Chapter 30
THIRTY
Nerves ricocheted around my stomach as I approached the auditorium in downtown Missoula where the Montana Philharmonic was holding their auditions. I’d second-guessed every decision this morning, from my black dress to my hair styled in an updo that somewhat tamed my wild curls.
To say I was nervous would be a gross understatement.
Outside the auditorium, a small cluster of musicians hovered near the entrance, all with the same tense expressions and carefully arranged formal wear.
I recognized a few from regional competitions—including Carson Lin, whose skill on the violin was intimidating even to seasoned performers.
He’d probably play something flawlessly and make us all look like novices.
“Harper?” Carson looked up from his sheet music as I approached. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
I forced a smile, ignoring his remark. “Good to see you, Carson.”
“You’re auditioning for the fellowship?” Unfortunately, being talented had never taught Carson how to have class. Instead he was a prick who thought he was better than everyone else. Maybe talentwise that was true, but otherwise he was a condescending and terminally judgmental human being.
“I am.”
“Interesting.” His tone suggested otherwise. “What are you playing?”
Before I could answer, a cellist exited the auditorium looking slightly shell-shocked. “They’re brutal in there.”
Perfect. Just what my nerves needed.
I excused myself from Carson and headed into the waiting area, taking a seat on a plush bench away from the other musicians. From inside the auditorium, I could hear fragments of another audition—a flutist playing what sounded like Mozart, technically perfect but it still somehow lacked soul.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I quickly pulled it out, half expecting to see Drew’s name.
My stomach did a little flip when I realized how much I wished it were him.
The almost-kiss from yesterday had been playing on repeat in my mind, making it nearly impossible to focus on practicing once I’d gone home.
What was even more distracting was how much I wished it wasn’t an almost-kiss at all, but a real one.
But it wasn’t Drew.
Rachel
Knock ’em dead! You’ve got this!
I smiled, sending back a quick thanks before silencing my phone. I couldn’t afford any distractions right now.
The door opened and the flutist emerged, looking relieved to be done. A woman with a clipboard appeared in the doorway.
“Harper Tinsley?” she called out.
“Here,” I said, standing from my seat.
“We’re ready for you.”
My heart hammered as I gathered my violin case and music folder.
I’d been preparing for this moment for months.
I was pretty sure I could perform both of these pieces in my sleep at this point.
And it wasn’t the end of the world if I didn’t secure the fellowship.
But it was the first thing I’d wanted so badly in a very long time, and it would be one more thing to prove that my passion wasn’t just a hobby.
Inside, the auditorium felt cavernous despite being only half the size of a standard concert venue.
Three people sat at a table in the center of the room—Dr. Eleanor Werner, the fellowship director, Jonah Patel, the principal violinist for the Montana Philharmonic, and a third judge I didn’t recognize but who had the severe look of someone who had heard too many mediocre auditions today.
“Ms. Tinsley,” Dr. Werner said, glancing down at her notes. “You’re a music therapy major at Clark Fork University?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“An unusual background for this fellowship. Most of our applicants are performance majors.”
I swallowed the urge to defend my choice. “Music therapy combines performance with practical applications that help people heal. I believe that makes me uniquely qualified to connect with diverse audiences.”
Mr. Patel nodded slightly, looking mildly interested for the first time. “What will you be playing for us today?”
“I’ll begin with Bach’s Chaconne in D minor.”
They gave no reaction. Just expectant stares.
I unpacked my violin carefully, my fingers running over the polished wood as I mentally prepared.
This instrument had been my voice when words failed me, my constant companion through every disappointment and triumph.
I’d saved for three years to afford it, working odd jobs around Meadowbrook when my parents refused to help with the purchase.
Taking a deep breath, I positioned the violin under my chin, feeling its familiar weight. I closed my eyes for a moment and centered myself.
Then I began to play.
The Bach Chaconne was demanding—a piece I’d chosen specifically to showcase both technical skill and emotional depth.
My bow moved across the strings with smooth precision as I navigated the complex harmonies and intricate passages.
The piece demanded everything, and I surrendered to the music, letting it flow through me rather than from me.
When the final note resonated through the hall, there was a moment of silence before Dr. Werner nodded. “And your second piece?”
Here was the moment of truth.
“For my second piece, I’ll be performing an original composition.”
