Light From Uncommon Stars(60)

And there was more. She talked of dating, of bathrooms, of being in a roomful of queers and still feeling alone. She talked about the sting of applying makeup over fresh scrapes and bruises, the terrible whispers on the bus ride here.

And there was more. There was always more.

And that was what made it so horrible. Her family would be there, her school would be there, the sidewalk would be there, and it was so everyday that yesterday was tomorrow blending into the day after jammed backward and forward and just wanting to cry.

“B-but I can’t even cry like a girl…”

Eventually, the crying subsided, not because anything was better, but because there was no moisture left to give.

Katrina lay there, her head in Shizuka’s lap. Some of the girl’s stories seemed unfathomably cruel. Some of them sounded like being a teenager. But they were tangled and knotted, and pulling on them would only make matters worse.

Shizuka brushed a strand of hair out of Katrina’s face.

“Katrina, why don’t you go upstairs, wash up, and rest. Astrid is starting dinner soon. I’ll ask her to make something special.”

Not long after, dinner was ready.

“Aubergines are finally in season,” Astrid said. “I know you’ve been looking forward to them.”

But all Katrina saw were sautéed eggplants. “Where are the aubergines?”

“Why, they are right in front of you,” Astrid said.

“These are aubergines? Miss Satomi—my violin is named … Eggplant?”

“Of course it is, Katrina.”

Katrina looked up at Miss Satomi, then at Astrid.

Shizuka and Astrid almost managed to keep straight faces. Almost.

Grandma Lieu looked up from her garden and smiled. It was nice to hear such happy laughter from the family next door.



* * *



Landon Fung knocked. He knocked louder.

Ellen opened her door.

“Ellen! Shizuka Satomi is coming. Her student’s name is Katrina Nguyen.”

“Not now!”

“Who?” Tamiko Giselle Grohl drifted to the hallway. “Shizuka Satomi has a new student?”

“Yes, she does. But, Tamiko, Tamiko!”

“LIAR!”

“Landon, help! Grab her before she hurts herself!”

Landon had no idea Tamiko had gotten this bad.

“Dammit, Landon, couldn’t you be more careful?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I also found a video.”

Tamiko stopped struggling.

“Really? May I see it?” she asked sweetly. She hugged Landon’s arm. “May I see it, Mr. Fung?”

Landon pulled away from Tamiko. He tried not to seem unnerved as he gave his phone to Ellen.

“The both of you just watch. Please.”

“I don’t get it,” Ellen finally said. “This is Shizuka Satomi’s student?”

“All I can guess is she’s no longer teaching seriously, right, Tamiko? Tamiko?”

“I need to practice for the showcase,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Tamiko, why pursue this? Shizuka Satomi is obviously no longer teaching seriously. Besides, Kiana Choi also worked with Ilyana Plisetskaya in St. Petersburg—we should focus on Plisetskaya.”

“Plisetskaya is an incredible teacher,” added Landon Fung.

But Tamiko had already made up her mind.

“No thank you. I am going to play.”

Ilyana Plisetskaya? Plisetskaya had nothing to do with creating Kiana Choi. Listen to Plisetskaya’s students. Listen to Satomi’s. Watch them. Feel their performances.

Were they deaf?

Tamiko had heard rumors about Shizuka Satomi’s students. They were destined to die mysteriously, or tragically. Some even whispered that to study with Shizuka Satomi meant trading your soul.

But Tamiko had not truly believed the stories until that afternoon, when she gazed into Shizuka Satomi’s eyes.

In that instant, Tamiko knew. For in those eyes was the fire that would kill for her students, or kill them herself.

Such gorgeous cruelty. Her students … loved, betrayed, torn open, and displayed … oh …

How incredible …

It should be her turn now. She would call to her, enchant her, offer her everything. She would make Shizuka Satomi hers.

Tamiko picked up her violin, drew the glistening maple against her breast. She placed the instrument under her chin, closed her eyes, and began to hum.



* * *



The next day, Katrina’s practice began as scheduled. However, instead of Miss Satomi, it was Miss Astrid who entered the practice hall. Katrina was puzzled. She had already eaten breakfast.

“Miss Astrid?”

“Miss Satomi had a meeting and asked me to practice with you today.”

Astrid sat at the piano and handed Katrina a notebook with a handwritten score.

“Miss Satomi completed this last night. You’ll be playing it at the showcase. What do you think? It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Katrina looked at the mass of penciled notes. Astrid asked it so matter-of-factly, as if anyone would be able to hear the piece from scanning the score.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I need to play the notes to hear.”