He stopped beside Kendal.
“You have the reed?”
“Yes.”
“Backup?”
“Yes.”
“Another backup?”
“Yes.”
“Water?”
“Yes.”
“Did you eat?”
Kendal sighed.
“Grandpa.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Samuel nodded.
“Then stop looking like you’re waiting for a firing squad.”
Kendal lowered her voice.
“What if I mess up the cadenza?”
“You will.”
She stared at him.
Samuel adjusted his cuff.
“At some point in your life, you will mess up every piece worth playing.”
“That is not helpful.”
“You think I never missed notes?”
“You?”
Samuel snorted.
“Vienna, 1994. Brahms. Third movement. Came in half a beat early in front of twelve hundred people.”
“What happened?”
“The orchestra kept playing.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Kendal smiled.
Samuel leaned closer.
“The music is bigger than your mistake.”
An event coordinator opened the door.
“Westbridge Central High School, you’re on deck.”
The students stood.
No one cheered.
No one needed to.
They walked through the corridor in two lines.
Kendal could hear her own breathing.
At the stage entrance, Samuel stopped.
The university auditorium beyond the curtain was enormous.
Three judges sat behind a long table in the center.
Teachers from other schools occupied the rear rows.
Samuel looked across his students.
“I could give you a speech.”
Someone whispered, “Please don’t.”
A few students laughed.
Samuel nodded.
“Good.”
He lifted the baton.
“Listen across the ensemble. Breathe together. If something goes wrong, keep going.”
Then he looked at Kendal.
“And nobody plays alone.”
The stage manager opened the curtain.
Westbridge Central walked out.
The first piece began cleanly.
The second was better.
By the third, Kendal stopped thinking about Vance.
She stopped thinking about the video.
She stopped thinking about the lawsuit.
She stopped thinking about the mark that had been on her face.
There was only tempo.
Breath.
Tone.
The sound beside her.
The sound behind her.
Lucas counting rests from the podium.
Samuel’s left hand shaping the phrase.