Chapter 3
Sutton
Mom had always been a Led Zeppelin fan. I would bet everything we owned that she was a little in love with Jimmy Page.
The riff in “Kashmir” always had her stop whatever she was doing, her eyes going dreamy.
Maybe it was from a long-ago memory, or nothing more than the music touching something deep inside her on a spiritual level.
Each time I asked about it, she would scoff and change the subject.
When we would do chores around the house, Zeppelin’s music would always play in the background.
It was her love of Jimmy that had me reaching for her cello that first time.
I taught myself how to play “Kashmir” to make her laugh.
It was messy and loud and so awful. I’d never seen her look at me with more pride, though.
She sat on our thrifted couch, face glowing, eyes alight with love and amusement each time I destroyed the song.
After that, she started giving me lessons, which only went so far.
Cello had been a phase for her that she hadn’t taken seriously enough past her teens.
My love for the instrument was bigger than hers had ever been, and she saw my passion, my raw talent.
That was when she began working a third job to cover costs for a teacher who would expand my musical education, giving me countless opportunities to grow as a cellist.
But when Mom had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, I’d lost the joy of playing for a little while. It wasn’t until she was delirious as she lay dying in that hospice bed, begging me to play for her, that I forced myself to pick up the cello again.
She requested “Stairway to Heaven” over and over. Through blinding tears, I gave her what she asked for, keeping the tempo slower and softer than the original so as not to disturb the other residents.
It was the only song that filled my mind when I needed to switch up my performance for the talent competition.
I could play it in my sleep from muscle memory alone.
Each note wove a spell around me, casting me back to all the good memories Mom and I had created together over the last eighteen years.
Through the full seven and a half minutes, I kept my gaze on the lovely woman in the front row, imagining it was my mom in her seat. The woman gave me a smile that was warm with understanding.
Once I was seated center stage, I could see her face clearer.
At first glance, I thought she was younger, maybe in her thirties, but I could make out laugh lines around her eyes that suggested she was older.
Her blond hair was pulled back into that classic Barbie ponytail, with her long bangs swept to the side.
It showed off her graceful neck with the simple teardrop necklace.
While she wasn’t someone I was familiar with, a pang pulled in my chest, as if some invisible string suddenly linked us together.
I played my mother’s favorite song for her, forgetting about the crowd and the competition.
All thoughts of Maya sabotaging me flew from my mind.
Nothing else mattered but creating the music that had brought my mom peace in her final days and sharing it with this stranger.
For those seven-plus minutes, I got to pretend that I wasn’t carrying the loss of Mom alone, that someone else cared enough to lift the grief and the fear of the unknown from my shoulders.
Just a few minutes of weightlessness and a small glimpse of the joy my music brought to another person on this stranger’s beautiful face.
As the final chord echoed hauntingly through the auditorium, a few tears spilled from my eyes, and that ache in my chest returned tenfold.
I missed my mom so much. Not seeing her sitting where she should have been caused grief to flood in, just as intense and raw as the day I’d lost her, crushing my heart all over again.
There was a brief moment of complete silence, as if not a single person dared to breathe, the weight of their stares holding me in place, my fingers clutching my cello and bow.
Then the beautiful woman jumped to her feet, already clapping, the brightest smile on her lovely face.
As if awoken from a spell, everyone else in the audience rushed to join in, clapping so loudly that my eardrums rang from the volume.
Everything else from there was a blur. Claudia Kelly, the woman acting as the host of the talent competition, swept onto the stage, murmuring something about my unexpected but incredible performance.
She was some minor celebrity who worked events like this for the school for free as long as she could use the footage for her social media.
Apparently she was an alumnus from a decade before.
All the other participants were brought out to stand with me as someone passed the hostess an envelope.
Everyone lined up in order of their performance, which put Maya right beside me at the opposite end of the stage from Claudia.
My sister gave me a sneer and then turned to the crowd, beaming as we were all introduced individually one last time before the winners were announced.
Fear and excitement choked me, my fingers so slick with sweat I could barely hold on to my cello, let alone care that Maya was trying to antagonize me.
My heart was racing so fast I couldn’t hear over the rush of blood in my ears.
Someone bumped my shoulder roughly to my right, nearly knocking my cello out of my hand.
Maya gave me a withering glare when I looked at her. She didn’t apologize for bumping me, which had been more of a shoulder check. Instead of speaking to her, I cocked a brow and took two steps back from her. That made her smirk, triumph glittering in her eyes.
“And the winners are…” I turned my attention back to Claudia as she lifted the results from the envelope.
Her glossy dark-blond hair and makeup were overdramatic, making her appear more like a contestant for Miss America than the host of a talent show at a private high school in Santa Monica.
Members of the film club were moving around from every angle of the stage, capturing everyone’s reactions and broadcasting them live on the school’s private social channels.
“In third place, we have Maya Myers with her beautiful ballet performance!”
A sound of choked disbelief came from my sister.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing out loud.
That would be petty and mean, which was Maya’s MO, not mine.
Her mouth dropped open, eyes bulging out of her head like a cartoon character.
All too quickly, she switched the angry shock to a forced smile that definitely didn’t reach her eyes.
Stepping forward to applause, she took the trophy and the bouquet of flowers from the judges who had joined us onstage. Once she did the air kisses with each judge who gushed and fawned over her, she stepped back, her eyes on fire with fury.
“Second place goes to Tyler Jarrel for his rendition of ‘Dancing Through Life’ that was absolutely brilliant!”
Tyler stepped forward, already shaking everyone’s hands before getting his trophy and flowers.
He was a nice guy, part of the drama club, and one of my few classmates who didn’t treat me like I was diseased simply because I was a scholarship student.
I clapped along with the rest of the crowd, happy for him.
Internally, I was freaking out. If I lost, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Somehow, someway, I’d figure out a way to keep my apartment. That was what I kept reassuring myself of. Seeing Maya’s face when she got third place was a reward all on its own. Whoever did win would truly deserve it.
“And our first-place winner…” Claudia paused for dramatic effect, and all I wanted to do was cry. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, tossing and turning until I felt like I might puke in front of everyone. “Sutton Russell!”
Relief made me so dizzy, it took a few moments before I could move.
All the clapping snapped me out of my daze, and I found myself looking straight at the beautiful woman in the front row, somehow needing her to confirm that I wasn’t dreaming.
She grinned, giving me a thumbs-up and mouthed, “Congrats!”
Blinking back the sudden tears flooding my eyes, I stepped forward…
And stumbled over Maya’s foot. Heels weren’t something I wore regularly.
I wasn’t exactly graceful in them to begin with.
My left ankle twisted when I overcorrected, my hold on my cello slipping, and it made an overly loud bang as it landed on the floor.
I was more focused on it than myself, which meant I followed it down, desperately trying to protect my precious instrument.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as I hit my knees before landing on top of my beautiful cello hard enough it knocked the oxygen from my lungs, something sharp stabbing into my lower abdomen like a knife.
But I still heard it, that awful snap.
“No, no, no,” I whispered frantically, a plea, a prayer as I pushed up on my hands and then sat back on my knees that were stinging.
There wasn’t time to feel humiliated or the rage that was sure to follow.
I didn’t see the flashing lights of cameras or the film club getting their close-ups of my tumble.
All I felt was panic and gut-wrenching sorrow. “Please, no.”
But there was no use in begging. It was broken. My mother’s cello, the only piece I still had of her that I could hold on to, was cracked, the neck completely severed from the base.
Winning that money would save me from being homeless, but it came at a steep price that left me gutted.
“Clumsy bitch,” Maya muttered just loud enough for me to hear. A few of the other contestants, our fellow seniors, laughed. “You should really watch where you’re walking.”
Several people stepped forward, hands outstretched, ready to assist me up. I shied away from them all, curling in on myself as I held the broken neck of the cello in one hand.
