No hug.
No inspirational handshake for photographs.
Jonathan did extend his hand.
Malik shook it.
Then Walter spoke.
“You asked us to wait before deciding.”
Malik looked toward him.
“Yes, sir.”
Walter smiled slightly.
“Fair request.”
Malik thought.
Then:
“People shouldn’t always have to ask.”
Walter’s smile disappeared.
Not because he was offended.
Because the sentence reached farther than expected.
“No.”
he said.
“You’re right.”
Then Malik turned toward his father.
“Can I get food?”
Darius laughed.
“There he is.”
Nadine said:
“You have another workshop at twelve.”
“I can eat fast.”
“You always eat fast.”
They left.
Jonathan watched.
Walter stood beside him.
After a moment Jonathan said:
“That kid is going somewhere.”
Walter looked toward him.
“There.”
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
Jonathan frowned.
“How?”
“You need him to have a future that justifies what you heard.”
Jonathan stared.
Walter surprised himself with the sentence.
Perhaps Malik’s question had lodged quickly.
He continued.
“Maybe he becomes a concert pianist.”
“Maybe he becomes an accountant.”
“He still played well today.”
Jonathan nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
The festival ended that afternoon.
Malik did not win anything.
There was nothing to win.
No scholarship announced.
No secret judge.
No agent waiting.
He went home.
Did math homework.
Ate leftover chicken.
Played video games with his friend Isaiah.
At eight thirty, Darius asked him to take out the trash.
Talent did not exempt him.
Good.
Monday at school, three people had already seen a video.
Someone recorded the performance.
It had several thousand views locally.
Malik hated himself for checking.
Then checked again.
Comments:
THIS KID IS INSANE.
FUTURE LEGEND.
GET HIM TO JUILLIARD.
THE NEXT RAY CHARLES.
Nadine called that evening.
“Stop reading comments.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you are thirteen.”
“They say I should audition for Juilliard.”
“You cannot attend Juilliard at thirteen.”
“I know.”
“Do the comments?”
“No.”
“Then why are you consulting them about your career?”
He laughed.
Then:
“One person said my timing was uneven.”
Nadine paused.
“Where?”
Malik sent the timestamp.
She watched.
Then called back.
“They’re right.”
“What?”
“Left hand rushed.”
Malik stared.
“You’re supposed to defend me.”
“I defend truth.”
“Terrible teacher.”
“Tuesday at four.”
Click.
His father laughed for ten minutes.
The video faded.
Good.
Malik continued lessons.
Three months later he performed terribly at a youth recital.
Not catastrophic.
Just bad.
Forgot part of a Bach invention.
Started over.
Hands shook.
Played his original too fast.
Afterward he sat in the car furious.
Darius waited before starting the engine.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Okay.”
Five minutes.
Then: