When he finished with the rag's triumphant final chords, there was a moment of stunned silence. Then the audience erupted. People stood, not everyone, but many. The applause was louder than it had been for any other performer that evening.
Marcus could see surprised faces, moved faces, and a few uncomfortable faces that didn't want to admit they'd enjoyed music they'd been taught to dismiss. He looked at Harrington. The maestro wasn't applauding quite as enthusiastically as some others, but he was nodding slowly, and his expression had changed. There was calculation there, yes, but also something else.
Recognition perhaps that Marcus wasn't just a talented student to be molded. He was an artist with his own voice, his own vision. As Marcus walked off stage, Christina intercepted him. That was unexpected, she said, her voice carefully neutral.
Thank you. I didn't say it was good, just unexpected. But her eyes said something different. For the first time, she was looking at him, not as a curiosity or an experiment, but as a competitor. Marcus. Harrington appeared behind him. My office now. Marcus's heart sank.
He followed Harrington to a small office backstage, bracing himself for criticism. Instead, Harrington closed the door and said, That was a risk. Yes, sir. It paid off. The Joplin was well executed, and more importantly, it showed artistic courage. You made a statement.
Harrington sat on the edge of the desk. Do you know what you did out there? I played three pieces. You challenged the narrative.
Everyone expected you to be the struggling underdog, the kid who's trying hard but can't quite measure up. Instead, you showed them something they didn't expect. Confidence, artistry, a point of view. That matters more than technical perfection, though we still have a lot of work to do on that front.
Marcus felt something loosen in his chest. Does that mean? It means you're no longer the weakest student I teach. Harrington said, You're still behind Christina in technique and David in musical maturity.
But you have something they don't hunger. They've had success handed to them their entire lives. You've had to fight for every inch. That makes you dangerous. He stood and moved toward the door.
One more thing. After tonight's performance, I've received three inquiries from people wanting to feature you in articles or documentaries. I've declined them all. Why?
Because right now, you're the feel-good story, the poor kid who got a chance. But feel good stories have short shelf lives. People will get bored or they'll turn on you when you make mistakes. What I want for you is something longerlasting.