Scholar // Phan

Prologue

I don't really like school all that much, to be honest. I don't like classes, I don't like the people there, I don't like anything about it.

Therefore, why, you may ask, might I be choosing to live at school?

It's a little complicated.

Well, not really, but kind of.

I kind of have a problem with my nerves. I always have, really. Ever since I was a kid. I can get really worked up about something and make myself really sick, to the point of throwing up or even passing out. This coincides with a big fear of failure. If I don't do well on something, I get really, really sick. I'll get a knot in my stomach and a tightness in my chest, and if I don't get time to breathe, I'll throw up, like I said before. Therefore, I put loads of effort into my schoolwork. I study for hours, I do all my homework, I always stay focused in class, and, of course, have been thinking about university since I was about ten.

So, in order to try and get ahead (and maybe look just a little better than some of my peers when the time for applications comes around), I applied for boarding school.

I did a lot of research before the time came around. I looked at student reviews and pros and cons. I looked at images and orientation videos. I checked average GPA's and university admittance statistics and levels of rigor. But, most importantly, I looked at scholarships.

Every school that fit my requirements—high GPA, average admittance into some of my top universities, and a medium to high level of rigor—was extremely expensive. I knew my family, supportive as they were, would never agree to send me somewhere too costly. So, I looked at all the scholarships that would grant me a full ride.

Academic scholarships were nice, but they wouldn't get me enough money to go for free. I wasn't especially good at sports either. I could've tried for an acting scholarship, but I knew that would've meant putting my main focus into all the plays, which would be really time consuming. There was only one option: piano.

I'd been playing since I was about eight. I really love the piano: the feeling of the keys, the way the instrument looks, the beautiful sounds. It was relaxing, and it could always trigger such strong emotions in myself and others. It was my one shot, and it was pretty terrifying.

The school I finally decided on, Tybalt International Academy, was pretty prestigious, not only in academics, but in the arts, too. I knew that if I was going to get in with a full ride, I couldn't just tap something out and be done with it, not with all the other kids coming in with their classical training playing Beethoven or Haydn or something else like that. Nah, if I was going to get in with a full ride, I was going to have to play something pretty damn impressive.

I chose a piece—a beautiful piece of music by Chopin, Nocturne No 2 in E Flat, or something like that—and got to work. I played it every morning just after I woke up, as soon as I got home from school, and every evening after dinner. I played it until I knew each and every note, until I could play it perfect, memorized and with my eyes closed. And when I wasn't playing, I was going over my hand movements and finger placements, tapping on a countertop or my desk at school. I knew every line, every measure, every note or rest. I was sure that I was unstoppable, that there was no way I couldn't get the scholarship.

That is, until the morning of the audition.

• • •

I woke up that morning feeling confident. I knew I had the piece down, that I had rehearsed so much, and it was about to all be worth it. I had planned for every possible contingency, from a shaky bench to an untuned piano. I was sure that I had everything under control.