NINE
“Sophie! You had me worried. You never miss a lesson,” Professor Grigoryan welcomed Sophie in with a relieved smile. “You look... different.”
Sophie smiled a broad, genuine smile. Instead of dashing nervously from her face, it stayed and spread to her eyes, glowing. “Thank you.”
He paused. “Well. How is the piece?”
Sophie got her cello out more slowly than usual. She felt like a new woman, but the world was still the same. Or was it? There was more to it than she could have imagined. Maybe she fit into the parts of it she had never known about before. “I think it’s good. I think it could be even better.” She took a steadying breath as she sat, the cello between her knees, her leg muscles still a little sore. “I want to try out for Spring Soloist.” She hadn’t been lying when she told Jesse she didn’t want to be a star. She wanted to help others find their voices, but for now, before she became a teacher, she could shine on this little stage.
For a moment, her teacher-slash-conductor was silent. Then, he whooped, his fist raised in triumph. “Yes! Yes, you must try out! But, you must not try out with the Dvorak. It’s beautiful, but it is haunting. I want you to shine, I want you to smile.” His eyes lingered over her fingertips, flexing and poised on the strings over the long black fingerboard. “Haydn. In D Major.”
Sophie blinked. It was a great piece, but definitely “upbeat.” It was happy, even sprightly. “I never played that before.” She’d never felt drawn to it.
“You can learn it.” The older cellist dug in his drawers of sheet music, darting a glance at her. “You strike me as someone who has been haunted. Even hunted.”
Sophie’s eyes unexpectedly filled. Hunted. Murdered. Driven out. Her family had been hunted. Driven out of their native lands by war, persecution, and hardship. That was not to speak of her birth parents. Who knew what had happened to them? She had never much cared, figuring that they had abandoned her because of her unusual appearance. Her own demons haunted her, self-hatred, and fear of virtually all others outside of her family.
“Shh, shh. Forgive a silly old man.”
“No. You’re not silly. You’re perceptive.” She hastily wiped her eyes as he continued to search.
When he turned back, he held out yellowed sheet music, a soft smile on his bearded face. “The cello shows the soul. When you play, I see yours. A beautiful soul that loves her instrument because it can sing her songs.” He sat across from her, placing the music on her stand. “It’s time to sing a happier tune, yes?”
“Yes,” Sophie agreed.
“Show them what you can do. Show them who you are.”
SOPHIE LOUNGED AGAINSTthe green-rusted statue of William Penn that dotted the middle of the campus. This is where she had started waiting for Jesse every afternoon.
“Sophie?”
Sophie turned her head. “Oh. Hey, Rick.” Halloween Rick. Freaked-out-leprosy-mentioning-Rick.
“Hi. I... I didn’t know where you —” he quailed under her stare. “Okay, I did know where you were, but I didn’t know what to say. I totally blew it on Halloween. I looked up some things on Albinism and—”
“I don’t have that, but I’m glad you looked it up,” Sophie found herself speaking casually, even smiling.
“You don’t— oh.”
“I don’t know why I’m so pale. I get that it’s going to be the first thing people notice about me, but it shouldn’t be the only thing.”
“Right! Right!” Rick nodded eagerly. “So. I wondered if you ever wanted to get a coffee sometime?”
“That’s sweet, but no thanks. No hard feelings?” She stuck out her hand.
He swallowed visibly and shook it. “Wow. Chilly fingers.”
“It’s thirty-five degrees out, Rick,” Sophie laughed.
It took a moment, but he laughed back, his face breaking into a wide grin. “You know who you remind me of?”
Sophie winced inside but kept her voice even. “Who?”
“There was a fairytale my nana used to read to me about a girl who lived in a land so far away, it was actually east of the sun itself. She married the Snow King and she was the Night Queen. They lived in a white castle made of ice and snow, with the moon hung between the battlements and the stars lighting their courtyard.”
Sophie stared, transfixed. “That’s a beautiful story, Rick. Wow. Th-thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do. If I ever find the book, I’ll drop it off at Pettiford.”
