Page 114 of What Goes Around

“I still owe you,” he replied simply.

We sat down then, Amy beside me and her brother on her other side.

As dinner was served, my attention drifted across the room despite myself.

I could only see Apple and Nick from behind, but it was enough. Apple kept leaning in toward him to say something, and Nick angled closer to hear her over the noise. She touched his arm once and laughed.

I looked away before the feeling in my chest could settle into something heavier.

After dinner, the lights dimmed.

Marissa rose first, tapping her glass again. She spoke about milestones, about talent, about pride. She talked about Apple’s acceptance into Juilliard and about the future.

My name was mentioned once, polite and brief, near the end.

Polite applause followed.

Then Apple stood.

She moved toward the small stage with practiced ease. This was her element, the kind of room where people leaned forward before she played a single note.

An attendant handed her the violin.

It was a professional-level instrument, modern make, bought after one of her early competition wins. It gleamed under the lights.

Apple turned to the room, smiling.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she said. “Music has always been my way of expressing things I can’t put into words. I hope you’ll enjoy these pieces as much as I do.”

She tucked the violin beneath her chin and raised the bow.

The first piece was Sibelius’ Violin Concerto, first movement. It was technically demanding and unforgiving. From the opening phrase, it was clear she was good. Technically precise, confident, fearless. Her bow control was clean, her intonation flawless. She leaned into the difficulty without hesitation.

I watched the audience more than I watched her.

A few of the Juilliard guests exchanged looks, small nods of approval. My father sat straighter, pride unmistakable. Marissa clasped her hands together, eyes shining like this was proof of something she had always known.

Applause followed.

The second piece was Paganini’s Caprice No. 24. Flashy, ruthless, designed to dazzle. Her fingers flew. Gasps punctuated the room.

“Incredible,” someone whispered.

I didn’t disagree.

The third piece was Sarasate’s Zigeunerweisen. Fire, drama, seduction. She played it for them, swaying slightly, drawing the sound out until it felt intimate and confessional.

When the final note faded, silence held for a heartbeat.

Then the room erupted.

A standing ovation.

I stood too, clapping evenly. It would have been dishonest not to.

Marissa dabbed at her eyes, overwhelmed with pride. My father applauded loudly, his smile wide, already half turned toward the Juilliard contacts seated nearby.

Apple lowered her violin slowly, letting the applause crest.