Chapter 11
The school asked me to perform again.
A charity concert.
A bigger stage.
News had spread after Lucinda’s arrest.
People whispered about me in hallways.
Some looked sorry.
Some looked curious.
A few looked excited, like my humiliation had become entertainment.
I told Mrs. Bell no.
Then I told my father no.
Then I told myself no.
That night, I dreamed of the violin breaking again.
I woke up shaking.
My father came when I called.
He sat beside my bed until I could breathe.
“You never have to perform to prove anything,” he said.
“What if I never can again?”
“Then I will still be proud of you.”
I believed him.
That made me cry harder.
The next day, Mrs. Bell did not make me play.
She made me hold the violin.
Then tune it.
Then play one open string.
“That is enough,” she said.
I hated that it was enough.
I wanted to be brave all at once.
But bravery came in ugly pieces.
One note.
One breath.
One morning without fear.
Harper started painting in the breakfast room because the light was best there.
At first, she painted only gray shapes.
Then doors.
Then hands.
Then, one afternoon, she painted my broken violin.
Not on the floor.
Floating.
The pieces surrounded by gold.
I stared at it.
“It’s beautiful.”
She looked nervous.
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
“I didn’t want it to look dead.”
“It doesn’t.”
She smiled a little.
My father hung it in the music room.
When Lucinda’s lawyer saw it during a custody visit inspection, he called it emotionally manipulative.
Harper laughed for the first time in weeks.
“That means it’s good,” she said.
I laughed too.
Later, Mrs. Bell asked again about the charity concert.
This time, I did not say no.
I said, “Maybe.”
May you like
Maybe felt terrifying.
Maybe also felt alive.
