Get Out If You Can

Emilie | Play That Again, Mozart

"We are definitely supposed to play something," Matt says. "And then, I don't know, get murdered or something. Any pianists here?"

"I can play," I say, raising my hand tentatively. "I guess I'm okay at it."

"Well, great then. Let's not lose any time," Hunter says, pointing to my watch. "We're already thirty-ish minutes down. Go check out that piano, we'll catch you if you fall."

I snort at him, but move towards the piano all the same.

I sit down at the little stool placed in front of the grand piano, pushing my bangs behind my ears. This piano, if anything, is – marvelous. The keys are crafted in something that most definitely is marble, and its ebony black coat itself must've cost a few thousand dollars and probably much more. I've never played on anything as exquisite as this – ever.

The fact is, however, that I haven't played in an awfully long time. I'd decided it was pretty stupid to pride myself on whatever scarce musical ability I had, especially after Kat and the rest of them had publicly denounced the school's orchestral club members as the 'douchebags of the universe'. They were pretty good, really, but that's not how things work. You've got to agree with everything sometimes.

But here I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. As I place my fingers on the marble keys, running them back and forth to play warm-up scales and arpeggios, I feel – home.

"What am I supposed to play?" I ask the others. They're sitting at a corner of the now expanded room, watching me.

"There should probably be a piece somewhere," Diego says, walking over to the piano and looking under the top. "Ah, here."

He pulls out an extremely yellow, and battered, sheet of notes.

I look at the piece and recognize it instantly.

"Carol of The Bells," I say, and look up at him. "The problem is it's a duet piece. Two people have to play."

"I think I can play a bit," Diego says. "I've got a piano like this at home, and Mom teaches me sometimes, but I've never really done a duet."

"That's not really a problem," I say, setting the sheet music in front of me. "Let's do this while we still can, okay? Go get yourself a chair."

Diego drags a pouffe from across the room, with much creaking against the wood, and sets it next to me, positioning his hands perfectly over the keys.

"Ready?"

"Let's practice first," I say, reading through the notes. He shrugs, and reads them with me.

"Seems fairly easy," he says after he's done, relaxing a bit. "Shall we?"

I nod, and play the initial notes.

He plays the baseline, and boy, he is good. We continue playing, my fingers tracing the keys in perfect arcs; dipping and curving and melding notes like I'm telling a story through the staccatos and legatos.

If I were in a music hall listening to how this sounded, I'd think it was the final thing and not simply a practice. We sounded great – and I didn't really need anyone to tell me that.

Which is something of a start, and a good one. If I make it home after this is over, I'll go straight to the hall and dust that grand piano. Gotta make use of it.

After a few more staves, my fingers leave the keys and I watch as Diego plays a memorable finale. When he's done, he meets my eye.

"Was that really a practice?"

I laugh. "I think it will do."

"Man," Matt says, and I shift my position in my seat to look at him. "Who knew you guys had that in you?"