going to be a biomedical engineer." He shoots forward. "What are the chances that I'm born into an entire Asian stereotype about having overbearing Japanese parents that expect the world of me? And I just happen to meet that impossible standard because I have an acute fascination about the symbiotic relationship between biology and medicine."
My lips pull into a tight line. "Slim, buddy."
Mrs Holloway slowly weaves through the pairs like an examiner during finals.
He lets out a bitter scoff. "You know I should just embrace my villain era and go full on rogue just to spite them. I love them to death; you know that. But sometimes." He pushes out a drawn-out sigh. ".... But sometimes." He includes me in his look, sending a telepathic message. "You know what I'm talking about, little miss perfect princess."
I narrow my eyes at him.
"Ah-huh. Don't give me that coy-Cassy look." Refusing to back down. "You're a literal show-stopper, an excellent student." He counts on his fingers. "And not to mention being a whole role model doing all those outreach programs." He pauses dramatically. "Damn, I'm really besties with wonder woman."
I lift a shoulder with an amused smile. "Bro, you're basically like me. Except for the musical gifting and... you know... being the mayor's daughter."
He gestures at me pointedly. "You see. You juggle it all so effortlessly, whereas I have a re-occurring mental breakdown on the daily." He checks the time on his phone. "My next episode is in an hour."
My hand covers my mouth, failing to cover my smile.
"No, no, laugh at my mental instability." His impish nature overshadowing an underlying truth. "Since I'm just comic relief to you."
"Hey," I say reproachfully. "You're a better student than me. On the honor roll with people like Alister, you or him likely to graduate Valedictorian."
"Good is never good enough." He washes his face with his hands. "You know the saying."
"Very well. But there's nothing anyone can put you through that you can't deal with. After all, pressure creates diamonds."
His hands drop to his lap to reveal his wholesome smile. "Have I told you how much I love you?"
I rotate my head so my ear faces him. "It wouldn't hurt to hear it again."
Mrs Holloway sprouts out of nowhere.
"To hear," I repeat carefully. I pause, my mind grabbing at random words. "To hear what you said about the thematic symbolism of morality in Macbeth."
I look back at Kenji to bail us out. His eyes widen with a flabbergasted expression. Well, damn.
"I'd love to hear it, too," Mrs Holloway says with a jeering smile. Being the cockroach that she is.
Kenji laughs nervously, then straightens up, conjuring up a contemplative look. "I would love to delve deep into that topic that I so zealously spoke of just prior to your Houdini trick."
I'm fighting with every fiber of my being to keep this laugh locked inside of me.
Kenji speaks up again. "So, you see, I was saying that—" the bell rings, "—well, would you look at that. And here I was, ready to give an entire presentation."
Mrs Holloway's face deadpans like she was looking forward to see him fumble through an explanation she knew he didn't have.
"No need to fret, Mr Takahashi." She smiles exaggeratedly. "We can open up the next lit lesson with your profound explanation about the—what was it?" She pitches me a look of faux confusion. "The thematic symbolism of morality?"
She walks away and Kenji glares after her. He flips her off.
"Stop it." I push his arm down like a lever.
He glares down at me. "Why she coming for me like that?"
The entire class packs it up and we leave for the next period.
"You got a free now, right?" he asks.
We flow out with the current of students.
"Yeah, I'm going to get my homework done so I can have time to practice. I have to help my dad with a few logistical things about a new scheme he wants to launch for a youth program."
"I'll catch you later."
We separate. And I go to find an empty classroom.
I round a corner—a brute force whams into me.
Even though it wasn't my fault. On impulse, I say, "I'm so sorry—"
A pair of dark eyes have me in a chokehold, paralyzed on the spot. The air in my lungs evaporates into nothingness.
"Amara," he says so softly, but my name on his tongue is equivalent to spewing a slur.
Why can't I move? My mind screams. Do something!
"It's been a long time," he says with nostalgia, like we're old friends. His eyes take me all in, but this time it's with foul familiarity. "You look good."
Something nameless clams my throat shut.
Tears burn behind my eyes as I gawk back at him like an idiot.
"I was wondering if we could talk? I think it's time I gave you something you deserve to hear."
A depthless fear engulfs me, bounding me to a terror as tangible as shackles.
"You do know who I am, right?"
The question is like a blade that shatters the chain that keeps me to the ground. I flee past him and he calls out to me, my own name haunting, chasing me until I'm finally out of range. I enter a sparsely populated hallway and I flatten myself against the wall, hyperventilating, my heart working hard to smash through my ribcage.
I bend over to rest my hands on my knees, my breathing labored.
A gentle hand settles on my shoulder. I jump back in a frenzy.
Alister King looks back at me, his face ridden with concern. "Are you okay?"
Unable to respond, I try to gather my calm, my airways reopening. Alister waits.
C (open string)
D (first finger on the A string)
E (second finger on the A string)
G (open string)
A (first finger on the D string)
G (open string)
E (second finger on the D string)
C (open string)
I inhale several sharp breaths, giving him an unsteady nod. "I am now," I say breathlessly, like I ran a whole marathon. "Thanks."
He flashes his golden-boy smile. "I'm glad. But what did happen? If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. I won't push you."
"Respectfully, I don't want to get into it."
"And that's okay." He opens his arms and like a magnetic pull. He draws me in, bestowing me a consoling hug. "Regardless, I'm here to talk if you need to. I'm sure Alexia will echo my sentiment."
I pull away. Calmer, I say, "Thanks, Alister. I'll see you around."
Recovering gradually from that occurrence. Time tumbles languidly over each minute and by the time my mind can register anything. The bell rings again, signaling the end of my free period. And yet I remain at the random desk in the empty classroom with my schoolbag untouched, homework still needing to be done. I can't stop replaying that encounter, again and again. The memory searing itself into my mind, tattooing my eyes so all I see is his face.
Give me something I deserve? Did he mean an apology? Is that what he meant? I don't even care because I don't need nothing. I got nothing to hear nor to say to him. I don't care what it is.
The door swing opens. I restrain a flinch.
I gather my stuff and leave, brushing past other students as I make my way out.
With all my lessons that follow, my mind is stranded on a morsel of sanity I have left, lost in an ocean of upheaval. I can't think. I can't focus. I don't get why this is bugging me so much that I'm even struggling to remember how to breathe. An unending strain grows in my chest. A constant fog in my mind with a labyrinth of mirrors that all reflect his face.
When the last bell goes off, I make the journey off campus. Nearby, Larry waits by the passenger side and perks up when he sees me. He opens the door for me and as I'm about to get in. He stops me.
"Amara, what's going on?"
I force a smile. "Why would anything be wrong? I'm good, let's go. I gotta get my practice in before dad gets back."
¬¬¬
Music is my blood type, and I let my soul be responsible for the transfusions given and received. The musical vibrations synchronize the polarity of my soul; hopelessly lost, and yet wholesomely found. Music is a sound that carries me to a place where most earthly beings cannot go.
And the moment I finish my piece and lower my bow. I fall.
A painful descent from the heavens to reunite with the cruel reality of this world.
I place the cello on its stand and I pack away the bow in its own furnished case. I walk across the room to fetch my phone. Victorian ash clads the floors and ceiling to create the sensation of a cocoon with views of the leafy garden beyond.
On my way to my bedroom to change, I see a message from an unknown number.
Unknown number: Amara, it's Vanko. The guy you ran from. Can we talk?
I stop where I am. How the hell?
Me: How did you get my number?
And I swear to God, seconds later, he responds like he's monitoring his phone for my response.
Unknown number: Doesn't matter. Can we talk?
Me: If you couldn't translate my reaction from the first time I saw you. No. Delete my number and never bother me again or you and me are gonna have a problem.
Unknown number: Is that a threat?
Me: Take it as you want. Just leave me the hell alone.
Unknown number: I can't do that. Not until I make things right. Let me make things right.
Me: Why? Cause you feel bad about what you did?
Me: Harassing me every day for years and putting me and my friend through hell because what? You're not sorry because I saw you, you enjoyed it cause you're a sick bastard.
Me: And you're going to burn for that. I don't want your half-ass apology. You deserve to have your demons eat you alive.
I block the number.