Falling Stars (Shooting Stars 5)

"I didn't want to say anything about last night" she whispered. "but when you did..."

"What did you actually see?" I asked.

"Nothing more than you said," she replied. "I feel silly now. I'm not afraid of any shadows and I certainly don't believe in ghosts."

She continued walking quickly to catch up with Cinnamon and Howard, heading to their first drama session with Brock Marlowe, I stood there watching. Ice, who had overheard, looked at me, her eves full of confusion. Steven poked me.

"I don't think we can be a second late for Mr. Bergman. He doesn't look like the tolerant type."

I caught up with him quickly, glancing back at Ice, who turned and headed for her vocal lesson. Rose was already at the dance studio door.

I wasn't afraid of any shadow and I didn't believe in ghosts or spirits either, but there was something else here, something that was not described in our orientation booklets, something in the heart of this old house, like a secret of the heart long forgotten, trying to be remembered, calling to anyone who would listen.

Maybe I was the first who would,

Mr. Bergman began with a thorough evaluation of our musical abilities and knowledge. He had Steven play some pieces and then he had me play my violin. He listened and watched us and then gave us other pieces to try. Before our session ended, he had us play a duet.

When I first had my duet lessons with Chandler Maxwell at Mr. Wengrow"s, I thought Chandler was the most brilliant pianist I had ever heard, but I had to admit. Steven was truly exceptionally gifted. His fingers floated over the keys as if they each had a mind of their own, and when he played, all the impishness in his face, all of his lackadaisical expression disappeared. It was truly a wonder to watch his body metamorphose into someone so different from the carefree boy I was getting to know away from the piano. The instrument, the notes he played invaded his body and even his soul. When my Uncle. Peter had said the violin played me and not vice versa, he was really talking about someone like Steven. I thought.

Since he went ahead of me. I was sure Mr. Bergman would see how special he was and how ordinary I was, but he didn't react that way. He didn't change expression or make any negative comments, nor did his voice take on any displeasure when I played.

He kept us at it for nearly three hours, and when our session ended, he sat silently for a long moment. I glanced at Steven, who raised his eyebrows in a question mark. Was Mr. Bergman about to tell us we weren't good enough?

"There is a great deal you both have to learn about technique," he began, "There's a tendency to rush, which is usual for people your age with your limited experiences. In my estimation. I would say neither of you have reached even fifty percent of your capabilities. In short, we have a great deal of work to do here. Much of that will seem elementary to you at first. but I want you to trust me. I want to work with you separately for a while. Who likes getting up earlier?"

"Not me." Steven replied quickly.

"I spent most of my life getting up very early to do my farm chores before I went off to school. Mr. Bergman. I don't mind it.

He smiled. Finally there was a friendly, warm expression on that critical face.

"Good," he said. "You and I will meet from eight to ten the first few weeks and Steven. I'll see you promptly at ten every morning.

"Very good." he concluded, then without further comment rose and left the room.

"Does that mean we're excellent candidates or not?" Steven wondered aloud.

"It does to me."

I was happy. In my mind I had met the first test. My instructor wanted to continue with me.

"Elementary," Steven muttered. "He's just making work for himself, if you ask me."

As if to prove his point, he sat at the piano again and began to play an entire concerto from memory, which I recognized as Beethoven's Piano Concerto 14 in C Sharp Minor. It was one of Chandler's favorites. but I never saw him do it withou

t sheet music. Steven's eyes were closed as he played. I stood there listening and watching him and then. when I turned to leave. I saw Madame Senetsky standing in the doorway.

"How was your first lesson?" she asked me.

"Fine. I think. It was mostly evaluation." She nodded.

Steven continued playing, oblivious to her presence. She and I looked back at him. listening.

"Extraordinary." she said.

"He's wonderful," I agreed.

"In a pure sense of raw talent, yes, but so many who have that fail because they don't realize it's only a part of who and what they are. It's very draining to give so much of yourself all the time. It's why the training is so important. You understand?"