I put on my shoulder rest, my violin, and place my chin on the chin rest. Finally, I look up, only to be faced with a conductor with eyebrows pulled so high I'm worried she's going to fall backward. I hear a few laughs around me, whispers that I have no idea what I'm doing, but I don't look at anyone but her. Either she'll go along with it, or she'll kick me out. Not to be bothered with me.
She digs her eyes into mine, the tiniest smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, and finally, she relaxes. Her arms go up, and my eyes drop to the sheet I know by heart and back to her. Then, I follow her start.
The entire room disappears.
My anxiety vanishes into nothingness.
And I fly into a different dimension.
For an entire minute, I move through what feels like absolute bliss. Nothing in my body trembles. My heart isn't heavy. My stomach doesn’t twist. This is the only place I feel safe. When Ihave my violin on my right shoulder and hear the music playing in my ear. Sometimes, I don't even feel like I'm the one playing, dissociating and simply experiencing the vibrations and music within my body.
It's over too quickly.
The room comes back, the lights too bright, and my breath catches in my throat as I watch Achilles slowly approach me with a poised smile. Miss Rivera doesn't make a big deal out of it, simply looking at the number Achilles writes down. Mrs. Oakes is already calling the next name.
"You surprised me, Nyx," Achilles murmurs to me. "That never happens." He looks at my violin as he presses the Post-it note on my uniform shirt. He leaves his hand on the swell of my breast for a few seconds too long. "Playing the violin on the wrong shoulder, with the wrong hand…you're dying to keep me interested, aren't you?"
Having his interest was something I day-dreamed about while looking at online pictures of him not so long ago. After Friday, I’m aware it’s not the fairy-tale-like version I had in mind.
Swallowing roughly, I stand up, even though he hasn't retreated yet. I feel like this is taking forever, and I need to get out of the way. The next girl arrives at the seat, and I start walking off stage, not without Achilles putting his hand at my lower back as he guides me toward the other students who’ve already played.
He stays quiet, but I canfeeleveryone's eyes burning into me. I can only breathe when he finally lets me go. But something still feels off, and when I look at the audience, I notice the woman with a cast glaring at me. Evelyn. The girl who was in Achilles's room on Friday night during the party. That's when she must have hurt herself.
"Don't mind her," he whispers in my ear. "She's a competitive person. And you just stole everyone's attention with your little trick. Especially mine."
I know this isn't a good thing. A psychopath's attention? A jealous soloist who usually sleeps with the prodigy. And an entire orchestra that’s now one step closer to discovering my weakness?
This is a recipe for a fucking disaster.
And yet…there’s still that tiny part of me that comes alive when Achilles talks to me. One I can’t control, no matter how much I want to.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Once I've played and I'm in my safe space, even Achilles's attention can't get me out of my focus. I end up being one of the first violins. I'm put in the third row, all the way to the left of my group so I don't bother my peers with the way I hold my violin. I also have a perfect view of the concertmaster in the first seat, and in my case, that's incredibly helpful. They announce the soloist last, and I get excited when I see Josh walking to the front and shaking Miss Rivera's hand. What it must feel like to get that.
A spike of envy and admiration runs through me as I pack my instrument, and I startle when Josh appears in my eyesight.
"So…" he hesitates, gripping his case. "You're one of a kind."
A weird snort escapes me, incapable of taking a compliment, or whatever this is.
"Says the soloist."
"Anyone can be the soloist when the best player breaks her wrist."
I grab my case and start walking with him. "Sounds suspicious. Did you push her down the stairs?"
He laughs heartedly, his green eyes bright with amusement. He's got big dimples on his cheeks, and it gives him an air of innocence.
"Just don't tell anyone," he jokes, miming zipping his lips.
We exit the concert hall, walking the old hallways of the building. The same stones polished by thousands of students over the years. Crossing the woods leading to the castle, the main building, we use the time to share our personal stories about music. When we started, our favorite concertos to play, and what our biggest dreams are.
"The New York Philharmonic?" he says, faking shock.
"I know, I know." I chuckle. "I'm, like, the basic bitch version of a violinist. But come on, who wouldn't dream of that?"
"You're certainly not basic," he adds a little more seriously. "I've never met a violinist who plays left-handed. That's crazy, Nyx. I'm assuming you changed the strings yourself. What about the rest? The bass bar?"
I shake my head, knowing where this is going. "Nothing inside is changed; that's why I sound a bit…terrible compared to everyone else. I had a real left-handed violin someone gifted me a long time ago. Custom made. But it was stolen."
