Quinn nods. “My mom’s one of the doctors; she lets me skate sometimes when she’s working, depending on who’s here.”
Hector thwaps his hat. “He’s also an alumnus, which he should have mentioned because that’s the real reason he gets to use the skate park. But that was before his mom came here. Now he’s sort of an unofficial mascot.”
“I’m the official mascot, asshole.” Quinn laughs. “Me and Buttercup are on the front of the brochure. But yeah, he basically covered everything. My mom fell in love with the place when I was here for treatment. She started working here after, and I kinda became a fixture. My mom actually helped me petition to have this built.”
“Well, thanks, because I was losing it without my board.” I suck my lips over my teeth and shake my head, realizing what I just said. “I guess technically I was losing it before that, but.”
Quinn smiles. “Hey, if we can have horse therapy, we can have skate therapy too, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Why are we just standing around, then?” Hector asks, dropping his board and aiming for the ramp.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Quinn shouts, barreling after him.
“It’s Ridley.”
“Okay, Ridley, let’s see what you got.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Jubilee
“JUBILEE!” MOM CALLS from the kitchen, and I set down my bow, flexing my fingers.
I still get stiff, but the physical therapy is really helping and my playing is getting close to where it was before. I love my PT team, but I can’t wait to be done.
“Jubilee, come here.”
I hate when she interrupts me, but the urgency in her voice has got me curious. I slide my splint back on—I’m still supposed to wear it when I’m not playing—and head down the hall.
Mom and Vera are both sitting at the kitchen table, and they look way too excited for this early on a Saturday morning.
“What’s up?” I ask, glancing between them.
“There’s a letter,” Mom says, pushing an unopened envelope toward me. “From the conservatory.”
“Oh yeah?” My voice cracks from nerves, and Vera tilts her head, watching me.
“It’s thick,” Vera says. “Open it.”
I snatch it out of her hand, tearing open the envelope and scanning the words on the letter as fast as I can.
“What does it say?” Mom asks, her eyes going huge.
“Dear Jubilee—” I clear my throat.
We would like to cordially invite you to attend the Junior Summer Orchestra Program at the Carnegie Conservatory.
While taped auditions are generally reserved for our international students, we were willing to consider your application, in light of your extenuating circumstances.
We hope you will be sufficiently healed to join us in this program next month, as the selecting committee was deeply moved by your performance.
Please review the tuition and fees breakdown and acceptance information provided in the enclosed packet. We look forward to a wonderful summer filled with music.
“Holy crap,” I say, tears flooding my eyes. “I got in.”
“You got in!” Mom shrieks. “How, though? I thought you withdrew!”
“Remember that day when Jayla and Nikki were watching those videos Ridley made?”
My mom’s face falls; she still gets nervous when I talk about him. “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“He had my whole repertoire on that flash drive. I figured I didn’t really have anything to lose, so I emailed it to them last minute and asked to be considered after all. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. The application fee was nonrefundable anyway—I thought we may as well make them work for it.”
“Oh my god, baby.” Vera laughs. “You did it; you’re going to the conservatory!”
And then I realize what the letter doesn’t say, and my stomach drops to the floor.
“What’s wrong?” my mom asks.
I flip the paper over and look in the envelope, but there’s nothing else besides a brochure. I swallow hard. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t get the scholarship, though.”
“Let us