The Violin Conspiracy(33)

He tried to speak but just kept opening and closing his mouth.

Dr. Stevens’s grin only widened, if that was possible. “I know this may seem like a lot all at once. I understand that you might need to talk it over with your family.”

“Yeah.” Hope and exhilaration fizzed in his veins—but his mom would never let him go. Dr. Stevens handed him two business cards: the university card she’d already given him and the other for the admissions director.

“Is your family here? I’d love to meet them.”

“Uh—they couldn’t make it.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she said. “Go home, think about what I’ve said. Talk to your family. Email or call me when you make a decision, but don’t wait too long. If we don’t hear from you by the end of next week, I’ll have to offer the scholarship to another prospective student.” She looked at him hard. “This could be the start of a meteoric career for you, if that’s what you want.”

“Uh—yeah. Yeah. It’s what I want. I need to talk to my mom, though. Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“I hope so. Congratulations again.” She shook his hand and disappeared into the crowd.

Outside, in the weak late-afternoon light, kids and their families were moving on, shouting goodbye, the mournful thunks of car doors closing. He was one of only three students to ride the charter bus home. He stared out the window the entire way, thinking and trying not to think.



* * *



—

His mother and the twins were in the living room: the twins, as usual, glued to their spots in front of the TV, his mom on her phone on the sofa. “Your food is on the stove.” Their dinner plates, stacked with chicken bones, glistened greasily on the glass coffee table. He dropped the violin and his duffel in his room, went into the kitchen and made up his plate. Mashed potatoes, string beans, chicken breast. He put it in the microwave.

Voices bounced around in his head:

You need to find a real job.

This could be the start of a meteoric career.

Down the hall to the bedroom. Something made him notice the pictures framed on the walls: pictures of each twin over the past three years—his brother mugging for the camera in his baseball and basketball uniforms; his sister and a half dozen other little girls squashed into white tutus at the local community center’s ballet recital. There was only one of Ray, with his mom and dad, from when Ray was a baby. His mom wasn’t smiling.

Ray had always been the one his mother couldn’t quite understand—instead of playing basketball with the other uncoordinated prepubescent kids, he was up in his room, alone, practicing air violin with his IKEA headboard as a fingerboard. His mom never got to sit at the half-court line and gossip with her friends, whose kids were also on the team—she didn’t want to go alone to an alien concert hall with a bunch of soccer moms wondering if she was lost.

He lay on his bed. There was a crack in the left corner of the ceiling he’d never noticed before. The muted TV laughter itched his skin, as if it would leave scars. Talking to her might not be so bad. Maybe she’d be excited. Happy for him. She didn’t have to pay for anything.

Water rattled in the pipes. The twins were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. A poster of Optimus Prime—Transformer, leader of the Autobots—clenching his metal fists. His corded muscles bulged reassuringly. If Optimus Prime could beat the crap out of Megatron, Ray could talk to his mother.

Ray came out of his room. “Mom. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“What, boy?” She was typing.

“The concert was really good. I was one of the top violinists and I got offered a scholarship.”

“Uh-huh.” Her phone chimed. She smirked at it, typed.

“Mom!”

“Who you yellin’ at?”

“I’m not yelling, I didn’t know if you heard what I said. I got offered a scholarship today.”

“To where?”

“To Markham University.”

“Well that’s too bad. You’re gettin’ a job. I ain’t paying for college.”

“This is a scholarship. A full scholarship. It would pay room and—”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I said no. I ain’t paying for nothing.”

“You don’t have to pay for anything. It’s a music scholarship. I just said that. It covers everything.”

“What did I just say?”

“You said no. But I think I’m going to take it.”

“You ain’t taking shit. You goin’ to get a job and help with these kids.” She mumbled something incoherent. Her phone chimed and she looked at it.

“Mom? Hello? What is the big deal? I’ll have a college degree.”

“In what,” she said, actually looking at him, eyes narrowed. Only then did he realize how furious she was. “In music? What’s that goin’ to do for anybody? Let me tell you something. You’re just a kid. You don’t need no college and no music. You need a job.”

“One of the professors thinks I can play in a major symphony.”

“Ha! You can’t play in no symphony. I hate to tell you, but you didn’t play all that good at your grandma’s. You ain’t good enough.”