Page 13 of Symphony of Salvation

“No, it’s not praise. It’s insulting. I can paint a picturereasonably well. I can cookreasonably well. I can quote Shakespearereasonably well. I can—”

“You can’t, actually. You often get it wrong.”

“Not the time for nitpicking, Koa. I’m making a point.”

“A tenuous point at best.”

“Can you not?”

“So, it wasnota compliment.”

“No, and I’ll tell you why.” Unable to sit still, I launched into an aggressive pace. “The man proceeded to sit on the bench and play the entire sonataby heart. He handed me the sheetmusic and commanded me to follow along. I refused. And he performed it without a single error. But what’s more? While playing, he spent the full twenty-two minutes of the three combined movements informing me of where I went wrong and demonstrating how I could improve. He called it, giving me feedback onmy attempt. My attempt!”

I paused, waiting for a reaction, wanting Koa to endorse my claims or defend my rage, but his expression conveyed confusion. “Still not a compliment, I assume?”

“No, Koa. It was demoralizing. He said my pacing was all over the place. Can you believe that? The nerve.”

“You often rush that piece.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I wasn’t aware we were at war.”

“Well, we are.”

“I’m struggling to understand why any of it matters. Who cares if he offered constructive criticism of your playing. Isn’t that good? Don’t you want to improve? If you didn’t like it, don’t listen to it.”

“You’re missing the point.”

Koa held his hands aloft. “Then help me find it.”

“I’m going to lose my job to this prick. Contrary to what I was told, he isn’t taking the role of guest teacher for a week or so. He’s usurping half my curriculum for several months. Don’t you see what they’re doing? In June, I’ll be shown the door, and by September, Timber Creek will welcome a new, highly regarded, better-educated faculty member. The parents will be so pleased, and I will be jobless.”

“Your logic is flawed.”

“It’s not.”

“In what universe would a world-renowned musician,a maestro, want to teach high school music?”

“Inthisworld.” I stabbed a finger on Koa’s desk.

“I think it’s highly unlikely.”

“You didn’t meet the guy. He of the perfect suit and impeccable hair. You should see the way he carries himself. Shoulders back, chin high, oozing confidence because he knows I’m nothing but a subordinate. And the way he stared. Judgment in his eyes. Is a guy not allowed to have long hair? Do I have to wear a tie to be acceptable in his world? God, his voice alone was grating. So… cultured and suave.”

My best friend quirked a brow.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Koa checked the time on his phone. “How long is this rant going to take? I was hoping to eat lunch before the bell.”

I ignored his pettish comment and sat again, deflated, weary, and in no mood to play games. “The worst part is… he’s fucking gorgeous.”

“And there it is. It took enough meandering to get to the point.”

“I hate him.”

“And yet you’re halfway in love.”

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