Yet this player seemed earthbound, terrified. Yes, her wings were already strong and supple. But her heart did not seem ready to trust the sky.
Lucy took out her most delicate plane. This, at least, she could do.
Fingers were so sensitive; a little difference in the fingerboard could make a violin seem graceful, flirtatious. Even dangerous.
Lucy Matía pushed her plane forward. Slivers of ebony fluttered upon her lap.
When someone needs to fly, sometimes it’s best to pull the ground away.
* * *
The next day, Shizuka came downstairs to find Katrina. Her laptop teetered on the corner of the table as usual.
“I’m sorry! I’m just trying to download a video.”
Download? Oh, never mind. She would learn the terminology soon enough. Shizuka reached into her purse and retrieved a small iridescent cube.
“Katrina, here you go.”
“Miss Satomi?”
“That Wi-Fi you wanted.”
“What?”
“Your Wi-Fi. I told Lan to give me a Wi-Fi, and her son gave me this. He said the signal should reach everywhere in the house and probably the yard. Now you won’t need to sit that way at the kitchen table.”
Katrina held the cube. It was heavier than she expected. And the surface was cool, smooth—almost like solid glass.
“Where’s the router and the cable input? And … um … where’s the plug?”
Miss Satomi shrugged. “I think you’re just supposed to use it.”
She took the cube from Katrina’s hand and placed it on the cabinet next to a picture of her with Yo-Yo Ma.
“Yo-Yo, meet Wi-Fi. Wi-Fi, meet Yo-Yo.”
“Wait, I don’t understand—”
“You turn it on like this.” Miss Satomi tapped it gently, and one face began to glow a soft blue.
“She said you’re supposed to use Starrgate, with two r’s.”
“Um … sure…”
Katrina didn’t know what was going on. But “Starrgate” appeared on her network menu. She connected immediately. She tilted her head and tried to download a video.
Wait—the download was already complete? She tried another.
And now a full-length movie.
“Is it good?”
“YES! I mean, yes. I mean, thank you!”
After breakfast, Shizuka showed Katrina the laptop that Lan had given her, and Katrina showed her how to search for videos.
“You mean I can just give you a name, and you can find a video?”
“Yes, of course,” Katrina said. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it to sound like that. It’s just, Miss Satomi, weren’t you living in Tokyo?
“I know … How can I not know about the Internet? Look, I just had this conversation with Lan. So why don’t you show me now?”
“Yes, Miss Satomi.”
For most of the morning, they watched concert footage, TV broadcasts, even newsreels. Some were in color; others were black-and-white. Another musician. Another. Each was someone whom Katrina had never heard of. Each was someone whom Katrina would never, ever forget.
* * *
It was late afternoon. Katrina was relaxing in her room, snacking on Emmental and mustard green sandwiches.
Emmental?
How was she even saying this?
Katrina recalled the videos they watched. Those musicians were wearing gowns and tuxedoes, and there were conductors and orchestras. And these were Miss Satomi’s colleagues, as well as her students. They were champions, prizewinners, people who had toured Asia, Europe.
She could understand why those musicians were given training, scholarships, fellowships. But how was she supposed to be next? Her musical career was an eBay violin, a few group lessons, a used copy of Schradieck, and some shitty gaming music covers on YouTube.
Who the fuck was she?
And let’s not even talk about how poorly her practices were going.
The entire situation was impossible. Miss Satomi didn’t care about her being transgender. Miss Satomi didn’t care about her being a runaway. Miss Satomi didn’t even care about her money.
But why did Miss Satomi care about her?
She was to be the next touring superstar? Yeah, right. She couldn’t even play a proper spiccato. Or was that an arpeggio?
And there was yet another concern. Even if she stretched her doses, Katrina had only enough hormones for two more weeks. What then?
Just walk up and ask Miss Satomi for money to buy spironolactone and estradiol?
Katrina quickly finished the rest of her sandwiches. Okay, then. She was on borrowed time. Katrina trusted Miss Satomi enough to assume she would not be kicked out tomorrow, but sooner or later, Miss Satomi would have to realize that selecting Katrina was a mistake.