Passenger (Passenger #1) - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,6
had picked up. Evan Parker. Right. She’d heard him play at a few competitions. She could admit that he was decent enough. Maybe even a little good.
But, Etta thought, satisfaction slinking through her, not as good as me.
And not nearly good enough to do Bach’s Chaconne from Partita no. 2 in D Minor justice.
The lights dimmed and swept across the stage in bursts of shifting color as the technicians in the booth made last-minute adjustments to match the mood of the piece; Evan stood in the middle of it, dark hair gleaming, and went at the Chaconne like he was trying to set his violin on fire, completely oblivious to everything and everyone else. Etta knew that feeling. She might have doubted many things in her life, but Etta had never once doubted her talent, her love for the violin.
They had no choice which piece of music the museum’s board of directors had assigned each of them for that night’s fund-raising performance, but some small, sour part of her still stewed in envy that he’d been picked. The Chaconne was considered by most, including herself, to be one of the most difficult violin pieces to master—a single progression repeated in dozens of dizzying, complex variations. It was emotionally powerful, and structurally near perfect. At least, it was when played by her. It should have been played by her.
Her piece, the Largo from Sonata no. 3, was the last of the violin set. The piece was sweetly stirring, meditative in pace. Not Bach’s most complex or demanding, or even the brightest in its colors, but, as Alice said time and time again, there was no cheating when it came to Bach. Every piece demanded the full force of the player’s technical skill and focus. She would play it flawlessly, and then the whole of her attention would be on the debut.
Not on her mom.
Not on the fact that she now had no one to text or call after the event to give an update to.
Not on the fact that one night could determine her whole future.
“You would have done a bang-up job of the Chaconne,” Alice said as they made their way to the side of the stage, heading to the green room, “but tonight, the Largo is yours. Remember, this isn’t a competition.”
Alice had this magical look about her, like she would be at home in front of a hearth, wrapped in a large quilt, telling nursery rhymes to sweet-faced forest critters. Hair that, according to pictures, had once been flaming red and reached halfway down her back was now bobbed, as white as milk. Turning ninety-three hadn’t dulled any of her warmth or wit. But even though her mind was as sharp as ever, and her sense of humor twice as wicked, Etta was careful to help her up the stairs, equally careful not to hold her thin arm too tightly as one of the event coordinators led them to the green room.
“But also remember,” Alice whispered, grinning broadly, “that you are my student, and you are therefore the best here by default. If you feel inclined to prove that, who am I to stop you?”
Etta couldn’t help herself; she laughed and wrapped her arms around her instructor’s shoulders, and was grateful to have the hug returned tenfold. When she was younger, and just starting out on the competition circuit, she couldn’t go onstage until she’d had three hugs from Alice, and a kiss on the head for luck. It made her feel safe, like a warm blanket tucked around her shoulders, and she could disappear inside the feeling if she needed to.
I have Alice.
If she had no one else, she had Alice, who believed in Etta even when she was playing at her worst. Of the two Brits in her life, she was grateful that at least this one seemed to care and love unconditionally.
Alice pulled back, touching Etta’s cheek. “Everything all right, love? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No!” God, she couldn’t give Alice any excuse to cancel the debut. “Just the usual nerves.”
Alice’s gaze narrowed to something over her shoulder; Etta started to turn, to look and see what it was, only to have her instructor touch one of her earrings, her brow wrinkling in thought. “Did your mum give these to you?”
Etta nodded. “Yeah. Do you like them?”
“They’re…” Alice seemed to search for the word, dropping her hand. “Beautiful. But not half as beautiful as you, duck.”