Lost Girls (Book One in the Academy Series)

Alone

When I reach the practice room, Sheila's violin case rests on a shelf. I tap it like a talisman. "You better get back soon, Ms. La- Ro-Chay. I'm never going to be ready without you."

I mean it.

Our first day in this shared space, Sheila played for me. I barely recognized the composition: it was lively and fun and she wanted me to audition with it. Risking my second shot at my first-choice school with a piece I didn't know seemed insane.

Sheila talked me into it.

The contrast between our styles was overwhelming. In her hands, the piece was hopeful. In mine, it was angry. So for weeks she put her hands on mine, just as my father had.

Throughout early fall, I played until my fingers ached. I heard the opening bars in the shower; in classrooms I sketched its notes instead of the historical dates or chemical formulas I was supposed to be jotting. It became the soundtrack to my dreams.

It took a while, but I began to realize Sheila was right. Picking a new piece illuminated talents I didn't even know I had. Revealing those skills might be enough to get the Conservatory to reconsider. And whenever I felt like it wasn't going to happen, Sheila's confidence sustained me.

With her beside me, I had someone setting the tempo. Now, with her gone, I set up the metronome.