“Oh goodness, are you okay?” someone asked, grasping my elbow. One of the judges, I guessed.
“Here. Let’s get you up,” Claudia urged, hesitantly putting a hand on my shoulder.
I flinched, shrugging off the touch, shifting my body away from the unknown people as they attempted to get me to stand. Tears spilled down my face faster, the strings of the cello the only thing connecting the neck to the body.
“She’s bleeding!” a voice I didn’t recognize exclaimed, and then I heard more running feet that sounded like thunder on the stage floor.
Through the veil of tears, I looked up at the beautiful blonde from the crowd, the woman who had eased my nervousness and given me an all-too-brief moment of solace during my performance.
Crouching down in front of me, she touched her hand to my side, and I couldn’t hold back the whimper as pain shot through me.
“Someone call an ambulance,” she commanded, the authority in her voice causing Claudia and the other woman beside me to jump into action.
“Sutton, hi. My name is Harper. Sweetheart, you seem to be in shock. You have a large piece of wood sticking out of your right side. It looks like part of the cello broke off and…”
“It’s ruined,” I whispered, holding the neck of the cello to my chest. “It was all I had left of her.”
“Of whom, honey?” Harper asked quietly, her violet gaze darkening.
“M-my mom. She…died.” I gulped back a sob. “Recently.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said with what sounded like genuine understanding. “We’ll get it fixed, I promise. But right now, we need to get you medical attention.”
“Maybe we should pull it out?” Maya suggested, crouching down beside us, the fake concern in her voice causing my fingers to flex around the wood in my hand. I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up and stay the hell away from me, but my voice suddenly stopped working.
“No!” Harper said sharply. “They can do that at the hospital. We don’t remove sharp objects lodged in the body.”
“But it’s not that deep,” Maya argued, lifting her hand before I could even flinch away. “Hey!”
“Don’t touch it!” Harper snapped, slapping Maya’s hand away. “Stand back. Sutton needs room to breathe. What’s the ETA on that ambulance?”
“En route,” the judge answered, her phone still to her ear. She glanced around frantically before waving the headmaster over. “Emergency contact?”
“Who is here with Sutton?” Harper called out to the audience, causing a fresh flood of tears to blind me.
There was no one. Mom was the only family I had. Wade Myers didn’t count. He was nothing more than a name on my birth certificate and the one who signed the tuition checks for my private education.
“She’s just an orphan here on scholarship, living off everyone else’s dime,” Maya explained. “No one ever comes for her.”
“Shut the fuck up, Maya,” Tyler told her, appearing behind Harper. “Her mom was always at events for Sutton. All four years, she was front and center.”
Pain shot through my chest, piercing my heart.
I miss her so much.
“Kids, let’s not argue,” Claudia said with a strained laugh. Then she whispered, “Remember that we are still live.”
“Right. We wouldn’t want to show the world what a bitch Maya Myers is,” Tyler sneered.
“She didn’t win first place, and now she’s trying to degrade the nice, quiet girl who never bothers anyone.
Yet she’s always had a petty vendetta against her.
Tell the world you’re jealous without telling them you’re jealous. I’ll wait.”
Damn, Tyler, tell her how you really feel. If only he had been this fierce the last four years. We might have had a chance to be friends. That would have been nice. Having a friend, an ally. Someone who would have made each day inside the school grounds bearable.
But maybe his defense of me was more for the cameras that were still rolling, along with all the phones recording. Just because Tyler hadn’t been openly mean to me didn’t suddenly make him some white knight in my time of need.
“Sutton?” Harper asked softly, and I felt myself begin to sway, the world around me going fuzzy. “Oh crap.”
Her arms caught me, easing me onto the floor before I passed out. Blinking hard, I tried to keep her in focus. “I want my mom.”
“Shh, baby,” she soothed. “It’s going to be okay. Do you want me to call your dad? Someone else?”
“There’s no one,” I murmured, closing my eyes. The world was spinning, and my limbs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each.
“Well, there is now,” she said, her words sounding like a promise. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”