Virtuosity (10 page)

My heart pounded. I didn’t want to open my eyes, didn’t want to have to get out of the cab and step back into my life. But Jeremy was wrong—there is a huge difference between doing what you want to do and doing what you have to do.

“Good night,” I whispered, my voice lost somewhere in my chest. I tottered dizzily from the car, nearly tipping over on my heels. I stared up. The black night, white stars, and yellow house lights glimmered like fractured glass, poised above me and ready to fall with one more shake of the kaleidoscope.

Chapter 9

S
ometimes being homeschooled sucked.

Maybe that’s too dramatic. I can’t slam my education outright. Judging from the skills Heidi bragged about mastering during her high school years—how to affix a cheat sheet to the inside of a Coke bottle liner, how to argue any teacher from a D up to a C, how to use the surprisingly powerful words “I’m starting my period” to get out of an entire organic chemistry unit—I was probably learning more than most high schoolers. A lot more. Besides, my career wouldn’t work without homeschool, and it had brought me Heidi.

But every once in a while I’d find myself in a situation
and realize I’d missed out, that I was supposed to know something I didn’t know. Or worse, be somebody I didn’t know how to be.

Standing on the front porch, for instance, listening to the taxi rumble away with Jeremy in the back, my insides churning and shaky, wishing I was still with him—that’s when I felt it. I’d been studying the wrong things. I’d been wasting my time memorizing irregular French verbs and calculating the velocity of random trains leaving random stations at random times, when I should have been learning teenage survival skills: how to talk to a boy and not come across as a total idiot, how to flirt, how to lie to my parents. Why hadn’t I said something charming or smiled or done
anything
besides just stumbling out onto the sidewalk like a half-baked loser?

It was so embarrassing. No, it was more than embarrassing—it was disturbing. My exposure to members of the opposite sex under the age of twenty-five was nearly nonexistent. That wasn’t normal. Over the years there’d been a handful of guys that I knew and ran into at music festivals and competitions, but nobody romantically interesting, and definitely nobody I’d have actually let close enough to kiss me. I’d rather die than admit it to Heidi, who loved sharing the details of her dysfunctional relationships, but factoring in the higher-than-average gay-factor of male musicians, I had less experience than a cloistered nun.

As for my parent-handling skills, I was equally screwed. Diana and Clark were waiting on the other side of the door, and I had no game plan, no experience getting in trouble, and no guts. That
had
to be homeschool’s fault. At the very least, public school would have given me front row seats to other people’s misdemeanors and cover-ups.

With a hand on the brass knob, I closed my eyes and enjoyed one last breath of night air.

This situation was unprecedented, but I was pretty sure Diana was going to kill me. I should’ve been scared. Why wasn’t I? Probably because my body was maxed out on euphoria. No room for fear. I felt like I was sucking on a half-dozen fizzy candies, and the mini-volcano was bubbling over into my brain. The street, the stars, the sound of the cicadas—everything was buzzing.

Think, Carmen.
Fact: I was more likely to survive if I groveled than if I tried to excuse my way out of it. Diana hated excuses. Besides, what excuse could I possibly give? She knew me too well. She knew I wouldn’t lie and sneak out over something trivial, and she knew I wouldn’t be testing out rebellion just for fun.

But a logical defense just wouldn’t come. My brain couldn’t hold onto a single thought except the ones about Jeremy and that perfect, ringing, golden feeling of being kissed.

I twisted the knob and pushed, letting light pour out
onto the porch. The entryway was empty. They were probably in the living room, but I couldn’t hear talking or TV or even music playing. That was a bad sign. There was always music playing. I forced myself forward, smelling coffee and Diana’s vanilla sandalwood perfume. My heels clicked as they crossed the floor into the living room.

Clark sat on one end the sofa, arms folded over his chest, covering the peeling leprechaun logo on his favorite sweatshirt. Notre Dame. Go Irish. His face was gray and creased like weathered stone.

Something jagged punctured the bubble of elation inside me. Guilt. I’d been too scared of Diana to even think about Clark. He looked terrible, physically ill even, and it was my fault.

