Blood, Sweat, and Schradieck

Chapter Twenty-One - Will

"Will Treaty? Redmont Conservatory piano representative?"

Will looks up at the competition monitor who has poked her head out of the side doorway to the operahouse mainstage. "Yes, that's me," he says.

"The judges are ready for you now," she says.

Wordlessly, Will hands her his stack of music scores - each painstakingly erased clean and every measure number penciled in. He follows her through the door.

"You may take a minute to try the piano with a scale or two, if you'd like," the monitor tells him. "Otherwise, just start with your first piece whenever you're ready. The judges will choose the order after the first piece."

"Thank you," Will says, his voice dry. The monitor points him up the side stairs to the huge stage, the two grand pianos sitting in the middle, almost tiny and insignificant in comparison under the bright stage lights. 

Halt, he knows, is somewhere in the eerily quiet, echoey audience hall. Probably Mr. Baron, too. Mr. Brunt sits off to one side of the stage, ready to accompany his concerto. He gives Will an encouraging nod and smile when their eyes meet.

Will sits down at the front piano, pushing the bench back and raising it to the correct height. These are motions so natural to him now, after all this time, that he doesn't even really need to think about it anymore.

He lifts his hands to the keys, and plays a scale - or is it the piano that plays it for him? He doesn't know, but this instrument is a masterpiece. He breaks into the Bach prelude, closing his eyes in pure contentment, pushing away those last vestiges of fear and anxiety that he's been trying so hard to forget. Just for now, he wants to enjoy himself. Because who knows what lies ahead? 

His audition passes in a blur and some indeterminate time later Will, drunk on the music, stumbles out into the hallway, his head spinning. He leans against a wall, his stack of music on a chair next to him, and desperately tries to remember something, anything about what happened. How he played.

All he remembers is the sheer joy he felt and the effortlessness of music-making. He can't even recall individual notes, or phrases, or even pieces. 

Maybe it's for the better, he thinks dully. 

Halt emerges from around the corner, his eyes bright and piercing. He makes Will feel a little more alive - there's something about him that grabs Will by the scruff of the neck and lifts him to his feet. Forces him to stand up straight. 

His throat dry, Will tries, fails, and then succeeds in swallowing. "Now what?" he asks.

"Now," Halt says, after a long, wordless moment, "we wait."

Halt escorts him back down the hallway. At some point, they pass another student-teacher pair. The teacher, a small Asian man with large glasses, exchanges a cool nod with Halt, while the student, a slim girl with two long blonde braids, glares unabashedly at Will.

"Aspienne Conservatory of Music," Halt hisses out of the corner of his mouth in explanation as soon as they're out of earshot. "Very small and very, very selective."

Will swallows nervously, but says nothing.

"And nothing to worry about," Halt says. "From my experience, they have a much better opinion of themselves than they should. I've heard that girl play before - she auditioned for Redmont as a freshman last year, and wasn't accepted."

A slight loosening of Will's shoulders, and Halt breathes a silent sigh of relief.

The pair heads down several more identically winding hallways until they approach a bright room. Familiar voices come from inside - Mr. Baron's booming voice, Gilan's laughter, Jenny's high sweet voice - still too far to tell specific words, but growing louder as they get closer. Without even noticing, Will quickens his steps, somehow desperate to be back with familiar people.