Page 5 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterTwo

Kendrick Bell loved discord.

He loved that moment right before a piece of music resolved, when the notes were at cross purposes, straining to align into something pleasing to the ear. Harmony was static. The notes sat like lumps on the page and when played, they settled into the room like dust. What enraptured him was the moment before—all the moments before—when the music went in several directions, violins and flutes and drums bouncing off each other in a call and response of uncertainty. A time of possibility. A time when anything could happen.

Of course, that kind of chaos had to be managed. Kendrick was the principal flute in The National Orchestra, but he was only one of a hundred and twenty musicians. While playing, he had to watch the conductor, listen for cues, trust that the sound he was making would blend with the sound of others, and that they were making music, not just noise.

So why did his stand partner get so irritated when he wrote on their shared sheet music? Musicians always penciled things in, and professional musicians did it more than most. With his right ear screwed up the way it was, Kendrick couldn’t always hear the cues. He needed those visual reminders.

They were supposed to only write what the conductor said, what was helpful, and what didn’t obscure the notes. He’d done all three, so why was Raine annoyed with him? She’d given him the side-eye through most of rehearsal, and when the concertmaster called a fifteen-minute break, she pulled an eraser out of her flute case. She put it on the music stand next to his phone.

Kendrick picked up the eraser. It was a large pink rectangle like school kids used to undo a semester’s worth of mistakes. “I see you got a new one,” he said.

Raine nodded, her black curls bouncing with the movement. “The last one wore down to nothing.”

“What part do you want me to erase?” Kendrick asked.

“Everything since the last time we had this conversation. And you’d better put that phone away before Mr. Vescovo sees it.”

Kendrick slipped his phone into his pocket. He wasn’t supposed to have it in the building, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to have it propped on the stand, where he was keeping one eye on it and one eye on his music. Raine didn’t mind, as long as it didn’t interfere with his playing. The minute it did, she would rat him out in a hot second and they both knew it. He loved Raine like a sister, and she loved him back, but the music came first.

Kendrick flipped through the pages of Mahler’s Symphony No 1. “I don’t see what’s wrong with this. Sometimes you write things.”

She pointed to the page. “You wrote ‘get lit’ on this measure.”

“That’s accurate,” Kendrick said. “Mr. Vescovo said to play it light and lively. Should I have written it in Italian? Accendere? German? Beleuchten? I’m trying to be helpful.”

“No, you’re trying to be funny.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Kendrick asked. “You were smiling into your flute and it sounded light and lively.”

Raine tapped her fingernails on the music stand in a staccato rhythm that told him she’d had enough.

“I’m erasing, I’m erasing,” he said. “But let me keep the stuff in the third movement. Because if I screw that up again, Mr. Vescovo is going to throw his baton at me.”

“Aww, you recovered last time.”

“My ego, Raine. Scarred for life.” He continued to erase while grumbling, “You’re going to miss my scribbles when I’m gone.”

“Hey,” Raine said softly. She smoothed out a bent corner of her rehearsal folder. “You know we’re just keeping your seat warm until you come back, right?”

“You’d better.” Kendrick scrubbed the eraser over the sheet music, not looking at her. He swallowed hard. He was officially taking a leave of absence, not quitting. But every botched rehearsal, every missed cue, every time Raine repeated Vescovo’s instructions into his good ear made Kendrick feel like a failure, and his jokes only carried him so far.

He spotted Vescovo finishing up a conversation with one of the cellists and walking away. This might be his best chance to talk to the conductor. He handed Raine her eraser and stood with an exaggerated stretch. “I need some air.”

He followed Vescovo into the hallway behind the stage. “Sir, can I talk to you?” Every conductor had quirks. Being called sir was one of Vescovo’s.

“Make it quick.” Reluctance to talk to his musicians was another.

Kendrick caught up to him in the corridor, enjoying his height advantage. “I got the email about open auditions, and—”

“What email?”

“The one your secretary sent to every member of the orchestra? That email?”

Vescovo’s gaze darted around the hallway. “You still on that list?”

“Yes, sir, I’m still on that list.” He was on the payroll for the rest of the month, including one more concert. He’d better be on that list. Kendrick was surprised that Vescovo was playing dumb. The conductor was the kind of asshole who owned his assholery, thinking that his genius made up for his terrible people skills. He mostly got away with it, and Kendrick mostly didn’t care, but holding an open audition for a seat that rightfully belonged to Raine was too much.