Two
The applause was a balm to my wounded soul, though I still wish Mrs. Dosek would have stuck around to hear me. Then my soul wouldn’t be wounded.
Yes, I’m being melodramatic, but I don’t care. I needed her to hear me. I needed her to love how I play. I needed her to want me as a student.
I bow, grab my music and exit the stage. I need to get out of here before I totally lose my shit. Time is running out. If I don’t get a private teacher to help me go beyond what I’ve done on my own with limited resources, and more letters of recommendation, Juilliard will never, ever consider me.
As I step from the backstage area I spot Mrs. Dosek at the end of the corridor – right outside of the auditorium. Why the hell couldn’t she have stayed in there just long enough to hear me? It’s not like she left or anything.
I start in her direction, trying to think about what I am going to say to her. I can’t let this opportunity pass. This may be my one shot. If she didn’t ignore my emails, this wouldn’t be necessary.
Her head is down and a tall man with short dark hair and tattooed arms is rubbing her back.
Why the hell is she crying? It’s not like my music moved her. She wasn’t there to hear it.
Mrs. Dosek wipes her eyes with a tissue then shakes her head, as if gaining control of herself. The tall man says something to her and then kisses her forehead.
It’s touching and sweet and this may be an “aw” moment if I wasn’t pissed that she once again walked out on me. I know it’s not personal. She doesn’t know me for it to be personal. But, it’s as if she’s avoiding me, and that is personal.
They turn and I step right into their path. I don’t care if it’s rude. I need to get her attention.
Mrs. Dosek’s eyes widen slightly and then all facial expression disappears, as if she’s donned a mask. “Yes.”
Be professional. “Mrs. Dosek, I am Madison Cross.”
She just nods as the man behind her places his hand at the small of her back, as if I’m a threat or something.
“I’ve been trying to reach you to inquire about private lessons.”
She blinks at me.
“I understand you are very…” Picky. Don’t use picky. “Selective of your students. I’d hoped that you might consider me.”
She says nothing, but studies me. My face, hair, body, then eyes, as if taking me in. What’s her deal?
“Mrs. Dosek?”
She blinks again. “I’m sorry, but there’s no room in my schedule.”
And with that, my dreams shatter and panic takes control. “Please. I need your help.” I grab her hands. That’s not professional, but I’m not above begging. Not at this point in my dreams. “My parents cannot afford a private instructor. I’ve dreams of Juilliard, and you are the best. Everyone who has ever studied with you has gotten into the school of their choice, including the very best music school out there. Please, at least listen to me play.”
“Miss Cross!” Mrs. Dosek yanks her hands back. “I’m sure you play beautifully and if I had the time, I’d consider your application. I simply cannot at this time in your life.”
Tears fill my eyes. “Please.”
“I’m sorry.” She nods and walks around me. I turn and watch her leave the building, wishing she’d change her mind and come back.
Three
Peyton jumps into my path. “How did it go?”
I can’t look at my best friend. I’m still watching the back of Mrs. Dosek.
“Well?” She tugs on my arm.
I blow out a sigh and turn to her. “Not interested. Doesn’t have time.” Rage boils.
“That’s what she said?”
“She might as well have.”
“What were her exact words? Maybe you misunderstood.”
I snort then repeat for Peyton, “I’m sure you play beautifully and if I had the time, I’d consider your application. I simply cannot at this time in your life.”
Peyton scrunches her nose in confusion. “Your life?”
“Odd, I know. I’m sure she meant her life.” I dismiss my friend. “She didn’t even give me a chance to pitch myself. I even pleaded with her.”
I’m disgusted with myself and angry. So much was riding on Mrs. Dosek noticing me, thinking I’m wonderful and begging me to be a student. Of course, that’s my fantasy, which is about as far from reality as you can get.
“Let’s go get Baskin-Robbins.”
I glare at Peyton. “Ice cream is not going to help. My future just went up in a puff of smoke.”
She grins at me. “Aren’t you the one who said any problem can be solved with a pint of Gold Medal Ribbon?”
“If I really believed that, I’d send Mrs. Dosek one, but she doesn’t want me.” Those damn tears start up again.
“Come on.” Brooke links her arm in mine. “Let’s get ice cream and come back later for the scores.”
“What’s the point?” Okay, now I’m pouting, but I really don’t care.
“Because you’ll beat Brooke, like you always do, and that always makes me happy.”
It makes me happy too, not that I should admit it, but Brooke’s been a pain in my ass since fifth grade when we all started orchestra together. Teachers have doted on her, praised her and kept her at first chair of the violins. Of course, her parents are rich and threw money at the school. My parents, not so much. While her parents were writing big checks so the orchestra and band could have things like new uniforms and instruments, my mom is giving cookies for a bake sale.
