The Rattle Box: The Baxter Boys #3
(The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)
Two things stand in the way of Madison Cross realizing her
dream of studying music performance and composition at a prestigious college:
1) Her parents, who don’t understand or get her, and want
her to attend a community college and settle on a career that will actually
support her one day; and
2) A private instructor.
No music school is going to take her seriously with only
middle and high school instruction, but she has never been given the
opportunity for private instructions (see #1 above). Her one shot is convincing Mrs. Dosek, a
well-respected pianist who teaches for free, but the woman won’t return an
email, let alone talk to her.
CHAPTER
ONE
“She’s
here,” I whisper to Peyton Walker, my best friend.
Peyton
leans around me. “Mrs. Dosek is here?”
“Yes.”
The moment I see her, my heart begins to pound as my palms break out in a
sweat. I swipe them against my jet black skirt, take deep breaths and try to
compose myself. Maybe this time Mrs. Dosek will hear me play. Then maybe, if I
play well enough, I can become one of her students. One on a small list of
exclusive students, some of which have been accepted to Juilliard.
It’s
my junior year of high school, and if I don’t get accepted to Juilliard before
my senior year, I might never be. Music is my passion. The piano, cello and
violin, though if I had to pick only one, it would always be the piano. I want
to compose and play. That’s all I want
in life, but all my lessons have been limited to what’s been offered in middle
and high school band and orchestra classes. I need more if I’m going to go any
further. More meant a private teacher, something my parents couldn’t afford.
Maybe if they hadn’t adopted six kids, they might have the money for lessons.
It’s
selfish, of course. Had my parents limited the number of kids, I may not have
made the cut, and then where would I be? And, I wouldn’t trade my siblings for
anything in the world. Well, except my youngest brother John, who spilled grape
juice on my favorite white blouse this morning.
Luckily I have two others or I would have been screwed. Black and white
– orchestra colors. Judges frown on color, and if nothing else, I am a rule
follower. Music is too important. Winning competitions is necessary. Each win
and award is another item on my application to Juilliard.
The
only thing I’m lacking is a private piano teacher. I need to become a student
of Mrs. Dosek.
I
had first heard of her when I was in seventh grade. She only took piano and voice
students who had talent. And, she didn’t charge. Ever!
“I
heard Brooke’s parents just offered Mrs. Dosek a thousand dollars a lesson,” Peyton
whispers in my ear.
“Wow!
That’s a ton of money.” Brooke’s parents were loaded, and Brooke was convinced
she was the best pianist to ever grace the halls of my high school, East
Central. She had a baby grand to practice on at home. I have an old upright
that used to be a player piano, it was that old. The kind that once had music
on the inside and played at the push of a button. Those guts are gone now, but
it still plays well. Brooke has always looked down on Peyton and me as if we
aren’t quite good enough, even though Peyton’s parents are probably as rich, if
not richer, than Brooke’s.
“I
know!” Peyton looks over my shoulder. “Mrs. Dosek turned them down. It’s not
about the money but the talent.”
I
glance at Peyton from the corner of my eye. “I bet Brooke didn’t take that
well.” I hate Brooke, and I’m jealous of her. Not only do the teachers fawn
over her, but she’s had private lessons since she was five. I’m glad Mrs. Dosek
turned her down because that would have killed me if Brooke got lessons with
her and I couldn’t even get the woman to notice me.
Peyton
snorts. “Considering she thinks she’s the best of the best, no, she didn’t.”
“Well,
Mrs. Dosek is here today.” I blow out a breath. “I just hope she stays to
listen for a change.”
“It
is weird that she always leaves right before your turn.”
It’s
something Peyton and I have talked about before. I’ve seen Mrs. Dosek at
several competitions and concerts but she always leaves before I play. How the
hell can I get her attention if the woman doesn’t stay long enough to listen?
“I emailed her again.” For like the umpteenth time.
“Response?”
Peyton asks.
“Silence.
It’s as if she has something against me or something. If she heard me play and
wasn’t interested, that would be one thing, but since she never has, and we’ve
never met, I can’t imagine what she has against me.”
“I’m
sure it’s just a coincidence. I know other people who have emailed her too, and
she didn’t respond to them.”
“At
least I’m not alone.” Not that it makes me feel any better. I’m sure I’m just
one of dozens of potential students trying to get her attention. “I just wish I
knew the trick to get her to notice me.”
The
pianist before me finishes, bows and then exits the stage.
“Good
luck,” Peyton whispers.
I
take a deep breath, clutch my music.
“Madison
Cross,” the judge announces, and I step out onto the stage. I can’t help myself
and glance to the seat where Mrs. Dosek had been sitting.
It’s
empty and I catch a glimpse of her just as she exits the auditorium.
Tears
spring to my eyes as I walk to the piano. Another opportunity lost.
After
placing the music, I take a seat, as disappointment sinks into my belly. If I
weren’t on stage, I’d completely lose it, but I hold my shit together and blink
so the tears don’t fall, and I start to play. I can’t see the music, but I
don’t really need to since I memorized these pieces long ago, starting with
Brahms’ Lullaby—the first of my four Brahms’ selections for this afternoon. The
judges want emotion, in addition to skill, along with four levels of
difficulty. Well, I’ve got the emotion, and if even a quarter of it comes
through in my music, I’ve got the competition beat. And, it’s Mrs. Dosek’s loss
for missing it.
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