When music class came,nervousness began to seep in. True enough, a sour expressioncrossed Sir Carreon’s face the moment he saw Caleb. “Mr. Salve,I’ll see you in the piano room after class.”
During class, Calebfidgeted in his seat, unable to concentrate on the lecture. Whenthe bell rang, he jumped up and shuffled down the hall.
When he entered the pianoroom, his anxiety was superseded by a wave of nostalgia. There inthe middle stood the upright piano, seemingly reproachinghim: Where have you been?
“I’msorry,” Caleb drew closer to run his palm across its smooth woodensurface. It felt like a lifetime since he had last played thepiano. “I didn’t mean to forget you.”
The door opened and Calebspun on his heels, muscles tensed. Calmly, Sir Carreon propped hisumbrella on the wall and sat down.
“Last week, I waited invain for you, Mr. Salve.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t havepatience for people who waste my time.”
Caleb reddened and hunghis head. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no excuse for what I’vedone.”
A pair of bushy eyebrowsshot up on the teacher’s face. “No excuse? That’s novel. Studentsusually have an artillery of excuses for all forms of misconduct.Yet here you stand, having none. I don’t know if I find itrefreshing or deplorable.” He tilted his head. “So how do you planto convince me to continue training you for themasterclass?”
Squaring his shoulders,Caleb met his gaze. “No need for that, sir,” he said. “I’ve decidedto give up the masterclass.”
Sir Carreon’s shockedexpression reminded him of the look on Ginny’s face when he’dconfessed to kissing Franco. “You are withdrawing your slot? Nocandidate has ever done that!”
Caleb stared at the floor,rubbing the back of his neck. “Sir, I realize that this is a greatopportunity—and I am grateful for it. I really am.” He looked upand met his teacher’s gaze head on. “But things are happening in mylife. Big, life-changing things. And right now, I have to focus onthem. I can’t do that and train for the masterclass at the sametime.”
“But to be the firstfreshman candidate for the masterclass . . .” Sir Carreon fixedCaleb with a severe look. “As I’ve mentioned, I have no patiencefor people who waste my time.” He got his umbrella and pointed itssharp tip at Caleb. “And you, Mr. Salve, have done just that . . .again!”
“I-I’m sorry, sir. Ireally—”
Sir Carreon interruptedhis apology with a sharp rap of his umbrella against the floor.“Why did we have to waste all those hours on practice when you werejust going to give it all up?”
Caleb lowered his eyes,feeling the hot shame rise up his neck. His mom was right. He was adisappointment. Suddenly, all his accomplishments for the dayseemed insignificant. The real him was right here. Right now,hanging his head, humiliated in front of one of the university’smost feared yet most revered professors. Why was he always lettingthese important people down?
“Answer my question, Mr.Salve.”
Caleb looked up, surprisedto discover that his teacher was gazing at him with what lookedlike a genuine puzzled expression. Sir Carreon raised his eyebrowsas further encouragement.
“Well?”
“It wasn’t a waste oftime, sir—at least for me.” Caleb’s heart was pounding so hard fromthe effort of being upfront with his strict teacher. His words cameout in a rush. He had to let them out before his courage abandonedhim. “I took your advice seriously,especially that part about courage, spontaneity and freedom. Pleasebelieve me that those words changed my life, but probably not inthe way you expected. Yes, they’ve made me a better musician, butthey’ve also done something much bigger. They’ve made me a better,braver person.” He smiled ruefully. “And when you’re brave, youtend to shake things up. As a result, my life now is a bit of amess. I have to give up the masterclass so I can fixit.”
A long silence settled inthe room. But Caleb felt far from awkward, reveling in the deepsatisfaction that had bloomed in his chest. His words came straightfrom his heart, delivered in the exact way he wanted to say them.These days, it was becoming easier to express himself. It gave himthe kind of relief that he didn’t know he craved.
“You don’t need to give itup.”
Caleb blinked.“Sir?”
“I urge you to auditionfor the masterclass before you graduate. I’d hate to see yourtalent go to waste.”
Stunned, Caleb saidslowly, “You mean I can still try out in the future?”
“Of course,” Sir Carreonsnapped. “As long as you’re a student, you have a chance of makingit to the masterclass.” His eyes narrowed. “So you will try outagain? I will recommend and train you of course.”
It felt like he’d jumpedoff a cliff only to land on a big fluffy mattress. It took a whilefor Caleb to recover from the shock. “Y-yes, sir. Thank you somuch! I promise I won’t let you down—”
He was interrupted by SirCarreon’s raised palm. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” Hemotioned to the piano. “Now, if you would be so kind to play forme. Consider it your swan song before we lay to rest your chance oftraining under the great Cynthia Liban—at least for thissummer.”
“Uh, sure.” Caleb walkedbackward toward the piano on wobbly legs. He sat down, opened thepiano’s lid, and removed the thick strip of velvety cloth thatcovered the keys. “Which one should I play, sir? Chopin?Mozart?”
“Play me anything youlike.”
Caleb looked up insurprise. But Sir Carreon’s eyes were already closed, anticipatingthe music. Caleb stared at the piano keys, considering histeacher’s request. Then he, too, closed his eyes and did somethinghe’d been doing a lot of lately. He listened to his heart. Then heopened his eyes and began to play.
His song told a storyabout a first love. Stolen kisses. Whispered conversations. Secretsmiles. Then somewhere along the way, the unexpected firstheartbreak. Angry words. Tears. Bitterness. The notes came easilyto Caleb until the very end, when the song spoke of hope, ofpicking up the pieces.
Caleb looked at SirCarreon, whose eyelids fluttered open, face softening into asmile.
“That was lovely. Thankyou, Mr. Salve.”
