Chapter 24 Orion
Orion
End Of December
“Wait, stop.”
“This is where our friend Sergei locks in the harmony. A static harmony. The opening chords must have weight but not force or volume. No banging. It’s heaviness. It’s grief. The anger comes later, as predicted by the harmony. Do you see?”
I nodded. “I think so.”
Not for the first time over these last six weeks, gratitude washed over me that Ezra had not only abandoned his idea that I compose a piece for the spring concert, but that he was working to teach me the language of music without relying on notation.
“And what do we call this cluster of notes?”
“Chordal ostinato,” I said.
“Brilliant. This is where the harmony will emerge from the gloomy textures. Again.”
I started the piece over for what felt like the thousandth time since that early November night when Harper had unlocked a door inside me and let in the light. A fresh start and fresh air, like taking a deep breath after being submerged down in the depths.
Ezra liked the Rachmaninoff because it started off melancholy, pitched itself into a rage, and then grew subdued again, all in five minutes of insanely complicated finger work. He was still on a mission to draw raw emotion out of me, but the joke was on him—I was too damn happy.
I played the étude, concentrating on the intricacy of the piece, my fingers flying up and down the keys, and ignoring the cramp in the tendon of my right thumb.
I waited for Ezra to stop and yell at me about my arm weight or complain about my harmonic tension.
I didn’t mind his cranky and unpredictable temper.
Somewhere along these last weeks, he’d stopped being Wolfe or even Professor Wolfe and become Ezra.
More of a friend and mentor than anything else.
Someone who was unlocking a bunch of doors all at once.
A few more than I’m ready to walk through.
I finished the piece, the last, sad note hanging in the air. Ezra had his eyes closed, right elbow resting on his left arm that was across his chest. His black-nailed fingers tapped his lips, deep in thought.
I knew better than to say anything.
Finally, he opened his eyes. “I just wanted to hear the whole thing because fuck me sideways, you’re a goddamn genius.
Even at only half the emotional punch, you’re…
” He shook his head. “Anyway, we should wrap for the day. You must be eager to spend time with your girl before the holiday break puts an ocean between you.”
“Yes and no,” I said, bending my aching fingers. “I’m going to ask Harper to come with me.”
Ezra’s brows vanished into his mop of dusty blond hair. “Really? Taking her to meet the parents. Must be serious.”
“Of course it’s serious,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my lips. “I love her.”
“Mm,” Ezra mused.
“Something on your mind?”
“She has cracked open the lockbox of your heart, yet you sit clear across from each other in the auditorium.” He rubbed his jaw. “Sounds about right.”
“Wrong. I’m keeping us secret for her protection,” I said darkly. “There are arseholes about, one depraved bastard in particular who’s fucked with her before. I won’t risk it again. God knows what he’ll do.”
“I know the type,” Ezra said. “Evildoers are rare, but a few walk among us.” He gathered the sheet music and tapped it on the piano. “Well, I am very much in favor of this union, and even more so of a dose of Harper honesty injected right into the jugular of the Mercer family household.”
“That’s what I love about you,” I said wryly. “You’re so shy.”
“So I’ve been told,” Ezra said, returning my smile. “And here’s more of my reserved, retiring advice. Tell your parents about your dyslexia. Because I can’t do a bloody thing about accommodations for you without their say-so.”
“I will,” I said.
He gave me a sharp look.
I laughed. “I promise.”
After my revelation with Harper, I saw a private specialist and had it confirmed: stealth dyslexia, dysgraphia, and ADHD—paired with an IQ of 157 and unusually high phonological processing.
The neuropsychologist said he’d never seen a case so complex, one that would require extensive accommodations from CHA.
With Harper’s help, I scraped through history, and the crushing weight on my back finally lifted, making the rest of my classes easier to endure.
I decided to wait until the holiday break to tell Father and Mum—when I could do it with my girlfriend at my side.
My girlfriend.
The word made me smile. I hadn’t had a real girlfriend before, and Harper was a treasure. I was a better person because of her. Maybe I’d be a better person around my family with her. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so less than and could untie the knots in my tongue at the dinner table.
“One last thing before we part,” Ezra said. “You know I have to say it.”
I sighed. “Here we go.”
“The time for college applications is growing short.”
“Ezra, you know where I’m going.”
“Does she know where you’re going?”
I shifted and glanced away. “We haven’t talked about it, but she knows Cambridge is the plan.”
