The applause was deafening. Marcus could see faces in the crowd. People crying, people shouting, people applauding so hard it looked painful. He could see Harrington standing, his expression showing something Marcus had never seen before.
Genuine emotion, perhaps even tears. The jury was conferring, their heads together. They hadn't applauded yet. They never did until after all deliberation was complete. But Marcus could see their expressions. They were impressed.
Three hours later, after all competitors had performed and the jury had deliberated, Marcus stood on stage with nine other finalists. His heart pounded as the chief juror approached the microphone. This year's competition has been exceptional, the juror said. We've heard remarkable talent from around the world.
Our decision was not easy. She began announcing the winners in reverse order. Third place, a seventeen-year-old from South Korea. Second place, a sixteen-year-old from Russia.
Marcus's hands were shaking. He'd be happy with third place, thrilled with second, but first place, that was the dream that could change everything. And our first place winner, the gold medalist of this year's Young Artists International Piano Competition. The juror paused for effect, smiling.
Marcus Williams from New York City. The world seemed to explode. The audience roared. Marcus felt his knees go weak.
The chief juror was saying something about his extraordinary artistic maturity and technical prowess combined with deep musical understanding. But Marcus barely heard it through the ringing in his ears. He accepted the trophy, smiled for photos, shook hands with the jury, but what he really wanted was to find his mother. She was waiting in the wings openly crying.
When she saw him, she ran forward and grabbed him in a hug so tight he could barely breathe. I'm so proud of you, she sobbed. So proud. Your father would be. He would be. I know, Mama.
I know. Mrs. Chen was there, too, beaming through her own tears. I told you, she said. I told you that you had something special. You just needed to work for it.
And then Harrington, standing slightly apart, watching the scene with an expression Marcus had learned to read over two years of intensive study. Thank you, Marcus said simply. For everything, for giving me a chance when you didn't have to. For pushing me when I wanted to quit.
For believing I could do this even when I didn't believe it myself. Harrington cleared his throat. I didn't do anything except teach you what you were willing to learn. The work was all yours, Marcus.