Clark shook his head slowly and glanced over to the antique chaise lounge where Diana was reclining. The brown velvet-backed chair was one of her favorites. Half-lying, half-sitting, she looked like she was posing for a painting, something to be entitled
Fainting Spell
, or
Ailing Mademoiselle
. Something dramatic.

Nobody spoke. We listened to the muted shriek of the same cicadas Jeremy and I had been listening to in the park, pulsing and insistent. Clark stared at Diana. Diana stared at me. I stared at the wall.

I looked down and saw the ticket stub in my hand, the perforated edge rubbed nearly smooth by my thumb. Why
was I still holding it? Not exactly smart if I was going to lie about where I’d been. I held it up. A white flag.

“Enjoy yourself?” Diana said, her thin, scratchy voice no louder than usual. She ignored the ticket and held my gaze, her dark eyes simmering. I couldn’t look away.

“Clark, honey,” she continued, “you can go to bed. I need to talk to Carmen alone.”

Not surprising. This was the unspoken arrangement of stepparenthood, at least in our family. Clark was a part of all things happy, but serious discussions were between Diana and me. Alone.

He sighed as he pushed himself out of the couch, relief softening his features. It was better this way. The tension was already eating him alive and we hadn’t even started yet. It seemed fair at least to spare him, but I didn’t want him to leave. He hugged me as he walked by, a too-tight squeeze, and whispered, “Don’t
ever
scare us like that again.”

I nodded, clinging to the faded sweatshirt. Unexpected tears filled my eyes and I squeezed them shut. I couldn’t lose before I’d even started.

He detached himself and left. Diana and I listened to the creak of each step as he retreated upstairs. We were alone.

“He wanted to call the police,” she said, “but I talked him out of it.” Lines creased the lap of her jade-green
dress, and the gold scarf sagged over her shoulders like a deflated sigh. She was still beautiful. Even with her lipstick faded to a muddy pink and the mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position and turned to face me. Then she crossed her legs and the top one began bouncing rhythmically. My eyes broke away from her face and locked onto the gold stiletto that dangled from her toe.

“Well this is impressive,” she said sarcastically. She was never sarcastic. “Lying, sneaking out, showing up at 3 a.m. like you don’t have a care in the world…. You’ve outdone yourself, Carmen.” She shook her head. “Honestly, I’m surprised. It’s a little juvenile, don’t you think?”

Jeremy thought so too.

“I’m sorry,” I said, surprised to finally hear my own voice. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

She rolled her eyes, another rarity. She never let me get away with that kind of thing. “You didn’t worry me. You worried Clark.” As she spoke, she took out the gold and ruby clusters hanging from her ear lobes and placed them on the end table beside her mug. “I knew exactly where you were. CSO concerts aren’t exactly raves, so no, I wasn’t worried. At least not about your physical safety.” She waited for me to look her in the eye, but the shoe was just so much … safer. I looked back up at her face, which
was now wrinkled with disappointment. “Carmen, what were you thinking?”

I was suddenly tired, too tired to think. I just wanted it over. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t understand you. The sneaking out was stupid, but what’s worse is the complete disregard for your career. How do you think you’re going to be feeling when you’re walking onstage tomorrow night?”

She didn’t want an answer. I lowered my eyes back to the glittering shoe, its arc wider and faster now.

“This is your last performance before the Guarneri. It should be a trial run for you, and based on what Yuri told me yesterday after your lesson, you should be focusing all your energy on figuring out why that concerto is slipping. By the way, why didn’t
you
tell me that? I’m your
manager
.”

The skin on my neck burned and I felt the flush bloom over my cheeks. Had Yuri called her to report how bad things were? Or had she called him?

“Because I can still fix it,” I said. “I just have to …” What? She wanted a practical solution, but that was the problem. I was being strangled by all the practical solutions to the Tchaikovsky’s descent into the graveyard of overplayed concertos.

“With your concerto withering before our eyes,” she continued, “I can’t imagine why you would choose right
now to become obsessed with the
competition
. Why does it matter what Jeremy King sounds like? What did hearing how incredible he is do for your confidence?”

