A smile spreads across my face as I skip out of the subway station and emerge in front of Lincoln Center. I can’t help laughing with joy as I race up the steps to the grand plaza, taking in the buildings I’ve long dreamed about seeing in person. The Metropolitan Opera House faces me straight ahead, its marquee announcing a performance of La Bohème starring Renée Fleming herself, while Koch Theater, home of the New York City Ballet, stands to its left. Opposite is my wished-for home, Dand Geffen Hall, theater of the New York Philharmonic. Tears spring to my eyes, and I race toward it.
“Whoa!” A cute boy about my age, with dark skin and short black hair, holds up his arms before I nearly plow into his cello. “Watch it!”
“Sorry, sorry!” My cheeks flush with embarrassment. Great first impression, Nicole!
“It’s okay,” he says with a grin. “You’re clearly in more of a rush to get to rehearsal than I am. I’m Damien Bell, by the way.”
So this is the player who took the cellist spot Brianne auditioned for. Maybe I should give him the cold shoulder out of respect for my friend—but I’m too jubilant to pull it off.
“Hi.” I reach out my hand to shake his. “I’m Nicole Morgan. Tell me, should I be more nervous?”
He laughs.
“Only if you mind teachers who work you to death.”
“Well, that I’m used to,” I tell him. “Have you heard of Oyster Bay Prep?”
“Oh yeah.” He opens the door for me and we walk through. “I’ve heard it’s almost as rough there as where I go, LaGuardia.”
I stop as we enter the building, my mouth falling open at the gilded lobby.
“This is where we’re going to rehearse?” I marvel.
“Wait’ll you see the theater. You’re never going to want to leave.” He gives me a deadpan look. “Just remember, not everyone gets asked back the following year. So if you want to keep your place in the showcase, you’d better own it and be at least as good as me.”
For a minute I think he’s actually that pompous, but then he bursts out laughing.
“I kid, I kid! Don’t worry, the vibe here is surprisingly much more Friends than Black Swan.”
“Good to know,” I say with a giggle.
We walk into the theater still chuckling—and I know I’m going to love it here.
Chace is waiting for me in the same row we sat in earlier when I board the Long Island Rail Road, just like he said he would be. Still, I can’t help feeling a flicker of surprise at the sight of him. I guess there’s something surreal about seeing him apart from Lana, when the two of them have coexisted in my mind since the day I met them in the auditorium.
“Looks like rehearsal went well,” he says as I slide in beside him.
“How can you tell?” I ask, touching my flushed cheeks.
He studies me, a teasing glint in his eye.
“I sense a definite spring in your step.”
“It was incredible. To be with the best young players in the country, rehearsing in one of the most legendary theaters in the world, with Franz Lindgren himself conducting us…” I pinch my arm. “Yup. Not a dream! And I made a friend, this really great guy, Damien. It’s just awesome to meet people passionate about the same things as me, you know?”
Chace’s expression changes, but he keeps smiling.
“That’s awesome, Nicole.”
“Anyway, sorry to gush so much. But you probably know what I mean, what with your soccer.”
“Don’t apologize. I do know what you mean,” he says. “There’s something really special about knowing what you’re supposed to do, and finding your tribe.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
Chace pats my arm gently.
“I’m glad everything is working out for you, Nicole. You deserve it.”
“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”
His eyes remain on mine. I feel an unexpected jolt in my chest, my cheeks growing inexplicably warm. I quickly change the subject.
“How did it go for you today?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “You know, Lana’s surprise?”
He smiles and looks away.
“All went smoothly. I’ll tell you more…when I can.”
I remember exactly when my boyfriend started acting differently. What burns the most is how, out of all my friends, Nicole is the one I chose to confide in about it. I remember how she brushed off my concerns, told me she was sure it was nothing, that everything was as great as ever between us. And all along, it was her.
I’m lying in my dorm room in the dark, even though it’s the middle of the day and I’m technically supposed to be in Political Science right now. But I can’t bring myself to sit through another pointless class. This whole school week has been all screwed up, anyway, with some classes canceled altogether and others half empty. How are you supposed to deal with the sudden death—murder—of a student? Is there any right way?
My phone buzzes with a text, and I roll over to retrieve it. The message is from Mom, who, amazingly, still hasn’t returned to DC yet. She must be really worried about me.
I’m coming to your room. Are you alone?
Yes, I type back.