And that’s how it’s going to be from now on: I’m going to go above and beyond for myself. What other people do or say, I’m going to let roll off of me like water off a duck’s back.
Easier said than done, right?
The Friday after Halloween is the day I make my real stand against Becky.
Revenge can be sweet, especially when it’s only my success that inflicts it.
Orchestra auditions are after class, held in the school theater. Everyone is welcome to come and watch. Back at Lower Banks, nobody would. Okay, so maybe an anxious parent or two, a best friend wanting to lend support, but for the most part, nobody cared.
Here … everyone does.
The room is packed so full that some students are standing up in the back, watching as Mr. Carter makes his way through each student on the audition roster. According to the number pinned on my shirt, I’m dead-last, right after Becky. We’re the only two students in the school gunning for first chair in harp. Good thing, too, because there is only one chair.
Harper is here for support, but she’s not trying out. Instead, she’s focused on the choir, satisfied that at least in some respect, I’ll be under her thumb. Singing for the junior choir for class credit, and trying out for the academy’s performance choir group are two totally different things, but she’s content to rule them both.
“Tristan is starting to come around,” she tells Becky as I stand there, leaning against a column and watching a petite brunette girl fumble around with her flute. She’s so nervous, her hands are sweating and she can barely keep hold of the instrument. “I told him I was done sleeping around and asked if he wanted to make it official this summer.”
Becky chuckles and adjusts the number pinned to her blouse.
“Well, I’m not sure I’m done playing around with the boys, but to snag Tristan, I’d do it, too.” Becky pauses, and the two girls glance over at me like they’ve just realized I’m standing there. “Getting engaged to someone like him this early and locking him down is probably a good idea.” My mouth tightens, but I don’t turn to look at them. What do I care if one female monster wants to get engaged to another male monster? They can make little monster babies and go on to terrorize the world together. They deserve each other.
My lips twitch as I think about Tristan, bending Kiara over the sink. Harper can have her man-whore fiancé. And yet … my stomach twists, and my good humor is short-lived.
There are some incredibly talented students in this school, and watching them play onstage is awe-inspiring. So much so that I soon forget that weird twinge of jealousy, my mind numbing to the constant chatter of the two Idol girls. Zayd is front and center in the auditorium, sitting right next to Mr. Carter. He’s a student ‘helper’, along with a half-dozen fourth-years who are all in the advanced orchestra. How that jerk got to be on the panel is beyond me. He’s a rock star, not a concert pianist.
I don’t think about that kiss. Bet he was too drunk to remember it anyway.
Once Becky’s turn rolls around, she shoves her way past me, nearly knocking me over. I let it go, gritting my teeth, and wait as she sits down to play. A hush falls over the crowd because there’s not a student at this school—first-year or fourth-year alike—that doesn’t know what’s going on with me.
Becky inhales, tossing her blond hair over one shoulder, and flashes a winning smile to the crowd. She starts to play, and I recognize it as the one and only piece Mozart ever wrote for the harp: Concerto for Flute, Harp, and Orchestra. It’s a good choice, and one of my personal favorites. Becky, however, just doesn’t have the skills to pull it off, not even with her friends from the Inner Circle accompanying her.
She’s pretty when she plays, her eyes half-lidded, that evil smirk of hers wiped clean for a brief moment in time. Makes me love the harp all that much more, knowing it has the power to ward off hate. Her expression is clear and open, as if she wasn’t the daughter of Satan. Well … I glance over at Harper, running her fingers through her long, brunette hair and completely ignoring her friend’s performance in favor of her phone. Maybe Harper is the daughter of Satan, and Becky’s just her bestie.
Becky finishes to a standing ovation, bowing and blushing, touching a hand to her chest. When she turns to look at me, her eyes flash with darkness, and I make sure to give her a wide berth as she passes, moving onstage to the sound of booing and hissing.
“Alright, alright,” Mr. Carter shouts, standing up and lifting his palms until there’s silence. “Next sound I hear out of someone’s mouth that’s anything but encouraging, and you’re out.” He sits back down and nods for me to continue. A smile lights my face, and I take a seat.
I’ve chosen a more contemporary piece, at my own risk, but it speaks to me, and I need to feel that joy to sit up here and play in front of such a hostile audience. My eyes wander the crowd and catch on Zayd’s emerald gaze, sparkling as he leans forward and rests his chin on his folded hands. Tristan and Creed are easy to spot, sitting on opposite ends of the auditorium. Their pull is equally strong, and I flick my gaze between them before refocusing on the Lyon & Healy harp in front of me. It’s a beautiful instrument, easily worth more than my father’s house … err, Train Car.
