Xander trailed slowly behind me, distracted by my dad’s vinylcollection, which was organized by genre in a large display cabinet. He ran his fingers over the colorful jackets, pausing now and then to extract a record and study the cover art.
When he finished his examination, he plopped down beside me. “Is this why you told Melody that makeup is just a hobby? Because you want a career in music?”
“Uh-oh,” I said, gently nudging him with my elbow. “This is starting to sound like another one of your interrogations.”
The crooked grin he frequently wore made an appearance, and damn it—why did he look so cute when he was embarrassed? “Sorry, it’s just I have a habit of asking lots of questions when I’m excited about something.”
“Don’t apologize. I was just teasing,” I told him. “And the answer is yes. I’ve dreamed of being a concert violinist since I was a kid.”
Xander opened his mouth, presumably to ask something else, then hesitated, his sheepish smile stretching even further.
“Yes?” I prompted.
“Well, how come? A concert violinist seems oddly specific.”
“Because of my mom. She used to be a concert violinist, but then she got pregnant with Violet and decided to settle down instead.” My gaze subconsciously drifted to the spot on the wall where I’d convinced Mom to hang her oldLos Angeles Timesarticle. Beside it, I’d framed a handful of black-and-white photographs taken during one of her performances.
Settled back against the cushions, Xander gave the room another sweep, his eyes lingering again on the Gibsons. “I take it you look up to her?”
“I idolized her. Violet had zero interest in taking lessons, but I was obsessed. My mom gave me my first violin when I was six and started teaching me how to play. The rest is history.”
Xander peeled his gaze from the instruments and looked at me. “Meaning what?”
“Remember telling me you had to try a few sports before you found archery? It wasn’t like that for me. I was good from the start. Like scary good,” I said. “Do you know who Tracy Hoop is?”
He nodded. “Yeah, the band’s been onTalks with Tracybefore.”
I pointed at the bookshelf where a picture of me with the talk show queen stood. “Me too. She did a segment on prodigy musicians when I was nine. I got to perform for the audience and everything.”
“Seriously?” Xander jumped to his feet, walked over to the picture, and picked it up. He smiled as he examined it. “Wow, this is so cool.”
“Yeah, I really rocked those pigtails, didn’t I?”
“You were cute,” he said, putting the frame back in place.
“Were cute? Ouch.”
The smile slid off his face. “I didn’t mean—”
“Xander, relax,” I said, trying not to laugh at his panicked expression. “I’m giving you a hard time.”
“Right, of course. Um—back to your story.”
“Well, when I was ten, I was accepted at Worthwind Music. It’s the world’s leading musical preparatory school, and most kids who study there go on to be famous classical musicians or composers. The thing about Worthwind though is that it’s kind of like trainingfor the Olympics; you live and breathe music, and my dad didn’t want that for me. He insisted I have a normal childhood—go to public school, play an intramural sport, get a part-time job, that sort of thing. My mom, on the other hand, who gave up her career to raise us, thought he was holding me back.”
“What happened?”
“They compromised. Mom agreed to forgo Worthwind as long as I kept up with my private lessons and practiced every day. I’ve been planning on Juilliard ever since.”
“So there was never anything else you wanted to do?” Xander asked. “Nothing besides music?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Wow.” He sounded impressed. Then, like a magnet to metal, his gaze flickered back to the Gibsons.
“You know, those guitars aren’t just for decoration,” I told him. “You can try one out if you’d like.”
“Really?” Xander shot across the room before I could blink. When he didn’t go for the vintage Les Paul, I cocked my head in surprise. He pulled down a Hummingbird instead.
