Then came the cadenza.
The ensemble dropped away.
Kendal was alone.
For four measures, the auditorium belonged to one clarinet.
Her fingers moved.
The line climbed.
Softened.
Turned.
For half a second, her mind flashed back to Vance telling her that the passage exposed her limitations.
No Black girl from the south ward is taking first chair over my nephew while I draw breath.
The memory entered.
Then passed.
Kendal took another breath.
She played the final run.
Perfectly.
The ensemble returned beneath her.
The chord opened.
The entire band surged forward.
Samuel smiled.
Only slightly.
But Kendal saw it.
When the final note ended, the hall stayed silent for two seconds.
Then applause rose from the audience.
The students looked toward Samuel.
He lowered his baton.
That was all the permission they needed.
The percussionists grinned.
Lucas closed his folder.
Kendal exhaled so hard her shoulders dropped.
They had done it.
Not won.
Not yet.
But finished.
Cleanly.
Together.
The ratings were posted at four-thirty that afternoon.
Superior.
The highest classification.
Students screamed in the university hallway.
Lucas lifted a freshman percussionist off the ground.
Two trumpet players hugged each other.
Samuel stood against the wall with his cane, pretending the noise annoyed him.
Kendal walked toward him holding the printed score sheet.
“Superior.”
“I can read.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I have gas.”
“Grandpa.”
Samuel opened his arms.
Kendal stepped into them.
He held her tightly.
“You sounded like yourself,” he whispered.
Kendal closed her eyes.
It was the best compliment he could have given her.
The district did not hold a trophy rally.
Kendal requested that they not.
Instead, the band placed the state evaluation certificate inside a glass display case outside the auditorium.
Underneath it, Dr. Holloway approved a second plaque.
It contained no director’s name.
It simply read:
WESTBRIDGE CENTRAL CONCERT BAND
SUPERIOR RATING
EARNED BY THE STUDENTS
SPRING SEASON
The legal case moved slower.
Much slower.
Television coverage faded.
Social media found newer scandals.
Reporters stopped parking outside the Mercers’ house.
The world moved on.