“I wanted to know why she won’t take me on as a student. I wanted to ask why she never stays to listen to me play, but I didn’t.”
“I’m sure she has other students to see.”
“She was right outside of the auditorium. I’m sure she heard me, so why didn’t she just stay in her seat and listen?”
“Has she listened to you before?” my mother asks slowly.
I could swear we’ve had the conversation before but apparently she’s forgotten. “No. Half the time she’s sitting in the room, listening to others, but when my name is called, she gets up and leaves. It’s as if she has something against me.”
“I’m sure that is not it, Madison. You’re overreacting.”
Her condescension makes my blood boil.
“What did she say when you spoke with her?” Her jaw is tight as if waiting to be delivered the worst kind of news.
“I’m sure you play beautifully and if I had the time, I’d consider your application. I simply cannot at this time in your life.”
Mom just nods. “Well, at least now you can stop emailing and bothering her.”
“But it was my only chance at a private instructor,” I cry.
“We’ve been over this. You don’t need one. You play fine as it is.”
I blow out a sigh and turn to look out the window. She doesn’t get it. She never will.
Why the hell should I practice anymore? I’ll never get into the school of my dreams, so I might as well give it up and pick something else to do with my life. But, I have no clue what that would be. I love music. It’s in my soul and every part of my being. Songs play in my head, and I need to write them down, but I know nothing about composing a song. Just plunking out keys and writing the notes on sheet music. The only school that can teach me about composition is Juilliard.
Actually, Juilliard isn’t at the top of my list. It’s only there because it’s in New York and I can live at home and commute every day. That would save money.
If I could go to my absolute dream school, it would be Indiana University Jacobs School of Music. But that is in Bloomington, Indiana, and I sure as hell can’t commute from Manhattan to there every day.
I’m not even sure I’d like Indiana. The farthest west I’ve gone is Pennsylvania, and we weren’t even close to the Ohio border. Then, there is always Berklee College of Music in Boston, or Eastman School of Music in Rochester. Not that any of this matters. Without private lessons and getting better, none of these schools will even look at me.
“Why the heavy sighs?” my mother asks when we get into the house.
“Nothing,” I finally say. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Peyton isn’t that good of a friend if she gets you into trouble.”
I roll my eyes and turn around. “You don’t get it at all, do you?”
Mom blows out a long-suffering breath. “What?”
“This is about college. Of being able to go where I want. To study music.”
“We’ve had this discussion, Madison. There is nothing wrong with studying for two years at a community college and then deciding on a university. You are much too young to know what you really want to do in life.”
“I already know,” I cry. “I want to play. I want to compose.”
“So do millions of others like you. When you come up with a plan for a career that will also feed you, then we’ll talk.”
“Just because you and dad want boring careers like being an accountant and cop, doesn’t mean I want the same.”
“I’m a CPA and your father is a Captain, not that there is anything wrong with being an account or patrol cop. Any of those jobs will support you.”
“So, you want me fed but miserable for the rest of my life. Glad we cleared that up.” With that I stomp up the stairs and slam my door. They don’t get it. They never will.
My phone dings and I glance down. I’m not supposed to be on the phone, but it’s not like Mom actually took it away either.
Peyton: Just scored tickets to see Christian Sucato play.
He is the best saxophone player around.
Me: When?
Peyton: Tonight!
Me: Where?
Peyton: Some cancer awareness fundraising event. Mom and Dad can’t go so they gave me the tickets.
I get grounded for breaking the rules and Peyton gets tickets to see the hottest saxophone player ever to live perform. Her parents go to these things all the time though. It’s nothing to them. They are loaded and are always giving Peyton tickets for the events.
Peyton: Come with me?
Me: Can’t. Grounded.
Peyton: Which means you’re stuck in your room all night, right?
Me: Not stuck, but I’m not leaving it. Don’t want to talk to mom again.
Peyton: Sneak out. They’ll never know.
Me: I can’t.
But, I want to. Really, really bad. If I hadn’t screwed up today, my parents would probably let me go. This is Christian Sucato! I’ve never seen him play, but I’ve seen pictures and have his music.
Peyton: Please!
My best friend is a rule breaker. Not really bad rules. She wouldn’t go do something stupid like hook up with a stranger or try drugs or drink or anything like that, but she does have more fun than me. I’ve followed the rules my entire life. Well, except for today, and I can’t get the one thing I want—lessons with Mrs. Dosek.
Me: What time?
Peyton: Seven.
My stomach knots. I can’t believe I’m even considering sneaking out of my house. But, this is Christian Sucato.
There’s a knock at my door, and I mute my phone and shove it under the covers as my mom walks in.
“Dinner is in an hour. Your father is taking John to a basketball game tonight, and I promised Savannah that I’d take them to the movies.”
