“Youready?”
My gaze snaps up as a guy maybe ten years older than me appears down the hall dressed in jeans and a denim jacket over a dark T-shirt. His hair is dirty blond and unruly, as if the wind had its way withit.
“Finn. Mr. Harvey? I’m Annie. It’s nice to meetyou.”
“Finn’s good.” He retrieves something from his pocket and waves it in front of thedoor.
The door unlocks, and I follow himinside.
I set my bag on the floor. “How did you end up at Vanier?” Iask.
“They’ve got a push on recruiting people with industry experience for the contemporary program. An old friend twisted myarm.”
The room is about half the size of my dorm room upstairs, and it contains a piano with a bench, three stools, a white board, and two musicstands.
Finn says, “So, the next semester of lessons is supposed to improve your technique and performance, blah, blah, blah. But none of that can happen unless I know why you’re doing this. So, tell me what youwant.”
His bluntness has me leaning in. “I want to be on astage.”
“Why?”
I blink. “Because I love creating music. I love when I’m init.”
“Whyelse?”
I dig deeper, thinking of what drove me to work my ass off these past couple ofyears.
“Because I want the world to seeme.”
Satisfaction works across his expression. “Showme.”
I take a seat at the piano and play my audition piece, singingovertop.
He cuts me off three bars in. “No.”
I try something else. And another. Andanother.
Each time, he stops me. “Any kid in a talent contest could singthat.”
“Then tell me what you want me to sing,” I say eventually, frustrated. I rise from the piano bench and turn to face him. “I have some classical training, but I can’t give you Puccini or Strauss. Maybe someone in the next room can”—I hitch a thumb at the wall—“but this is what Iam.”
He’s standing in the corner, smirking. “I wouldn’t be wasting my time here for Puccini or Strauss. I saw your audition tape. You grabbed me. You want to be seen, make me seeyou.”
My chest tightens. Moments before the audition, I’d run into Tyler. It was a kick in the gut. It took everything I had to make it through my piece. I was raw and desperate andearnest.
I don’t know how to be that girlagain.
My fingers find my necklace again, twisting the chain between my fingers. Under Finn’s stare, I think of the pictures Tyler found in my room, the words I wrote when I was comingapart.
I reach for the fallboard and tug it down over the piano keys. Then I shift back onto it, perched on the edge, resting my feet on thebench.
“A heart breaking has multiple acts. It doesn’t break in a moment; it breaks overyears.
“It tears, not in half, not perfectly. But in layers. Like flowerpetals.
“Pieces, one at a time. Peelingaway.
“And you can put it back together. Collect the pieces. Sew themback.