Light From Uncommon Stars(25)

But Hell favored people who recognized their brilliance, who believed they deserved success, would have success, were it not for a flaw, a disadvantage that they could never overcome. Paganini didn’t sell his soul to become Paganini—he sold his soul because he thought his appearance so hideous that no one would love him otherwise.

Each of Shizuka’s six previous students had a similar fear that their talent, their destiny would be thwarted. Morihei thought he’d never be accepted because he was Japanese. Lilia thought her commoner’s blood tainted her playing. Sabrina was worried because she was fat. And so on, and so on. What made each of them right for Hell was their need for a lie, a fa?ade so powerful, so intoxicating, that they could believe it themselves.

And those, Hell could easily provide.

But this one didn’t seem ready for such a lie. At present, she could barely handle her truth.

Well, there would be time to address this later. For now, ready or not, they had work to do. Shizuka nodded to herself and put her coffee cup down.

As the cup clattered on the table, Katrina flinched. Tangerine juice splashed all about them.

“I’m sorry!” Katrina leapt her feet.

Shizuka watched the girl frantically scan the room for the front door. She was terrified.

“I’ll clean it up,” Astrid said calmly. “Please, Miss Katrina, sit down. There’s no problem at all.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

Of course. The black eye, the bruises, the fractured rib. These were simple wounds. What remained would be far more difficult to heal.

Inside, Shizuka was furious. How dare someone interrupt talent like this? Rests, pauses, delayed resolutions, these were to be expected in any music, but this was needless. This was time wasted, time which Shizuka did not have.

However, being injured wasn’t the girl’s fault. And showing frustration would only make matters worse.

“Katrina?”

The voice was gentle. Cautiously, Katrina looked to its source.

“Yes?”

“After breakfast, shall we take your violin to the shop?”

“I don’t have money,” she said honestly. The last guy had barely paid.

“Don’t worry about that now. Just finish your breakfast.”

Astrid put her hands on Katrina’s shoulders. Katrina tried not to flinch.

“You have a lot to do today. And when you return, we’ll have more tangerine juice. Plenty more.”

Shizuka glanced upward. Astrid shrugged.

“This morning, Mrs. Aguilar brought another bag.”



* * *



South Arroyo was a quaint and picturesque hamlet at the end of the Long Beach Freeway. South Arroyo sat at the end of said freeway because its residents had blocked further construction, declaring their town too quaint and picturesque for freeways.

The residents had also objected when the city wanted to run a light-rail through their town, until they realized they could build a quaint and picturesque plaza by the station, complete with quaint and picturesque health food stores, gastropubs, and boutiques hawking fair-trade clothing woven from all-natural fibers.

As their surroundings became ever more quaint and picturesque, Katrina grew nervous. She did not belong here, she did not belong here, she did not belong here.

Moreover, did Miss Satomi and Miss Astrid even know she was transgender? Of course they must—Miss Astrid had basically seen her naked—but there had been no mention of her gender whatsoever.

From the way they acted, Katrina could almost believe they accepted who she was. But that was in their home, behind closed doors.

Now they were in public. She and Miss Satomi had pulled into the parking lot of what looked like an especially quaint and picturesque music store. And in that store, someone would point at the weird tranny and maybe even call her a boy.

“Miss Satomi.”

“Yes?”

“We can’t go in there.”

Shizuka frowned. What was the matter now? Helvar Grunfeld’s Fine Violin Shoppe did look a little too much like it had been painted by Thomas Kinkade. But the shop did reasonably good work and would be able to repair Katrina’s student violin easily.

“Katrina?”

“I’m not what you think I am.”

Shizuka was thoroughly puzzled. The girl seemed honest—and not many entities could deceive her. Was she working with Tremon Philippe? No, Tremon had no reason to deceive her this way.

There was a far simpler explanation, wasn’t there?

Why did she not want to go into Grunfeld’s? Of course. She was most likely nervous she would be seen, perhaps by someone she knew. And since this was Grunfeld’s, that person was probably either her old teacher or another student.

Fair enough. It was not good form to take a student from an existing teacher, but Shizuka was sure she could work everything out. She was Shizuka Satomi, after all.

“Okay, then. So, who’s your teacher, really?”

Teacher? What was Miss Satomi talking about?

“No one—I mean, I watch YouTube, and I have old books. I mean, old books are good.”

“Then what do you mean about you not being really who I think you are?”

“I’m trans.”

There. She’d said it.

“What?”

“Transgender.”