“Fine!” I grumble. My younger brother and sister get to go do something, not that I want to do either of those things. At least not with my parents. If it were one of my older brothers or even Brisa, my older sister asking, I might go, but Cheng and Brisa were in college and Mashaka moved out and has his own place. That’s who I should call. He could always get around Mom, but he’s probably working. One of New York’s finest. A cop, just like Dad.
“You can go to the movie with us.”
“I’m grounded, remember?”
Mom frowns at me. “With that tone and attitude, you’ll be grounded even longer.”
“Sorry,” I say without really meaning it. “When will you be back?”
“Nine-thirty at the latest.”
“Have fun. I’m going to sleep.” I roll over and bury my head in the pillow.
“At least come down and eat something.”
“Not hungry.”
“Fine,” she says after a moment. “Have it your way. Sulk up here all night if you want, but don’t expect to lie around in bed all day tomorrow, just because you don’t have school.”
I didn’t have school tomorrow anyway, even though it’s Friday. A teachers’ institute or something like that. Otherwise, Mom and Dad would never take the kids to a movie or a game on a Thursday night.
I don’t answer her, and I don’t move until I hear the door click. Perfect. They’ll never know I’m gone.
Five
I’ve been to events like these with Peyton and her parents before, so I’m not shocked to see so many of the same people who appear in the entertainment and celebrity section of the newspaper standing around with drinks in their hands.
Instead of rows of seats you usually find in a concert, there are little round tables that seat two to eight people, with pristine white tablecloths, flowers, candles and a plate of hors d’oeuvres to be shared. What’s even more perfect is that our table is near the front and center. A waiter stops by our table and we order Cokes. We know better than to even try and drink. Besides, it’s not our thing. I’m just excited to be here. To hear and see Christian Sucato, even if my stomach is a little tight. I’ve nev
er snuck out of my house before, and if Mom and Dad learn, they’ll be livid.
It’s not like they’d understand anyway. They don’t get me at all and haven’t for a few years. It’s not like I’m a bad kid, but they are so fucking overprotective. Dad tried to tell me that it’s because I was so sick when I was little and Mom was so afraid of losing me that she can’t quite let go. It’s so bad that when I even mention a college or university outside of New York City, the woman practically has a stroke.
Does she think I’m going to live in her house forever? Marry and raise my kids there? I don’t want her life. I want my own. I want to play and compose music, and even if it doesn’t work out, I’ve got to at least try. But I won’t even get that chance now. Mrs. Dosek told me to my face that she doesn’t want me as a student.
“Stop your pouting,” Peyton says.
“I’m not pouting,” I argue. Though, maybe I am.
“Forget about your mom, your dad, and Mrs. Dosek for tonight and let’s have fun.”
Peyton is right. When will I get another chance like this?
The lights dim and everyone goes to their seats. Then Christian Sucato takes the stage with his saxophone. Peyton and I sigh in unison.
“He’s so hot,” she says.
“Not bad for being like thirty-something.”
He starts to play and the hairs go up on my arms. I don’t know if I’m more mesmerized by him or his music. Peyton and I don’t say anything, but just watch and listen, and probably falling a bit in love too. I’ve had a crush on him since I was fourteen, and I don’t think it’s ever going to go away.
I don’t know how many songs he played, but it wasn’t enough. Before I know it, the lights are coming back up. I could have sat there all night listening and watching.
After putting his sax away, he steps down from the low stage and makes his rounds, shaking hands with the patrons, engaging in chitchat, while Peyton and I watch.
“Let’s go talk to him,” she says.
“I couldn’t.” He is a star. A heavenly star. I can’t just walk up to him.
“My father paid a thousand a ticket for this event, so we get the privilege of meeting him.”
“You go.” My stomach is in knots just thinking about being close to my idol.
Before she can get out of her seat, he’s walking in our direction and stops right in front of our table.
He’s looking at me out of curiosity. “Have we met?”
Oh, if only. “No.” I breathe out with a sigh.
“You probably saw her picture in the paper. She’s always winning some kind of music award.”
My face heats.
Peyton sticks out her hand. “I’m Peyton Walker, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
She’s met all kinds of celebrities and political figures in the past so this doesn’t faze her one bit. I wish I could be half as comfortable as her.
“This is my friend, Madison Cross.”
It’s almost as if recognition lights in his eyes and a small smile forms. He takes my hand. “It is very nice to meet you, Madison.”
“And you.” I squeak out. “Your music is wonderful.”
“Thank you.” His smile is so warm it nearly melts my heart. “What do you play, or do you sing?”
I just blink at him.
“Madison plays the piano, violin and cello,” Peyton answers for me. “She’s very gifted.”
His smile widens and there’s something like warm approval in his brown eyes. I may have just fallen further in love with this beautiful man.
“Well, I hope to hear you play one day.” And then he moves on.
This may have been the worst day of my life, but it is the best night ever!
Six
The house is dark and I’m quiet as a mouse as I go up to my room, certain that everyone is in bed already. It is late, later than I’ve ever stayed out.
