Page 24 of Crescendo

“Just like we did with Camden,” she prompted, ignoring whatever the group leader was telling us. “Tell me what you think you’d hear in that moment.”

I’d seen enough of those scenes to have an idea, but the weird whiplash of emotions was making my brain too slow to process. Callum, Lydia, stage fright, hope, Callum, Eliza, Adam, Lydia, flirting…Lydia.

What even was music anyway?

Chapter 7

Lydia

The rain cleared up after the weekend, leaving the stone pavers of Exhibition Road slick with water that refracted violet tones in the sunrise as Ella and I headed to Crescendo on Monday morning, Bansi joining us as his flatmate Clara abandoned him to go with Dodge. We chattered on the walk, Bansi speculating what classes might have been like, and Ella stayed quieter, that tension drawn tauter than before in her features. Whatever her mental block was, it was prickling her as classes approached, I knew, but I didn’t know how I was supposed to help her if she wouldn’t tell me what it was.

Melinda had told me last night, after I’d recounted the weekend, that I wasn’t supposed to help her.Best you can do is put it out there that you’re available to help someone and let them come to you when they need it. Anything beyond that is a savior complex.

I guess she was right. But I couldn’t help this feeling like Ella was on her way out a door and if I didn’t do anything, then I’d miss out on something spectacular.

She’d kept backing out of our lessons early, and my motivation was turning into frustration, harsh and pointy on the edges. I was never at my best when I was frustrated.

Maybe I should have listened to Melinda. But I’d made such a habit of ignoring her, it felt a shame to break my streak.

We were one of the earlier ones showing up at Crescendo, packing into the auditorium for the official start of our instruction—I felt a bit like an adult sitting in a kid’s school desk, but glancing down my side at Ella with the intent expression at the front of the auditorium, her laptop out, and Bansi past her with two different notebooks and a whole pencil case like a regular back-to-school icon, and scanning the crowd to find the familiar faces, I settled in for a lecture.

Back to basics. I was feeling more inspired already.

The first lecture was general, far-reaching, more describing the structure of what our lectures would be like. It was an old man with a short, coarse beard, Doctor Richard Maynes, who rattled off basic housekeeping information with a dull look in his eyes before he lit up at the material, sharing some of the compositions from past students, two pieces that had both been performed by the BBC Symphony Orchestra, and he talked briefly about what made them work and broke down the various pieces we’d be learning to help us write just like that. I was worried the penny would drop once I was here and it would set in that Melinda was right and that I was wasting my time learning something I already knew, but it felt so deeply reassuring being here, less like I was doing something I already knew but more like I was patching up a damaged foundation.

After the teacher had let us go with one morewelcome to Crescendo, and good luck,we broke off quickly into smaller groups, going upstairs and into targeted focus groups for hands-on lessons experimenting with musical instruments, an opportunity for the teachers to see where we stood with thingstoo. I landed in one with Bansi, where I got to watch him move the teacher nearly to tears with a violin solo, and I got an opportunity to humble myself by trying to use the piccolo, which I hadn’t gone near in a long time. The lessons teacher didn’t hold back on me just because of who I was, which was a relief, and I came out of practical studies as exhausted as anybody else to sit in on the group coming back together for composition lecture, and judging by the tight, frustrated look on Ella’s face when she sat next to me, her lessons hadn’t gone well.

She was so closed-off, though, I didn’t get the chance to talk to her about it at all, not until we were halfway through the day and let out for lunch, and I had to move quickly to catch up with her as she pushed out into the street to follow her.

“Hey—mind if I tag along?” I said. “I’m trusting you to know where the best vegetarian food is around here.”

She gave me a witheringly fake smile. “You don’t have to go vegetarian just because I am, Lydia,” she said, her voice all barbs, and I walked quietly along next to her for a second, processing it, letting the comment steep, before I answered.

“Afraid I’m gonna take all the vegetables for myself, huh?”

She hung her head, but I saw a tired smile on the edges of her lips. “Yes… that’s what it is. Sorry,” she said, stopping and turning to face me, drawing her shoulders up taller. “I’m just not in a very good place right now… I don’t mean to get frustrated with you.”

“That would imply you’re frustrated with me. Do you want to explain why?”

She sighed, hard, pinching the bridge of her nose. “God, Lydia, no, I didn’t mean it like that, just… I’m sorry. The classes are just difficult. Please, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a bit of time alone.”

It bubbled uncomfortably in my stomach, this keen awareness of something being wrong and not knowing what todo about it, and I said, “You can talk to me, you know. I don’t have a thin skin. If I’m causing problems—”

“I’m talking by asking to have some time alone for lunch,” she said, her voice raised just a touch, enough to quiet the conversation. She turned away with another sigh, this one sadder, more defeated. “I’m sorry. I think maybe you shouldn’t bother with the… the private piano lessons. I think I’m rather… not a good audience for it.”

“Ella,” I said after her back as she started away, and I took a step after her but stopped, watching her walk down the street. “Ella! If you’d just talk to me…” But I let my voice fall off, knowing she couldn’t hear me. I found myself standing alone in the street watching her disappear in the crowds, and I must have been so lost in the thoughts, the feeling of it, that I didn’t notice anybody approaching me until Clara’s voice spoke from next to me.

“Trouble in paradise, then,” she said, and I flicked my gaze over to where she smiled wryly at me. “Had a fight with your girlfriend?”

“Firstly, she’s not my girlfriend, and secondly… do you typically go around looking for people who’ve had fights with their girlfriends so you can revel in it?”

“I was just walking by. I can never really help a bit of intrigue, though. Grab lunch with me? I couldn’t stand one more second of Dodge and had to move along.”

I sighed, letting my shoulders fall as I turned to her. “If you know a good spot for a vegetarian…”

“Oh, love, it’s London, everywhere’s got a good veg option or two. How’s curry sound?”

It was a good call—just a bit later, we were tucked into a cozy little place for a hearty lentil curry while she went for the chicken, and we made small talk about the classes so far as we waited for our food. We only got to the dominant note crowdingeverything else out of my mind once we’d dug into our food, taking a bite and pushing the rest aside to let it cool as Clara looked levelly at me across the table.

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