Page 2 of Symphony of Salvation

No words adequately described my perplexity, so I didn’t respond. It had been two weeks since Dr. Justine McCaine, Timber Creek Academy’s principal, informed the staff we had acquired a new student who would start before the winter semester.

“Miss Castellanos has been homeschooled to this point. Her academic testing puts her in the ninetieth percentile for her age. She’s a classically trained musician, proficient on both violin and piano and comes from a musical family.” Dr. McCaine scowled at me from over the top of her glasses.

Classically trained was an understatement. The teenager was leaps and bounds beyond any student I’d taught in previous years. A prodigy. A sensation unlike any the academy had everseen, and considering we housed some of the most brilliant students in the province—in the country—that was saying a lot. In the staffroom, surrounded by colleagues, I wasn’t the only person to question why Constantina’s parents wanted to put her in school when she clearly excelled with tutors.

“There is a catch,” Dr. McCaine had said. “Miss Castellanos has… issues.”

The young woman commanding the piano finished the solo, and the orchestra took over. When the piece ended, Constantina stood and bowed to the audience’s applause.

My attention was drawn to the fashionable black scarf around her neck. The fabric sparkled with the same galactic shimmer as her dress. Constantina touched it subconsciously as she absorbed the audience’s praise. She didn’t smile or seem at all pleased with the performance. Once the appreciation faded, the girl left the stage as quick as a bunny in the forest.

At intermission, Koa and I remained seated as guests swarmed out of the hall to use the facilities, grab wine, or stretch their legs before the second half. The musicians uniformly departed, row by row, until the stage was empty.

Koa turned pages in the playbill while I stared at the glistening sheen of lights reflecting off the grand piano.

Having located Constantina’s biography, Koa presented the booklet. “Well? Thoughts?”

“You don’t want to know my thoughts.”

Constantina was aFeatured Performerthat evening. Born in Greece to two world-renowned musicians, it wasn’t surprising that she had captured the attention of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Her father had likely pulled strings or knew the conductor. Had a friend who had a friend. Wasn’t that how it worked?

“Thoughts?” Koa asked more pointedly as I read the girl’s numerous achievements and fought a fresh round of envy and inferiority.

“She’s fourteen. How is it possible?”

“Discipline.”

“Discipline.” The word tasted vile. “If my parents had given half a shit about my passion for music…” I waved the playbill in Koa’s face. “This could have been me. Look at this. She won the gold prize at the World Classical Music Awards at age six, for god’s sake.”

“There is no god.”

“Six, Koa. Do you know what I was doing at age six?”

“Playing war with your GI Joe figurines in the sandbox at the park?”

“Close. Replace GI Joe with my sister’s Ken doll and replace war with… other things. The point is, I could have been something… more. Something… remarkable. But no. I’m the outcast. The black sheep. The disappointment. It wasn’t enough to be gay, but how could I possibly want to pursue such a whimsical career as music? Every time my mother gets me on the phone, she feels the need to remind me of my siblings’ far greater successes. Of their marriages and achievements. Of her grandkids.”

“As much as I’d love to indulge you in this poorly veiled attempt at self-pity, I feel we’ve fatally bludgeoned this poor stallion enough in the past, and I have nothing further to contribute to the conversation. Focus. As a student, Niles. What are your thoughts on Constantina as a future student?”

“She’s going to make me look bad.”

“This isn’t about you. Stop wallowing. I thought we agreed that I was the depressive one in this relationship.”

“I thought we agreed we weren’t in a relationship, hence your handsome hockey star.”

Koa chuckled. “Good grief. Build a bridge.”

“Fine.” I skimmed Constantina’s biography. “Logically, though, what am I going to teach her that she doesn’t already know? Do I start her on a new instrument? I mean, my god, sheonlyknows four.”

“Your sarcasm is showing.”

“Intentionally. I can’t help it.”

“Give her composition projects.”

“In ninth grade? Good lord, what will I teach her next year or the year after? She’s beyond my tutelage. Dr. McCaine knew that. Why allow her into my class?”

“Based on her testing scores, she’s beyond all high school tutelage, even mine.” Koa tapped his chest. “The point was not to advance her academically but to assist her in building socialization skills. You heard about her background.”

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