As I open the door to my room, the light floods into the hallway and my parents are sitting on the bed, holding the note I left. I wrote it just in case they did check on me so they wouldn’t worry. I never thought they’d actually come in here though.
“What is the meaning of this?” my father demands.
I thought I was pretty clear about where I was going and who I was with.
“You are grounded. Did you forget that fact?” he yells.
“Shush,” Mom says. “You’ll wake the others.
“But it was Christian Sucato.”
“Who?” My dad looks at my mom.
“He’s probably the best saxophone player that ever lived,” I cry.
“Good Lord,” he grumbles.
“Madison, I don’t know what has gotten into you. First leaving the competition and now this.”
“I had a sucky day, okay.”
“You won your events, how can it be sucky?”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Because I’ll never get into the schools I want without private instruction.”
“Not this again,” my father complains.
My mother gets up and holds out her hand.
“What?”
“Your phone!”
My eyes go wide. She can’t take my phone. She’s threatened before but she’s never actually taken it.
“You are grounded for a month, from the phone and your friends and from doing anything that isn’t school related. And, you will not talk to Peyton outside of school.”
“Fine!” I hand it over.
“I expect you to think long and hard about your actions today.”
I won’t, but I let them think I will.
With that they leave my room, closing the door behind them. If there was a lock, I’m sure they’d turn the key, leaving me here to rot.
Okay, maybe that was a bit melodramatic, but they don’t understand, and I don’t think they ever will.
Seven
Today is going to suck, big time. Peyton and I were going to hang out, but that’s not going to happen. I won’t be free until almost Christmas. No phone, for I don’t know how long, or television, or anything else. This is going to be hell.
Of course, I could always spend time writing music. Or trying to anyway. That’s how I usually spend my free time. Actually, I spend more time at the piano and with my violin and cello than I do with Peyton anyway. But, when told you can’t do anything else, it does feel like a punishment.
“The list is on the refrigerator,” my mom says as I come into the kitchen.
“List?”
“Duties, chores.” She puts a phone into her purse. “Punishments!”
I take it down. A full sheet of paper and there are things listed on each line, the front and back of the paper. I’ll never get to play today.
“I called in and told them I’d be late, but now I need to go.”
“You expect me to get all this done today?” Now I get how Cinderella felt.
“Of course not.” She pats my cheek as she walks by. “Before you go back to school. Given your suspension and the fact that Thanksgiving is next week, you have a whole week off to do my bidding.”
“What about Savannah and John?”
She blinks at me. “They are spending the day with their friends. That way you’ll have nothing to interrupt your day.” Mom checks the clock and hurries out of the kitchen, calling up the stairs as she goes. “Savannah and John, come on. I don’t want to be any later.”
With a sigh, I sink down on the kitchen stool at the large kitchen island and study the list. Alone, abandoned and punished.
This sucks.
On the bright side, I won’t have my brother and sister bugging me all day, so there is that. And, nobody will be here to tell on me if I just happen to turn on the television or get on the computer. We have a family one that we all have to take turns using. Not that Savannah or John care. She is happy with her phone, and John only cares about his gaming system.
After grabbing a glass of juice, I head to the family room and get ready to check in on social media and let P
eyton know how much trouble I’m in. A note is on the keys. “Password changed.” It’s my Mom’s handwriting. “You’ll get the new one for Christmas. Now, clean!”
“Fuck!” At least I can watch television. I’m not going to spend all of my free time cleaning this house.
Except the televisions don’t work. None of them. “What the hell?” Then I realize that everything has been disconnected and the remotes are missing.
Great! No phone, no computer or television. Just me, alone in this house. What if something happens? What if there is an emergency? I’ll die because I can’t call anyone.
This sucks on so many levels, but I either just sit around all day and read or practice, or I clean. Mom and Dad aren’t going to let up until I’ve done what I’ve been told. This I know for certain since I’d seen my two older brothers and older sister suffer through various punishments. It’s better to just do what I’ve been ordered to do, and just maybe, if I get done quickly, the ban from my phone and the computer will be lifted.
With those thoughts in mind, I return to the kitchen, make a bowl of cereal and decide how best to tackle the humongous list.
Eight
By day two of my imprisonment only a few things have been checked off the list. They were big jobs, which were done to perfection. However, the list of things not done goes on forever. So, today, I’m going to do the stuff that is quick. Then I’ll feel like I’ve accomplished something if there are lines drawn through a lot more things on the list.
“We’re heading out,” Mom says as she stops in the family room where I’m dusting.
“Have fun,” I answer brightly. At first I thought being stuck in the house with no entertainment would be hell. After yesterday, I love it. Not only did I not have a mom or dad asking me all kinds of stuff, but my brother and sister weren’t pestering me either. I got to just think, and compose. Cleaning is actually excellent for the creative process. Without outside distractions, I could hear the music in my head, and when I thought I had a section right, I’d stop, go play it, then write it down and go back to my chores. I cannot wait to do the same thing today. Maybe I can manage to get rid of my family tomorrow too.
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