“Why is it still the plan?” Ezra asked softly.
He gestured at the piano. “Don’t you love this?
Don’t you feel it in your blood, in your bones, in your soul that this was what you were meant to do?
How else do you explain your innate talent?
You’re a Mozart. A Beethoven. You’re one of those rarest of geniuses, who, for whatever reason, can just do this. Don’t you want to keep doing it?”
“Yes. But playing for a living is not the same as playing for me. I will always be able to play for me.”
“Well, that’s just selfish bollocks.”
“Selfish? Because I don’t want the life you choose for me? How is that any different from living the life my father wants?”
Ezra held my gaze for a moment, and then asked suddenly, “Do you know why I picked this piece?”
“Because it’s insanely difficult and emotional?”
“Yes and yes, but étude means study, and tableau means image. Rachmaninoff is creating an image in the mind of the listener with this music. If you close your eyes and listen, it conjures something. Do you not see it when you play?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m just trying to not fuck up the finger work.”
Ezra groaned and ran his hands through his hair.
“You’re holding back. Still. And dyslexia has nothing to do with it.
I know you can compose something for the spring concert.
Or hell, you could even improvise. Just sit down and make contact with whatever is inside you and let it out.
It’s aching to come out, and once you do that, your own tableau will become very, very clear. And it’s not bloody chemicals.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, ignoring the flares his words were sending up in my heart. “If I stay with my family’s business—”
“You have a safety net,” Ezra finished gently.
“You will not have to go out into a world that will not provide a lick of accommodations. That doesn’t care if you struggle.
You will not have to sit on a stage, at that instrument, and bleed all over the keys.
You will not have to let the world into your heart and soul.
” He leveled a gaze at me. “Yes, it’s terrifying.
I’m proof of that, hiding in this school because it’s so bloody terrifying.
But you are not me. You are so much more than me.
And the terrifying is what makes it great. ”
His words hung in the air for a moment, and then he snorted a laugh, easing the tension, and took hold of my shoulders.
“All right, I’ve said my piece. For this month, anyway. I’m not done with you, my friend. But you’ve earned a break from even my incessant badgering.”
He embraced me, and I hugged him back. Tightly.
“Happy Christmas,” he said. “I hope you have a wonderful break and that Harper has lenient parents and a valid passport.”
I snorted a laugh. “You don’t quit, do you?”
“Me? Never,” Ezra said. “It’s part of my charm.”
“Charm, sure.” I grinned. “Let’s go with that.”
***
I left the Arts Wing and passed through the center of the Academy, near the gym. Tucker and Rhett were headed toward me.
“Mercer!”
Tucker clasped hands with me while Rhett eyed me coolly. I eyed him right back.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages,” Tucker said. “What are you doing for the break? Heading home?”
“Yep. You?”
“Same ole. But let’s not slack on our training,” he said. “Two regattas left, and the season is ours.”
“Oh, physical activity has never been Orion’s problem,” Rhett said. “Mental exertion, on the other hand…”
Tucker frowned. “Huh?”
“But I envy you, Orion,” Rhett continued. “To never be burdened with overthinking.”
Weeks ago, his insults would’ve gotten under my skin. Now, I smiled brightly, showing all my teeth.
“Well, Calloway, it’s not as though thinking has enriched your personality.” I cocked my head. “How’s the family business going? Still bringing in a steady pipeline of souls down below?”
Tucker snorted. “Damn, Mercer.”
I beamed and chucked Tucker on the shoulder. “Happy Christmas, gents. See you next year.”
I continued down the hallway, just able to make out Tucker saying, “What the fuck was that all about?” and Rhett’s muttered reply.
Not that I gave a shit. Tucker’s first and foremost concern was sweeping the regattas, and Rhett knew it. He wasn’t about to jeopardize that by saying something that might make a crewmember—me—quit. Not when we had the best team CHA had had in years.
I left the campus humming Myles Smith’s “Stargazing” all the way to Atlas Hall.
“You were right there all along,” I sang as I keyed into my and Easton’s dorm. I found my roommate on the couch, laptop on his lap, a duffel bag at his feet.
He glanced at my dopey grin and rolled his eyes. “You get worse every day.”
“Insufferable, aren’t I?” I said and flounced into the chair across from him. I pulled out a small gift-wrapped box that had been burning a hole in my jacket pocket all day.
Easton eyed the box. “What is that?”