There You'll Find Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

sat back down, angling his body toward mine.
    “I’m about to ask you a favor.”
    “And I’m about to tell you no.”
    “It’s not a make-out scene. Though I’d be willing to rehearse that.”
    “Still, no.”
    “Dig deep into that cold, callous heart of yours, Frankie.”
    “It’s Finley.”
    “Dig deep and find some kindness.” He held out his script.
    “I’ve a need for someone to read the part of Selena.”
    “Selena the mutating vampire duchess? The woman who eats frogs, whose lower body is covered in scales because her mom had a fling with a merman?”
    “I knew you were a fan.”
    Dumbest movies ever.
    “I’ll give you a tour of the set.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    “I’ll get my friend Jake Gyllenhaal to call you.”
    “Already have him on speed dial.”
    “I won’t tell your friends about your sleeping attire.” His gaze dropped to my feet. “Nice bunnies.”
    “Fine.” I grabbed the script and put aside my half-eaten sandwich. “But tomorrow we go back to ignoring one another.”
    “Page fifty-one.” The dimple in his cheek deepened. “And as for girls who try to stay away from me—my charm always wears them down.”
    “I’m up-to-date on my shots, so I’m pretty much immune to everything.”
    Beckett just tipped his chair back and laughed. “Famous last words, Flossie. Famous last words.”

Chapter Five
     
    From: [email protected]
Subject: Audition Preparations
This message is to confirm your audition time at 1:00 p.m. on October 20 at the New York Conservatory. Please bring instrument, music, and any accompaniment needed, as it will not be provided. We look forward to meeting you and welcoming you to our esteemed campus.
     
    O n Tuesday, I skipped lunch for my first music lesson.
    Since Sacred Heart didn’t specifically have an orchestra, my parents arranged for a teacher to give me private instruction in violin and piano to help with my audition.
    While my violin was my first love, if I was going to be taken seriously as a composer, I had to get better at the piano. I’d been taking lessons for three years, and I was still no Beethoven.
    I slipped into the music room and, with my backpack still in my lap like a shield, I took a seat at a piano old enough to have been carried over on the ark. The room was small, quiet.
    A sanctuary.
    It was always this way for me. The stored instruments in the closets called out like old friends. The bent and scratched black music stands welcomed me into their home. The oily smell, a perfume. It was like . . . church.
    I ran my fingers over the keys in a concert B-flat scale and let my thoughts wander. Last night had been weird. I helped Beckett with his lines until 3:00 a.m., when neither of us could talk for yawning. As he got into his scenes, the arrogance and antagonism disappeared. In its place was a guy who was a perfectionist about his craft. Who relentlessly attacked the same few pages repeatedly until I had the entire thing memorized too. He was serious, subdued. Much like me and my violin.
    And for a few hours, I almost liked him.
    I returned my attention to the front of the room and stopped playing when I spotted a picture of Christ hanging on the wall. The silence filled my ears, and I found myself . . . waiting.
    Not really sure for what. A connection. A sign. A voice from the rafters to tell me how to get my life back?
    “I’ve been telling Principal Plummer we need to redecorate in here.”
    I startled at the voice behind me. “Oh, hello.”
    An older woman walked into the room, smiling with two rows of oversized teeth. “Sister Maria. Resident musician, I am.” She looked around the room, and I followed the path of her stare. Wooden floors. Wooden paneling. Pendant lights that hung from chains that were probably once brass, but now were more a shade of dusty.
    “Except for two hours a day, it’s a nice place for peace and quiet,”
    Sister Maria said. “But it’s a bit drab and dark for my taste. I keep