"Those rumors are lies," Alicia shot back. "And if you heard him play, you'd—"
"I forbid you from associating with him," Professor Tran interrupted. "Your Juilliard audition is in three months. I will not have your reputation tarnished by some project case."
Alicia stood up from the table, anger flashing in her eyes. "If Elijah's name ruins my future, then the future isn't worth it." She walked out of the dining room, leaving her father staring after her in shocked silence.
The night before the audition, Elijah stood before the mirror in his small bathroom. His grandmother had taken his only suit—a hand-me-down from a church donation—to be tailored with money she'd saved from her disability checks. It fit him properly now, the dark blue fabric highlighting his lean frame.
As he adjusted the collar, his fingers began their familiar dance, playing an invisible piano on the edge of the sink. He closed his eyes, running through the piece he'd chosen for the audition: an original composition he'd titled simply For Her.
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked at his reflection. "This is for you, Mom," he whispered.
The morning of the auditions dawned cold and clear. Lincoln Heights Academy's auditorium, usually reserved for assemblies and the occasional drama production, had been transformed: professional lighting equipment and an impressive sound system had been installed overnight, courtesy of the anonymous donor. A panel of three judges, music professors from nearby colleges, sat at a table facing the stage.
Behind the curtain, nervous students paced and practiced last-minute warm-ups. Elijah stood apart from the others, perfectly still, except for his fingers moving silently at his sides. He wore his newly tailored suit and a pair of dress shoes Dell had given him ("My nephew's, never worn; would be ashamed to waste them").
Alicia found him in his quiet corner. "Remember what we practiced," she said, squeezing his arm encouragingly. "Forget the audience. Forget Cartwright. Forget everything except the music."
Elijah nodded, too nervous to speak.
From the stage came the voice of the event coordinator, a local radio personality volunteering her time: "Welcome to Lincoln Heights Academy's scholarship showcase auditions. Our first performer today is Elijah Walker, piano."
A ripple of whispers spread through the audience. Most had come expecting Elijah to be somewhere in the middle of the program, giving them time to witness several other acts first. Principal Cartwright, seated in the front row, leaned back with a smug smile, anticipating the disaster he was sure would unfold.
"That's you," Alicia whispered, giving Elijah a gentle push toward the stage. "You've got this."
Elijah walked onto the stage, the bright lights momentarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the packed auditorium—far more attendees than usual for a school audition. News of the video and the mysterious scholarship had drawn a crowd, including several local music teachers and even a reporter from the community newspaper.
He approached the grand piano—a beautiful instrument brought in specifically for the showcase, much finer than the school's usual upright. Some scattered chuckles came from the audience as he sat down, reminding him of Cartwright's "comic relief" comment. For a moment, doubt flooded Elijah's mind. He glanced toward the wings where Dell stood watching, giving him an encouraging nod.