Read Online Before We Were Strangers by Renee Carlino - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Renee Carlino
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Matthias. Just because you’ve decided on the hardest possible future . . .”
I laughed. He couldn’t help himself.
“I’ll get a job and pay you back. Thanks, Dad.” I hung up.
As painful as it was to call him, I didn’t care; all I could think about was how hard Grace worked, all the sacrifices she made just to play her music. She believed in it, she had faith that it would all be worth it, and what is faith if itdoesn’t endure? That’s what I was learning from her: how to have faith in myself and my art.
I felt it for Grace before I even had a name for it. I might have said the word a million times, but it sounded different now that I meant it. When I thought about what we had, it didn’t matter that it was just friendship. I loved her.
8. You Changed Me
GRACE
Even though I had mastered the art of running while carrying a giant cello case, I was still late to class the next morning. Thankfully, Professor Pornsake liked me and his class was a breeze, though not because I was a teacher’s pet, as Tatiana claimed. All I had to do was play my cello, the one thing I did well. On most days, I would close my eyes, forget about everything, and escape into the music. But that Friday was different.
“You’re late again, Graceland.”
“Grace,” I corrected him as I pulled my cello and bow from the case. There were several broken hairs hanging from the bow, and I attempted to pull them off while Dan hovered over me in his khakis, belted too high, and his orange polo shirt two sizes too small. I shot him a peeved look to let him know I was irritated over the unnecessary attention. “What?” I said.
He grabbed the bow from my hand and studied it. “This is nylon.”
“I know.”
“You’re first chair, Grace. Get a quality bow. Why are you using this crap?” A bit of his mustache stuck out over his top lip and wiggled as he spoke.
“I’m a member of PETA. I don’t use bows made with horse hair.”
I could see Tatiana’s body shaking with laughter in the chair in front of me.
Pornsake smirked. “Come on. Really?”
I huffed. “I’ll get a new bow this week.” I knew I couldn’t afford it, but he was right—nylon bows were crap.
“Good deal. Okay guys, let’s start with Pachelbel’s ‘Canon.’ ”
Tatiana sighed audibly. We were so sick of playing that song. It was like every music teacher was preparing us to be in one of those string quartets that plays at weddings. Pachelbel’s “Canon,” Handel’s “Water Music,” and Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” were ingrained so deeply into our minds and muscles that I literally started to believe it was affecting my ability to play other songs.
Pornsake walked to the front of the room and started counting down from three. I kicked Tati’s chair and whispered, “Irish style.” We started playing the traditional way and then slowly picked up the pace, throwing off everyone in the room. Many of the others stopped playing and just glared at us as Tati and I turned the classic into an Irish jig. The music students with a sense of humor put their instruments down and started clapping to the beat, and some eventried to play along. We got a short round of applause at the end, but Pornsake stood still as a statue at the front of the room, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Really cute. Maybe you two can be street performers. God knows New York desperately needs more street performers.”
I didn’t say anything because I was already on thin ice, but Tatiana spoke up. “Professor Porn . . . Sake . . .” I slapped my hand over my mouth to hold in my laughter as Tati continued, completely straight-faced. “We just need to mix it up.”
He nodded like a bobblehead for five seconds straight. “Fine. I’m not feeling it today anyway. You’re all free to go. Practice in the park and get some fresh air. We’ll get back into this tomorrow.”
I reached down to open my cello case, celebrating for two seconds inside until I
I laughed. He couldn’t help himself.
“I’ll get a job and pay you back. Thanks, Dad.” I hung up.
As painful as it was to call him, I didn’t care; all I could think about was how hard Grace worked, all the sacrifices she made just to play her music. She believed in it, she had faith that it would all be worth it, and what is faith if itdoesn’t endure? That’s what I was learning from her: how to have faith in myself and my art.
I felt it for Grace before I even had a name for it. I might have said the word a million times, but it sounded different now that I meant it. When I thought about what we had, it didn’t matter that it was just friendship. I loved her.
8. You Changed Me
GRACE
Even though I had mastered the art of running while carrying a giant cello case, I was still late to class the next morning. Thankfully, Professor Pornsake liked me and his class was a breeze, though not because I was a teacher’s pet, as Tatiana claimed. All I had to do was play my cello, the one thing I did well. On most days, I would close my eyes, forget about everything, and escape into the music. But that Friday was different.
“You’re late again, Graceland.”
“Grace,” I corrected him as I pulled my cello and bow from the case. There were several broken hairs hanging from the bow, and I attempted to pull them off while Dan hovered over me in his khakis, belted too high, and his orange polo shirt two sizes too small. I shot him a peeved look to let him know I was irritated over the unnecessary attention. “What?” I said.
He grabbed the bow from my hand and studied it. “This is nylon.”
“I know.”
“You’re first chair, Grace. Get a quality bow. Why are you using this crap?” A bit of his mustache stuck out over his top lip and wiggled as he spoke.
“I’m a member of PETA. I don’t use bows made with horse hair.”
I could see Tatiana’s body shaking with laughter in the chair in front of me.
Pornsake smirked. “Come on. Really?”
I huffed. “I’ll get a new bow this week.” I knew I couldn’t afford it, but he was right—nylon bows were crap.
“Good deal. Okay guys, let’s start with Pachelbel’s ‘Canon.’ ”
Tatiana sighed audibly. We were so sick of playing that song. It was like every music teacher was preparing us to be in one of those string quartets that plays at weddings. Pachelbel’s “Canon,” Handel’s “Water Music,” and Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” were ingrained so deeply into our minds and muscles that I literally started to believe it was affecting my ability to play other songs.
Pornsake walked to the front of the room and started counting down from three. I kicked Tati’s chair and whispered, “Irish style.” We started playing the traditional way and then slowly picked up the pace, throwing off everyone in the room. Many of the others stopped playing and just glared at us as Tati and I turned the classic into an Irish jig. The music students with a sense of humor put their instruments down and started clapping to the beat, and some eventried to play along. We got a short round of applause at the end, but Pornsake stood still as a statue at the front of the room, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Really cute. Maybe you two can be street performers. God knows New York desperately needs more street performers.”
I didn’t say anything because I was already on thin ice, but Tatiana spoke up. “Professor Porn . . . Sake . . .” I slapped my hand over my mouth to hold in my laughter as Tati continued, completely straight-faced. “We just need to mix it up.”
He nodded like a bobblehead for five seconds straight. “Fine. I’m not feeling it today anyway. You’re all free to go. Practice in the park and get some fresh air. We’ll get back into this tomorrow.”
I reached down to open my cello case, celebrating for two seconds inside until I
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