Closing my eyes, I center myself and take a deep breath.
My fingers begin to move, playing How Hill by Patrick Hawes, written for royal harpist Claire Jones. The tune starts off nice and light, like sunshine through clouds, and I do my best to convey that feeling in my playing, a smile curving across my lips. Pedal harps are no joke, one of the most expensive instruments out there. To rent even a shitty one, Dad had to work a second job. He brought me here, to this place, and even if I’m upset with him for Parents’ Weekend, I love him to bits.
That, too, I try to put into my music, feeling the vibrations on my skin, like I’m bathing in sound. The song slows, stops, and picks its way back to life, the upbeat tune reminiscent of rain on a warm summer day, feeding the parched earth. I lean into that feeling, forgetting for a moment where I am, and who’s watching me.
The song finishes with a little flourish that fades out, softens, and says good-bye with a kiss.
Exhaling, I drop my arms to my sides and look out at the audience.
Zayd’s mouth has dropped open, and before I even get a chance to stand up, he’s on his feet and clapping. I’m a little … shocked, to say the least. He’s been nothing but rude to me, and now he’s clapping? Mr. Carter stands up, too, and then everyone else follows suit.
Tristan doesn’t clap, and neither does Creed, but they watch me with a certain level of appreciation that’s impossible to hide. My cheeks flush, and I take a small bow before scurrying offstage.
Later that night, when the results are posted online … I get first chair.
After the Halloween party, and the orchestra auditions, I’m left with two weeks of jibes, elbows, and crappy notes taped to my door, but that’s pretty much it. I swear, I can feel the three Idol guys watching me, but mostly, I’m ignored. Becky and Harper are the worst, carving the words Working Girl into my locker. When I walk up and catch them doing it, they don’t even look sorry.
Zack’s been messaging me on and off, just random things, but I’m so puzzled over why he’s bothering to text me that I don’t respond much. About a week after the auditions, Miranda is hanging out in my room and happens to see a series of texts come in. She digs her claws into me and refuses to let go until I tell her everything, about Zack being the ringleader of the bullying I suffered in sixth, seventh, and eighth grade. How he was the one that found me after I took the pills. How we briefly dated.
She leaves the subject alone for about … three days before she brings it up again. I’m able to avoid her questioning for the most part by pretending I’m embroiled in schoolwork. It’s mostly true, too. With the workload pushed on us before our first official break of the year, I’m worked to the bone. It’s a relief when I turn in the final assignment of November.
The first day of fall break is a blur of activity, students saying their goodbyes, packing trunks up and leaving in the shiny black academy cars. I watch them go from the cozy penthouse where Miranda lives with Creed. The first time she invited me up here, I refused because I didn’t want to end up running into that jerk. She promised he was barely here, and so far, she’s been right. I haven’t had a single run-in with Creed in or around the apartment.
“So you’re leaving Monday?” I ask, and Miranda nods, stuffing her volleyball uniform into a duffel bag. The Cabots are out of the country for the rest of the month, so Miranda’s going on an academy-sponsored athletics giveaway. I’m not exactly the sporty type, and Dad is out of town on a job, so … I’m stuck here. “I feel like Harry in book one,” I groan, putting my face in one of the decorative pillows lining the window seat. “Left alone at Hogwarts for break.”
Miranda grins, putting her shiny blonde hair up in a high pony.
“Creed will be here,” she jokes, and I shudder. I don’t even have to fake it; my disgust for him is involuntary. “But I already warned him to stay away from you. He’ll probably be busy with … you know, whatever it is that he does.” Miranda chucks her bag next to the front door just before we both hear the click of a lock. We exchange a look as it swings open and Creed enters, freezing when he spots me in his living room.
“Hey.” There’s a dark note in that syllable, those blue eyes of his sliding over to me. He takes in my rose gold hair and flat facial expression, and then looks back at Miranda, closing the door behind him and then reaching up to unbutton his shirt. Unbidden, my gaze falls to his long fingers, watching as the fabric of his shirt parts and reveals smooth, hard muscles underneath. “I’ll be in and out. Don’t worry about excusing the help.”
“You can go to hell,” Miranda snaps, putting her hands on her hips as her brother breezes by, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Just before it closes, I catch a glimpse of his back, all sinuous muscle over a lean frame. Shit. When I look back at Miranda, she’s gaping at me. “Are you checking him out?” she chokes, and I’m such a terrible liar that my mouth just opens and closes a couple of times. “You were checking him out! And after he’s been so mean to you.”