The reaction was immediate. The third judge’s eyebrows shot up, and he exchanged a glance with Dr. Werner. Mr. Patel leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharpening with interest.
“An original composition?” Dr. Werner’s tone was carefully neutral. “That’s unconventional.”
My heart pounded against my ribs. “I believe it demonstrates both my technical abilities and my creative vision.”
“Very well.” She made a note on her clipboard. “Proceed.”
I took a moment to reset, adjusting my stance and taking a deep breath.
This piece was different—more personal and raw.
It had come to me in fragments during quiet moments, late nights and early mornings when the world felt both uncertain and full of possibility.
The melody had evolved naturally, almost without my conscious direction, shaped by experiences I was still trying to understand.
It contained questions without answers and emotions I was terrified to name.
The piece began almost tentatively, before building into something more complex. It wove together classical techniques with subtle influences from folk traditions, creating something that felt both familiar and entirely new. The melody spoke of uncertainty giving way to hope.
And in it were woven small nods to the lullaby I always sang for Rory.
As I played the final passage, a surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm me. I finished with a sustained note that hung in the air even after I lowered my bow.
The silence that followed felt eternal.
Finally, Mr. Patel cleared his throat. “May I ask why you chose to present an original composition for such an important audition? It is quite unconventional.”
The question could have been merely curious or deeply critical, but his tone gave nothing away.
“I composed this piece because I wanted to show who I really am,” I said, finding my voice.
“Classical works demonstrate skill, but they don’t necessarily show my voice as an artist. This piece does.
It’s something genuine that came from experiences that shaped me.
I could play another contemporary composer perfectly, but that wouldn’t tell you anything about me that any other violinist couldn’t show you. ”
Dr. Werner’s expression remained unreadable. “You’re taking quite a risk.”
“The most meaningful opportunities usually require taking risks,” I replied, surprising myself with my confidence.
The third judge, who hadn’t spoken until now, leaned forward. “What would you say influenced this composition?”
I thought of Drew’s face in the dim light of his living room, the way he’d looked at me when I played for him, like I was pure magic come to life.
“Life,” I answered simply. “Loss and discovery. The realization that what we think we know about people and ourselves isn’t always accurate.”
He nodded, making a note on the sheet of paper in front of him. “Thank you, Ms. Tinsley. We’ll be in touch with our decision.”
And just like that, it was over.
I packed up my violin with hands that suddenly felt unsteady. Had I made a terrible mistake? The expressions on their faces had been impossible to read.
Outside in the bright April sunshine, I felt strangely hollow. I’d given everything I had in that room—not just my skill but pieces of my soul—and I had no idea if it had been enough.
If I was enough.
Had I thrown away my chance at the fellowship by being too unconventional? Should I have played it safe?
I was home within twenty minutes, and both Rachel and Ayanna were eager to hear how it went.
“I have no idea. It could go either way.”
Ayanna shook her head. “There’s no way you don’t get it. That piece you composed was incredible and they’d be lucky to have you.”
I gave her a small smile, but doubts kept me from believing her words.
The next few hours passed as I replayed every note, every reaction in my mind. I was sitting on my bed, strumming my guitar, feeling gloomy and depressed when my phone rang with an unknown, local number.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Tinsley? This is Dr. Eleanor Werner from the Montana Philharmonic.”
My heart stuttered. I didn’t expect them to call this quickly. Was that a good sign or were they just letting me down early?
“Hi,” I said lamely, unable to move.
“I’m calling to inform you that after our deliberations, we would like to offer you a place in our summer fellowship.”
I about fell off my bed as the world seemed to tilt sideways. “I—what? Really?”
“Yes, really.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice. “Your skill is impressive, but it was your original composition that set you apart. It was unexpectedly moving. We’re interested in seeing how you develop over the summer program.”
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you so much.”
“We’ll send the formal details by email tonight. The fellowship begins the second week of June.”
“I look forward to it.”
She ended the call with one more congratulations, and I clutched my phone in my hands as shock wore off into excitement.
I’d done it. I’d been chosen.
Giddiness had me wiggling on my bed as I scrolled to my messages and frantically started typing out a text.
Me
I got the fellowship!!!!
I was about to press send when my brain caught up with what I was doing and I dropped my phone.
Of all the people for me to share this news with first, it should’ve been Rachel, Ayanna, Talia, or even Brody.
Instead I stared at the composed, but unsent, text to Drew.