Transcendence

eyes, that would make him even more perfect.”

“Perfect for you, maybe,” I say. “But not me.”

Rayne shakes her head. “We’ll see.”

Eight

I pace backstage, more nervous now than I’ve ever been before a performance. Telling Griffon about the concert was the single worst idea I’ve had in weeks. Stupid. And distracting. Hundreds of people in the audience never bothers me. Mom and Dad I can deal with. Even having Veronique here is okay. I think about the moment when I told him it was tonight and wish to God I’d shut my mouth. I don’t dare peek at the audience. Not only is it unprofessional—and Herr Steinberg would kill me if he knew I was even thinking about it—but knowing where he’s sitting will make things worse. Maybe he didn’t even come. It’s not like he owes me anything. Maybe he just stayed home on his side of the Bay and forgot about the whole thing. That thought alone makes me feel slightly better. Slightly.

Julie appears beside me, dressed in wide-leg black pants and a sleeveless top like I’m wearing, but on her they look elegant, instead of stumpy. The heels I have on help a little, but they also give me one more thing to worry about as I try to walk around without falling. You think that I’d have the heel thing figured out because I’m so short, but heels are one of the things that are in Kat’s domain, not mine.

“You ready?” Julie asks, standing up straighter and shaking out her hands.

“As I’ll ever be.” We step out onto the lit stage to enthusiastic applause. I say a silent prayer of thanks for the lights in the concert hall, because it’s pretty impossible to see who’s out there, and I can try to concentrate on not letting Julie—and everyone else—down.

As Julie’s piano leads into the piece, I pick up my bow and take a deep breath. I love the feeling of this music and don’t want to blow it. Meditation is from the part in the opera where the heroine is trying to decide whether to go with the monk who is in love with her and renounce her lustful ways or to listen to her heart and be who she is meant to be. In the tempo and the mood you can feel her conflict as the notes soar and fall on the scale, everything rising to a peak and then dropping back. At least, that’s the plan.

The first few notes are strong and clear as I draw the bow across the strings, my hands loose, each segment flowing into the next one. As the music gets faster and louder, my fingers become the voice of the instrument, pulling the emotion from the cello, and then slowing down, softer and softer until the notes are almost a whisper. Just a few bars into the piece I give up consciously thinking about what I’m doing and just let the notes flow on their own, knowing that my best performances are the ones where I stop thinking and just go with it. I have to surrender everything and trust that repetition and instinct will carry me through to the end.

Too soon, the last notes fade into the ornate ceiling of the hall, and I open my eyes to the audience’s applause. As the relief that always comes from a successful performance fades, I suddenly feel Griffon in the room, can almost hear his hands clapping over the sound of everyone else. Turning my head to the left, the lights aren’t as bright, and I spot him right away, sitting several rows from the back, smiling as our eyes meet and applauding even harder. I can feel my face getting hot, and this time it isn’t from the effort of playing Meditation.

The lobby is humming with people when I finally walk out of the hall. I glance through the crowd, but don’t see Griffon anywhere. Not that I’m looking for him. I don’t want to talk about reincarnation or Akhet. I don’t want to have any more serious conversations. Things have been fine the past few days—no blackouts, no strange feelings—and I’ve almost convinced myself that the whole thing was some weird episode that has now passed. I just want to say thanks for coming all this way on a Saturday night when I’m sure he has better things to do.

“There she is!” Dad calls, waving me over to where he’s standing with Mom and Veronique. He puts his arm around me, pulling me in close to him. “That was wonderful, honey,” he says. “I literally had tears in my eyes at the end. Just beautiful.”

Mom bends down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It was lovely. Although I did sense a little hesitation during the adagio section at the end. I thought you were going to work on that.”

“I did,” I say quickly, glancing over at Veronique, who looks away uncomfortably. I give Dad’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Your piece was better than I ever imagined,” Veronique says, and I can feel her excitement. “Transcendent. Luminous.” She shrugs her shoulders and grins. “I’m totally running out of descriptive words, but you know what I mean.”

“Thanks,” I say. “And thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” She glances downstairs. “I’m going for a drink at the cafe. Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks,” I say, too pumped from the performance to even think of food.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Veronique says, walking away.

Before I can say anything else, I hear a yell and feel arms drape around the back of my neck. “Awesome, Cole!” Rayne squeals into my ear, practically pulling me down with her. “Loved it! Much better than the usual boring classical crap they play around here.”

“Glad to see you’re still awake,” I say, giving her a hug.

“It isn’t easy, but your stuff is worth it,” she says, faking a yawn and pulling me away from the group. “Did Griffon come?” she whispers.

“I saw him in the concert hall. But I don’t know where he went.” At that moment I feel someone watching me from behind, and turn to see Griffon standing a few feet away, a huge bunch of red tulips in his hand. I always thought he looked good in a hoodie and jeans, but seeing him in black pants and an indigo blue button-down shirt takes my breath away.

“Man, he cleans up good,” Rayne says, following my gaze. “Go on,” she whispers, giving me a little push. “You can’t let him just stand there by himself.”

“That was amazing,” Griffon says as I walk over to him. His eyes are shining with excitement. “Just beautiful.” He looks down, as if noticing the flowers for the first time. “Right. Um, these are for you.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking the bundle and trying to ignore Rayne’s yelp as she watches. I’ve never gotten flowers from a guy before, and I run my finger over the waxy perfection of one of the petals, wondering if red tulips have any particular meaning. Red roses equal love. Do red tulips mean I’m-not-attracted-to-you-like-that-so- let’s-be-friends?

Rayne walks over and puts one arm around Griffon. I only wish I could be so casual with him. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but my mom’s coming to pick me up. Nice to see you again.” She grins at him and then at me.

“You too,” Griffon says. Rayne gives my arm a squeeze as she walks away.

Silence surrounds the two of us as I try to think of something to say. “I’m glad you came,” I finally blurt out. Okay, not so clever. But not totally cringe-worthy.

“So am I.”

I glance back to see Dad, Mom, and Veronique standing in a small circle staring at us. I figure now is as good a time as any. “Do you want to meet my parents?”

He follows my glance. “Looks like I don’t really have a choice.” He smiles. “Yeah. That would be great.”

“Mom, Dad,” I say as we walk back to them. “This is Griffon.”

“Nice to meet you both,” he says, shaking hands first with Dad and then Mom. Mom smiles at him and raises her eyebrows at me, while Dad just glances at the flowers in my hand and looks suspicious.

“Nice to finally meet you too,” Dad says, looking pointedly at me. “Do you go to school with Nicole?”

Griffon stands up straight and puts his hands behind his back. Somebody obviously trained him well in the art of parent-charming. “No, sir. I live over in Berkeley. I go to Marina.”

“Berkeley,” Dad repeats. “So … you know each other from the conservatory?”

“No,” I jump in. I don’t want to have to explain how we met. Not right now. “Kat knows a friend of Griffon’s. By the way, where did she go?” I hope my attempt to change the subject isn’t as obvious to them as it is to me.

“She left right after your piece finished,” Mom says. “Some work thing she has to do.” She nods toward