Blood, Sweat, and Schradieck

Chapter Nineteen - Will

Will eats ravenously, plowing his way through several plates of eggs and bacon. Halt sits across from him, his gaze piercing and watchful as he slowly but surely downs three cups of strong, black coffee. Finally, Will pushes his last plate, scraped clean, away from him. He yawns once, and Halt instantly passes him a mug of coffee and a pot of honey.

Absentmindedly, Will stirs a spoonful of honey into the black liquid before taking a sip. He can feel the caffeine buzzing through his veins, shocking him into absolute focus and alertness.

"Alright, we need to talk," Halt says abruptly. "Will, I know what just happened is hard, but right now, none of that exists. It can't."

"What do you mean?" Will asks, confused. Even now, his shoulders are tensing again at the reminder of the events of the past two days. 

"You're competing in the biggest competition of your life in a few hours," Halt reminds him bluntly, and Will winces. "Will, I know it's going to be hard - possibly the hardest thing you've ever done - but I know you can do it. So right now, I want you to forget about everything other than this competition."

"I can't," Will says quietly. No matter how hard he tries, he can't push away that horrible feeling of seeing Alyss lying still and pale on the ground. He can't get rid of the shakiness in his stomach from his former best friend's dull go away.

"You have to," Halt says. His voice is soft, but his eyes are bright and piercing, pinning Will in place. "You'll feel so much better, Will. Just for a little bit. I don't care if you go cry in the bathroom after you play, but until then, nothing exists but this."

Will closes his eyes, visualizing a piano in his head. The Hanon exercises start again, the sound blocking out all else, and he feels himself relaxing. He can do this. This is what he was born to do. When he opens his eyes again, they are clear. He nods once.

Halt doesn't show his sigh of relief. "Good," he says shortly. "Now, I'm taking you back to the dorm so you can change and grab your music, and then we'll find a practice room. All of the Redmont representatives are supposed to meet in the auditorium at ten to rehearse Gilan's piece."

"Okay," Will says. "Let's go."

Twenty minutes later, he and Halt are installed back in Will's practice room. Halt sets an alarm for five till ten, and then directs Will to the piano. He runs Will through his paces over and over again, drilling him on the hardest spots in his pieces, testing his student's endurance, memory, and patience.

Will doesn't complain once, throwing himself into the music, his fingers flying. But there's a wall between him and the music that he can't seem to break. He's playing better than he ever has before. But he's completely detached - technique, but no emotion.

Finally, Halt stops him. "Where's the emotion, Will?" he asks. "You love that part of Islamey. Why can't I see that?"

Will shakes his head. "I don't know, Halt," he says. "I can't get into it. I'm trying, but I can't."

Halt's alarm goes off. "Well, you're going to have to find a way," he says, shutting it off. "We're due in the auditorium in five."

They hurry through the empty hallways. Will reflects at the strangeness of the silence. The only sound is a practicing oboist in the far distance, running scales. Otherwise, the practice rooms are nothing but rows of dark rooms. The other students are all in the dorms, recovering from their final exams, and those who are going home for winter break are busy packing. 

The old, familiar thought that he doesn't have anyone to go home to stings momentarily, and Will wrenches himself away, beginning another Hanon exercise in his mind. It distracts him enough to get him into the auditorium.

Gilan is there, sitting in the front row and watching as the other representatives set up. Jenny wheels her marimba into place, her face pale. She looks exhausted, as does Gilan. Will refuses to let himself remember why, because if he does, he knows he'll break down, and Halt's right. He can't do that, not now. Not hours before the biggest competition of his life. 

Mr. Brunt and Mr. Baron are wheeling the grand piano into place center stage, and the wind and brass representatives are pulling chairs into place. Cassandra is tuning off to one side. Will catches her eye and gives her a half smile, which she returns. She also looks exhausted.

A few minutes later, everyone is in place, and the piece begins. It goes smoothly, but there's something missing. It doesn't sound bad at all, but it doesn't sound as good as it did before. Will wonders what's different. 

It's during their second, and final, playthrough that he realizes what it is. Cassandra's violin is too bright-sounding. It throws off the balance just enough to make him uncomfortable. Not for the first time, he wonders at Gilan's genius. His friend has written a piece so amazing that the violin part is written for one very specific violin and violinist. A violinist who is -

Will cuts that thought off abruptly.

Soon enough, everyone is packing away their things. Will doesn't have an instrument, just a backpack with his competition music. He heads over to where Cassandra is putting her violin away.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks. "You look tired."

"I didn't sleep at all last night," Cassandra confesses. "I spent the entire night practicing. There's no way I'm ready for this!"

"You'll be fine," Will says earnestly. "You're an amazing violinist, Cassandra! Mrs. DuLacy obviously thinks so or she wouldn't have recommended you."

"Yeah, well, Mrs. DuLacy isn't even here," Cassandra says bitterly, shutting her case with a bit more force than necessary. She seems to catch herself. "Sorry, that was out of line," she says softly. "She's needed elsewhere. It's more important for her to be with Alyss."

The conversation is steering dangerously close to forbidden territory. Will puts out his hand to help Cassandra to her feet. "I'll listen to you play through your program if we have time," he offers. "I'm sure Halt wouldn't mind either. Three sets of ears are better than one."

Cassandra gives him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Will," she says. Then she hugs him quickly. "Thanks for being a great friend."

And then she's heading for the door, her violin case slung over her shoulder.

"There's fifteen minutes before the bus is leaving, Will," Halt calls to him, startling him from his thoughts. "Did you want to run Islamey one more time?"

"Coming, Halt!" Will says. And he turns to follow his teacher out of the auditorium, leaving behind the confusion he feels at a certain turn of events.