The Violin Conspiracy(30)

“You did? Thank you.” Ray could feel Aiden looking at him, but he kept his gaze on the judge. “I’m sorry about that F-sharp in the D-minor scale.”

“No need to apologize. I used to miss that F all the time when I was starting out.”

“You play violin?”

“I do. I’m Dr. Janice Stevens. I’m an associate professor of violin at Markham University.”

Ray stood frozen with his mouth slightly open. Aiden nudged his ribs.

“I just wanted to introduce myself and wish you the best of luck. You’re both wonderful musicians,” she said to them.

After she left, Aiden said to Ray, “Dude. That’s got to be a good sign.”

“Yeah, maybe.” But Ray’s heart beat a little harder. She’d come up and talked to him! That must mean something, right?

Close to an hour and a half later, a scrawny man with bushy eyebrows came out with a piece of light blue paper: the violin selection list. He thumbtacked it to the bulletin board.

Then he heard Mark Jennings’s voice from the crowd. “No fuckin’ way.” An instant later, Aiden called out, “Ray! You made it! Bro, you made it!”

Ray’s name was among the chosen.

Both Aiden and Mark Jennings emerged from the kids still straining to see the list. Mark’s eyes were narrow. “How the hell did you make it?” he said to Ray. “Is this an affirmative action audition?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aiden told him. “You mad because you left your white supremacist starter kit on the bus?”

“Fuck you, Asia.” He shot Aiden the bird. “See this? Open your eyes. Oh wait, they are open.”

“Asshole,” Aiden said. But he was used to Mark slamming his Asian looks the way Mark would slam Ray’s: Mark was an equal opportunity racist.

Aiden was beaming, pounding Ray on the back. “You made it. Dude, you totally made it.”

Dr. Stevens appeared again. There was that smile, so bright. “Congratulations, Rayquan. Quite an accomplishment. This is a very difficult orchestra to get into. What year are you?”

“I’m a senior.”

“Who are you currently taking lessons with?”

“Like, a private teacher?” he said. “Nobody. Just Mr. Stinson, our orchestra teacher. I’ve never done private lessons.”

“You mean Gary Stinson?”

“Yeah, I think that’s him,” Ray said.

She looked at him even more intently.

“He practices, like, all the time,” Aiden interjected. “The guy is glued to his violin.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I like playing.” He shot Aiden a grateful look, but Aiden was watching Dr. Stevens.

“Well, you’ve been doing a great job,” she told him. “What are your plans for next fall?”

“You mean after I graduate?”

“Yes.”

“Going to find a job,” he said, inventing on the spot. “Maybe the military.”

“Have you considered college?”

“I’ve thought about it,” he said, although he never really had. “But I wouldn’t know what to do. Plus all the student loans.” Popeyes still loomed.

“I’m asking because you’re a very good player and you obviously work hard. Your vibrato was beautiful and your musicianship was exquisite. When you played, it definitely woke us up.” She reached into her purse. “Here’s my card. I’d really love for you to consider applying to Markham University. You’d be one of my students.”

Her card sat in his fingers like a butterfly wing, about to disintegrate if he squeezed too tightly.

“I know this may be overwhelming but it could be a real opportunity. If someone had gotten a hold of you when you were younger, you could be playing solos with major symphonies by now.”

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Thanks. Thank you, Dr. Stevens.”

“You’re very welcome, Rayquan. I can feel how much potential you have. I hope to hear from you soon. Congratulations again.”

Both Ray and Aiden stared after her. Then Aiden punched Ray’s shoulder. “Whoa! Bro, this is amazing! Major symphony, you hear that? There might be a scholarship for you! This is your lucky day.”

The bus ride home was a blur. When they pulled over to a fast-food restaurant for dinner, and Ray was away from the noise of the bus, he called his grandmother.

“That’s wonderful, baby!” she told him. He didn’t think she quite understood what regional orchestra was, but she was happy for him nonetheless.

He was beyond exhausted, and still dizzy with excitement, when he unlocked the front door to his house. His mom had left a lamp on next to the couch, its glow glittering on the glass coffee table, pouring over the red, blue, and green swirls of the faded upholstery. The room felt unfamiliar, as if he’d been gone for a very long time.

A light was on in his mother’s room. She was lying in bed, on the phone.

“Mom! Guess what! I made it. I made regionals!”

She stared at him blankly for a moment. “Stop screaming like you ain’t got no sense! You lock the front door?”



* * *



—

On Friday, February 8, all the students for the regionals concert assembled in the auditorium to begin the first rehearsal, before blind auditions that would decide their seatings the next morning. Ray sat in the back of the violin section, trying to keep calm, trying to keep his lips in a straight line, trying to pretend he’d done this a hundred times before.