Sunday morning, Mom was all smiles, and Dash, being a kid, hadforgiven and forgotten he’d been abandoned the night before. Still, too many nights like that would dim the light in his eyes. If that happened, I wouldneverforgive my mother. No do-overs.
I remained distant, holed up in my room doing homework. It was nearly three when I realized I hadn’t checked my email from Professor Wolfe to see what he expected of me for Monday.
from: ProfWolfe
to:
re: Monday Assignment
Für Elise, Beethoven
That was all. No greeting, no sign-off, nothing.
Charming.
My first instinct was to be pissed at being assigned one of the most cliché pieces in all of classical music, but I smelled a trap. Everyone and their mother knew the opening section of Für Elise, but few knew it took a turn for the difficult shortly after. Wolfe was trying to catch me being lazy or complacent—nail the first part, suckat the rest.
“Not on my watch, asshole,” I muttered.
God, CHA was getting to me if I was hostile over Beethoven.
I printed out the sheet music, packed up my stuff, and went downstairs. Dash and Mom were curled up on the couch watchingBluey.
“I’m going to the Academy to practice piano.” I shouldered my bag and grabbed my keys from the hook on the door. “You guys have plans?”
Translation: Are you moving from that couch?
Mom shot me a dry look. “Nope, we’re staying right here. You don’t have tohover.”
I clenched my teeth, then flashed Dash a smile. “See you, buddy.”
“Bye-bye, Harper,” he called.
“Bye, Harper,” Mom said, her face now apologetic.
I turned away. “Be back in time for dinner.”
***
It was only the first week of school, and yet Castle Hill Academy, on a Sunday, was active. The soccer field was busy, the track had runners. Most of the study rooms were buzzing, and when I passed by the massive gym, students were training and working out.
In the Arts Wing, I worried I wouldn’t find an open piano room but got lucky. For two hours, I perfected my Für Elise, until the transitions were smooth.
Smooth, until I have Wolfe breathing down my neck while I play.
Heading out, I noticed all the practice rooms were still occupied with students from my class, striving to impresstheEzra Wolfe.
Or just plain scared of him.
One desperate student had even resorted to using our actual classroom. I froze as I passed by, listening. Coming through—no,floatingthrough the closed door—was Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor. One of the saddest yet most beautiful pieces ever composed.
I knew without knowing. I didn’t even have to look.
Orion.
I quietly pushed the door open. Orion was at the piano. His sheet music was in front of him, covered in strange tabs, like small Post-it notes, but his eyes were closed. His hands glided over the keys, and music was pouring out.
Wolfe called this emptiness?
