Boston Avant-Garde 4: Encore Read Online Free PDF Page A

stance, and her curly, dark ponytail and hazel eyes hinted at her witty sense of humor. It was just too bad she suffered from the vestiges of teenage drama.
    Suri looked up at the clock for the ten millionth time that day. If she finished up early, she could make it to Asylum by six. That would give her enough time to get the pick of the wardrobe selection before the other dancers started showing up with all their neuroses.
    “I can’t make friends with my cello. I think it hates me. Maybe I should switch to the violin.” Abby held the instrument away from her as though it might bite.
    The teacher/pupil relationship made it inappropriate for Suri to smack Abby on the back of the head, but that was her first instinct. “Why would you want to play the violin? Everybody plays the violin. The cello is an amazing instrument. Without it, the music is empty. And even alone, it can sing a beautiful melody.” Suri put her bow to the strings and played a few bars of her favorite Bach solo.
    The last note sang out, reverberating in the tiny studio. Yes, the cello could sing alone, but most of the time it longed for companionship. It wanted a trio, the kind that Leslie had been lucky enough to find. Could Suri possibly be that lucky in life? Or was it ridiculous to think that whatever had happened after she’d been happily buzzed on champagne could ever be repeated?
    Hormones, alcohol, and the confidence of an alter ego gone wild.
    Abby’s exaggerated sigh brought Suri back to the moment. “I wish I could play like you. You’re awesome.”
    “Thank you, but nobody is awesome right away. It takes time.”
    “I used to be awesome. Then I came here, and suddenly I suck.”
    The kid harbored some serious perfectionist issues. You didn’t get into the Boston School for the Arts if you sucked. “Okay, that’s enough for today.”
    Abby set her cello aside. “Be honest. Am I hopeless?”
    “Quit being ridiculous. You aren’t at all hopeless.” Suri racked her brain for a way to make this talented kid understand. “Tell you what, bring a piece of music with you next week that made you feel like you were awesome. It can be anything, but preferably something you played right around the time you got accepted here.”
    The girl’s expression grew visibly brighter. “Ooo! I know the perfect thing!”
    “Great. Now get out of here before you send me over the deep end.”
    They packed up their instruments in comfortable silence. The tiny, soundproofed studio had barely enough space for two people, their instruments, and their cases, so there wasn’t too much to put away. Suri stowed her cello carefully, snapping it into the hard-sided rolling case as if she were strapping a baby into a car seat. She and her friend Niles used to make fun of Leslie for her excessive love of her violin, but truthfully, Suri was just as nuts about her cello.
    “Ms. Robertson?” Abby stood and opened the door, preparing to wheel her case out into the hallway. “Thank you. You always make me feel better.”
    The door closed with a snick , and Suri was alone in the silent space. The words made her feel good inside, but there was also a bitter taste left behind. Why was it that some people were hardwired to be comforted, and others were destined to do the comforting? And how come nobody ever seemed to switch places?
    Her phone trilled inside her bag. She answered it without thinking. “Suri O’Callaghan.”
    “Jen? Is that you? This is Nurse Nancy Phillips.”
    A hard lump formed in her belly. “Yes, this is Jen. Is my mother all right?”
    “She’s fine now, but we had another incident this morning. Dr. O’Neil saw her afterwards, and he’d like to speak with you about the visit. Do you have time to stop by?”
    No. “Of course. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    “Thanks, we’ll see you in a little while.”
    She ended the call and finished closing her cello case with hands that shook. Part of her wanted answers; the other part was