Shattered it,
I thought, surprised that I’d forgotten. That part of the evening had slipped from my memory after everything that followed. After he kissed me. Suddenly, everything I’d felt during Jeremy’s performance rushed back—the beauty, the sadness …

The realization that I would not win.

Diana turned her face away from me and put her hand to her throat, letting her fingertips rest on her scar, a shiny worm of a line sliding over her voice box. She stared out into the street, deliberating over something. “I heard him play last March when I was in New York.”

The revelation took a moment to process. She’d lied. She’d come back from that trip and said she hadn’t had time to go to the concert, that there had been some conflict with her schedule. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want the legendary Jeremy King to undermine your confidence. You’ve always been the best. I needed you to keep believing that so you could win this thing. Now …” Her voice trailed off and she pulled her eyes from the window back to my face. “Well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”

Her foot stopped swinging. The shoe slipped off her toe and clunked onto its side.

That was it. She thought I was fragile. She thought that just knowing how good he was would be too much, that I’d shut down and give up.

“The concert ended four hours ago. Where have you been?”

I glanced at her view out the window. She must have seen him in the back of the cab. Maybe she’d seen him kiss me. A spark of anger flickered inside me. Why was she asking if she’d seen the whole thing? And what made her think I would just give it up to her? That moment wasn’t hers to poach.

But it didn’t matter. I was done lying. “With Jeremy.”

“Doing what?”

“Eating pizza in Millennium Park. Talking.”

She raised an eyebrow. She
had
seen.

“How long ago did you meet him and why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I just met him after the concert tonight.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I’m telling the truth,” I said evenly. No way was she getting the satisfaction of seeing how mad I was. “I went backstage and met him and he invited me to go get some dinner. We just started talking and lost track of time.”

“Lost track of time? Four hours?
You
may have lost track of time. He didn’t.”

“I don’t even know what you mean.”

“Oh, Carmen,” she groaned and pounded her palm to her forehead. “It’s my own fault you’re so naïve.”

“Naïve?” Exasperation had crept into my voice, but I couldn’t help it. She was being so vague and dramatic.

She sighed. “There are things about this business I’ve shielded you from, but I should have taught you to be more careful. Listen to me. People will do
anything
to win. You think that boy likes you, but he is not just some boy. He is here to win the Guarneri. He is not here to fall in love, though I’m sure he did a pretty convincing job of making you think that.”

I said nothing. I froze my face. She was wrong. Of course she was wrong.

But even as one half of my brain repeated it, the other half cartwheeled backward through the evening, seeing a reverse reel of every event, every word and gesture. I flipped through it all, searching for evidence of just how ridiculously wrong, wrong,
wrong
she was. But there wasn’t any.

“This competition will be close,” she continued, “but it’s between the two of you. Be smart, Carmen. He will do anything to derail you, including breaking your heart when you are at your most vulnerable.”

No. The spark of anger inside me blossomed into flame. I wasn’t that stupid. Jeremy wasn’t like that.

“I can see you’re mad,” she said. “You should be. You don’t deserve to be used. You’re young and sweet and pretty, but your innocence is the problem. And now that you understand what’s going on, you don’t have to let him manipulate you like that.”

I put my hand on the credenza to steady myself. It was glossy and cool beneath my skin. I felt like I might be sick.

“Listen to me, Carmen,” she said, bringing me back into the moment. She was standing in front of me now and I could see her eyes were red. She brought both hands to my face and cupped my jaw. Her skin was soft and the smell of her perfume was stronger now. “Forget about Jeremy. Don’t call him. Don’t see him. Focus on the Tchaikovsky. We are
so
close to winning, Carmen. You just …” She dropped her hands. She wanted to finish the thought, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

I just …

I nodded weakly. “I know. I understand.”

She turned away. “Good night.”

Silently, I went upstairs.

Sleep was impossible. I should have been obsessing over my first kiss—the softness of his lips, his hand touching the back of my neck, the water-blue shade of his eyes—but Diana had killed that.