FRÉDÉRIC CHOPIN — PRELUDE NO. 4 IN E MINOR, OP. 28
SIX MONTHS LATER (AUGUST)
“That was beautiful, Lily,” says Mr. Billings, my piano instructor, in his thick British accent. He sits in the front row of the theater, and my ten classmates are spread out in the rows behind him. It’s my turn to perform, so I’m sitting at the piano on the stage.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Let’s break down the next phrase. Look at measure seventy-five.”
I find the measure he’s referring to and nod.
“Go ahead and play.”
I put my fingers on the keys, myLily of the Towerbracelet reflecting the overhead lights, and begin. These are notes I’m not as familiar with, and I stumble through a few beats. “Sorry,” I call out.
“No, it’s fine. You’re doing great. Are you using finger three on the E?”
“Uh, no. I was using four.” I hold up my hands and smile. “I wasn’t sure if I could reach with my third finger.”
“Ah, I see. Well, try out finger three and see how it goes.”
I try again, and this time the passage is smoother.
“There you go,” he calls. “That’s good. Continue working through this section and we’ll fine-tune the details next time. Emmett, you’re up.”
I stand and grab my music sheet, passing my classmate on the steps of the stage. I take a seat behind our instructor and pull Galileo out of my pocket, pressing his sharp edges into my palm. My leather jacket—Ryder’s leather jacket—is waiting on my seat, and I shrug it on. Unlike six months ago, I don’t have to pull my long hair out of the jacket. Now my hair rests, not below my hips, but above my shoulders.
It’s just one of the few changes I’ve had to adjust to over the last few months.
Mr. Calhoun insisted on a dramatic shift to change my circumstances. The night that Adam came and picked me up, he drove me straight to the airport, and we boarded a flight to London. Adam had pulled some strings, sending a video recording from my last public performance at Silver Lake University to the director at the Windsor Conservatory of Music in London, the dream school I told Ryder I’d love to attend, and got me accepted to their year-round program.
I guess having a famous brother has some perks.
I’m living in an apartment with three other girls from the conservatory. The school is so closed off and heavily guarded that my brothers and father were comfortable leaving me here. I even stayed here for a summer session, and my brothers and father came to visit.
My roommates are only sixteen and seventeen, and we also have a guardian who lives with us. Typically it’s only the underage students who have guardians, but my family made the request for me to live with them, and they willingly complied. Nothing is a problem here when my family justthrows money at the people in control. Two of my roommates are violinists, and one plays the harp. We’re not really in our apartment much because we’re always practicing, but the apartment is attached to the school, so we stay in this building all the time. The girls are nice enough, but I don’t really engage much with them. I don’t think they even know who I am. I like it better that way. This way, no one is judging me because of my past. If I keep them at arms-length, I won’t get hurt again. I don’t want people digging into my past mistakes.
The apartment is fine. In fact, I almost feel like I have a little bit of independence again, and it actually feels good. I don’t have any family members living with me and watching my every move. Instead, I’m able to go about my day as I please. If I want to practice all day, I can do that. If I want to go to bed early, no one asks questions.
But I don’t make all of my own decisions. As soon as we got off the plane, Adam took us straight to the salon and had the stylist cut my hair to my shoulders. Since I would be living without my family nearby, Adam worried that my long hair would draw too much attention, and then people would connect me to the video where I outed Tristan Jackson. By cutting my hair, I was just another blonde girl who played the piano.
I went along with it out of fear of what he would do to Ryder if I fought him.
I hate it.
I miss my hair.
But most of all, I miss Ryder.
I haven’t heard from him. I have no idea where he is or who he’s seeing. I don’t know if he even cares that I’m gone.
But I care.
Every night, I read a couple chapters ofThe Count of Monte Cristo. I’ve read it three times now. I can actually see why heloves it so much, even if it’s missing the romance. Then I lie in my bed, wondering what he’s doing and what he’s thinking. Did I completely shatter his heart by leaving without saying goodbye? Or has he moved on without a second thought?
I imagine him rushing into one of my classes, scooping me up in his arms, telling me he loves me and he will never let us be apart again. Then he kisses me senseless and carries me out of the classroom. Finally, we go get married and sail off into the sunset.
Maybe I’ll come back to finish my classes, though. I love education, and I enjoy this sense of independence. I’ve been so carefully curated and locked away that even this small change has felt like a lifeline. I’m no longer in isolation, and I get to do the thing I love the most. It’s an unusual juxtaposition—missing Ryder so much it makes me feel sick, but grateful to be out of lockdown.
