That night, Nia called the number Maya had found for a music teacher named Beatrice Young in Springfield. An older woman's voice answered. Nia gave her name and the reason for the call. At the mention of Lena Wu, the woman said nothing for so long Nia thought the call had dropped.
"I haven't heard anyone say that name in years," Beatrice finally said.
"I don't want to make your life public without permission," Nia replied. "I found a photograph of you singing at Harbor House."
Beatrice laughed once, a sound full of disbelief. "She said I was the fourth voice. I thought she'd forgotten."
"She didn't."
Nia described the upcoming prize and the uncertainty surrounding the score. Beatrice asked whether Arthur Sloane's son was still performing his father's work. When Nia said yes, Beatrice grew quiet again.
"I can tell you what I remember," she said. "But I don't have a recording. They told us the tape had failed."
Nia looked at the cedar box across the room. "We're trying to find one."
"Then look for a sound that isn't in the published score," Beatrice said. "Lena made us keep a long silence. Right before it, I sang a note that broke. Everybody laughed. Arthur wanted to erase it. Lena wouldn't let him. She said mistakes prove someone was there."
After the call, Nia opened Lena's notebook again. Beside the final rest she found a tiny pencil mark shaped like a crooked star. She had always assumed it was doodling. Now she wondered whether it was a map to the sound of a thirteen-year-old girl being allowed to be imperfect.
CHAPTER 07
An Audition with Two Scores
On the morning of Caleb's audition, the sky hung low and white over the conservatory steps. He wore a borrowed jacket and carried his music in a folder repaired with clear tape. Nia walked beside him while photographers gathered for the prize's publicity shots. A banner above the entrance displayed Gideon's face twice, once young and once old, as if philanthropy were a hereditary talent.
Caleb stopped by the doors. "I can choose something else," he said.
"You can."
"I can play the official score and never mention Lena."
"You can do that, too."
"You're not making this easy."
"It isn't my audition." Nia straightened his collar. "I won't take the decision away from you just because somebody tried to take mine."
The candidates waited in a practice room with worn carpet and radiators that knocked between scales. One teenager warmed up flawlessly, unable to look away from her own hands. Another sat beside her father, who recited instructions about tempo as though issuing safety regulations. Caleb opened Lena's notebook and copied a final dynamic marking onto his arrangement.
Sasha Moreno, the violinist sitting near the window, offered Caleb a pencil when his lead broke. She asked what he'd chosen for the open arrangement. He almost concealed the folder, but her interest appeared genuine, so he showed her the opening. She played the melody softly on an imaginary violin while reading. "That is not the same phrasing as the program," she observed. Caleb explained the recovered notebook without making any claims he couldn't support. Sasha told him her own grandmother had taught her folk songs whose origins nobody in the family could agree upon. "I'm not saying they're equivalent," she added. "Only that the arguments often start after the person who knew the answer is gone." When the coordinator called her name, she wished him luck. Caleb was surprised at how much steadier he felt after a conversation that had nothing to do with publicity or winning. Not every fellow competitor was a rival waiting to exploit his surname.
A coordinator approached. "Are you Caleb Mercer?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"We have a question about your selected work. It includes unauthorized alterations to a copyrighted composition."
Caleb glanced at Nia. "It's an independent arrangement for the open portion. I listed the published source and the earlier manuscript version."
"Who authorized the earlier manuscript?"
"The woman who wrote it left the notebook to my sister."
The coordinator's smile remained, but her shoulders stiffened. "We can't adjudicate ownership during auditions. You may perform a standard selection instead."
Nia started to speak, then stopped herself. Caleb drew a breath. "The rules allow original arrangements. If you need me to play only the official movement, I will, but I'd like the evaluation sheet to say you declined my submitted piece."
The woman appeared surprised that an eighteen-year-old knew to ask for a written record. She stepped aside to consult the panel. After a tense delay, she returned with an altered schedule. Caleb could perform both versions, provided the judges understood the second was not an officially endorsed publication.