big white envelope with the words INTERNATIONAL YOUNG PIANISTS’ SHOWCASE printed on it in a fancy font. I rip it open. Inside, there’s a copy of the official program, a printout of directions to the concert hall, and a checklist of things to bring to your recital. I scour the program until I find my name:
KIRI BYRD, 2:07 P.M. SUNDAY
J. S. Bach, Italian Concerto
W. Beethoven, Sonata in C–Sharp Minor, op. 6, V. 2
F. Chopin, Nocturne in D
C. Debussy, La cathédrale engloutie
A. Khachaturian, Toccata
I’m listed again under the master class heading, along with Prokofiev: Concerto No. 2.
I call Dr. Scaliteri.
“The program came!”
“Kiri, I am teaching a lesson right now.”
“I have a question.”
“Kiri—”
I hear someone plunking keys in the background. “Make the left hand float,” says Dr. Scaliteri to someone, probably Nelson Chow.
“Dr. Scaliteri. Dr. Scaliteri? I’ve decided to change which piece I’m playing for the master class.”
“You cannot change this piece.”
“No, it’s fine, I’m learning a new one with that technique I told you about. It’s a little-known composer, very obscure. It’s going to be a world premiere.”
“Kiri, I have no time for this nonsense. You will play the Prokofiev.”
Whoever’s on the piano bench plunks away. “Good, Nelson,” says Dr. Scaliteri. I knew it.
“You just haven’t heard me play it yet. How about I come over this afternoon?”
“Excellent, Nelson. Your sound is flowering.”
“Dr. Scaliteri?”
“Have I already talked to you about the recital in October?”
“What recital?”
“Oh, that’s right, you’ll be at Juilliard. It would be worth flying back from New York City.”
She’s talking to Nelson. Why is she talking to Nelson? She’s supposed to be talking to me.
“Dr. Scaliteri? Should I come over?”
“Well, think about it. I’ll give you the information.”
“Dr. Scaliteri? I can come over now.”
Nelson starts plunking, oh excuse me, floating. There’s a click and a rumble like Dr. Scaliteri just put down the phone on her desk. Did she seriously forget she was just talking to me? Or is this a subtle way of letting me sit in on Nelson’s lesson without letting Nelson know that I’m listening? Maybe Dr. Scaliteri is trying to show me something, let me listen in so I can give her my input later. I’m starting to think we’re in on this whole Nelson Chow business together.
I keep my ear pressed to the phone, listening intently for the next twenty minutes, until Dr. Scaliteri starts dialing a number, like she’s forgotten we never hung up. I pick up the program for the Showcase, find the number on the back, and make a call of my own.
I bike to Skunk’s house so I can see him before Aunt Martine gets home from work, but when I knock on the glass door he doesn’t answer, and when I try to open it, it’s locked. There’s a big pile of cigarette butts on the concrete. I go to the Chinese grocery store and buy him a dozen dragon fruit and leave them in front of his door in a circle of pear blossoms with a note that says The Way that takes its meds at eleven is not the true Way. Love, Kiri. There are brown birds chirping in the tree, and Skunk’s van is not in the alleyway. I wonder where he’s gone. I call his phone, but he doesn’t pick up—I can hear it ringing inside.
Text from Lukas: WHY DID FEDEX DELIVER AMP 2 MY HOUSE?
Text back: B O B SAT NITE NEED MAX SOUNDAGE OBVS
“Stop pacing around the house like that,” says Denny. “You’re making me edgy.”
“I don’t know where Skunk is.”
“Who the hell is Skunk?”
I prop up the cream-colored International Young Pianists’ Showcase program on top of the piano and play my entire recital all the way through six times.
“Stop playing like that,” says Denny.
“Like what?”
“Like there’s someone holding a machine gun to your head.”
I remind him that the Showcase is in sixteen days, Mom and Dad are due back in fifteen days, and it’s my personal responsibility to ensure that they come home to the kind of impeccable performance they have come to expect.
Petra calls to invite Denny and me to dinner. She assumes my parents finally saw reason and sent him home to babysit me, and I don’t correct her on that point. When I decline the invitation, she asks if she can speak to Denny.
“He’s not here right now,” I say with a rush of paranoia that makes my hair stand on end. Why does Petra want to talk to Denny? What’s she plotting, anyway?
“You tell him to make sure