Spark by Holly Schindler

Author:Holly Schindler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

eighteen

The mirror flashes white, like a blank screen, then begins to spit back only my wide-eyed reflection. Behind me, tinny, harpsichord-sounding notes float up from the pit.

“The pads on these hammers are rock hard,” Dylan explains, his words jumbling, like they’re all in a race to be the first out of his mouth. “They should be soft, but the humidity in here, all these years—it’s like hitting the strings inside with something wooden. Makes a different tone.”

I creep to the edge of the stage, the strap of my backpack digging into my shoulder. I push my glasses higher up onto my nose and watch the two of them.

Dylan’s panting, and he wiggles his mouth as if he wants to say something else, but he keeps stopping himself. Now that there’s been a pause, he’s afraid the biggest miracle of his life might have already come and gone, passed him as quickly as a car on the highway.

Cass is standing beside the piano, unable to keep from touching the side of her face, which is suddenly as smooth as a fresh fitted sheet.

“I’ve been trying to kind of rough up the pads. With that voicing tool. Make them softer. To sound better.” Dylan flashes a toothy grin. It’s still working. Some invisible voicing tool has certainly worked its magic on him.

Dylan props the show music on the stand at the top of the piano. And I’ve decided to find a seat in the front row.

“Ready?” he asks quietly. When Cass doesn’t respond, he touches her arm as if to get her attention. “Ready?” he asks again.

Cass blinks and nods, finally dropping her hand.

I unzip my backpack, pull out the Anything Goes script.

Dylan stretches his fingers and begins to play with a new confidence—as though he knows there’s no chance of a single sour note. In response, Cass’s back straightens. Her voice is a mix of light and dark and strength and softness. A tone that isn’t just one color, but a rainbow of shades.

They hold nothing back, performing with emotion and ease, because no one is here to watch, to offer judgment. This is the kind of no-second-thoughts performance that Mom has heard during sleepovers; it’s the reason she gave Cass the lead.

But they’ve also seen themselves in a new way. They’ve stepped into a different skin. And it changes how they behave. This is no longer the old Cass and Dylan. These are two people the outside world has never seen before.

I’m astounded. I need to record what’s happening—jot down some sort of directorial notes. I grab a pen from the front pocket of my backpack, flip to the end of the script. But there’s no room. I dip back into my backpack, pulling out the old red journal. And stare at the cover. It doesn’t seem right to muck up Bertie’s journal.

But I need to write this—not notes, that’s not the shape my thoughts are taking. Not anymore. I flip to the end of the journal and begin to

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