Of course, Amie wanted what this couple had, what her parents had, what Nina and Maura had.
“When you told me about the wedding, what I should have said is that you’re strong,” Amie had cried to her sister, just a few days prior, pleading for her forgiveness. “You are so strong, Nina. And so is Maura. You’ve chosen love over everything else, and I admire you for that. And I only hope that you can let me back into your life, so I can be there for you both. Because I know this will be hard. But I also know that it’s right.”
Amie wanted to be strong, too. She didn’t want to be a coward, or selfish, or a hypocrite, all those jagged words that Nina had flung at her. She didn’t want to be one of the people whom Ben had written about, forcing short-stringers into the margins, making them feel unlovable. The people who had driven thousands to the streets in protest.
If only it were as simple as her sister made it seem: Take a chance on someone. See where it goes. What do you have to lose?
Everything, Amie thought.
How did Nina do it?
And more than that, how did Ben and Maura and all the other short-stringers do it? How did they find the strength every day?
Amie remembered what Nina once told her: You don’t know what you’re capable of. And maybe Nina was right. But everyone around Amie just seemed so much more capable. She couldn’t even open her box.
Amie pulled her knees into her chest, the blue fabric of her dress cascading down her legs, just barely missing the sidewalk, and hugged her arms around her bent knees, trying to decide what to do.
That’s when she heard it.
Faint at first, but growing louder. Rising out of the silence around her.
When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, “What will I be?”
“There’s no way,” Amie whispered to herself, not yet believing her ears.
She quickly stood up, trying to locate the source of the music.
“Will I be pretty, will I be rich?”
Here’s what she said to me
The melody was coming from the end of the block, and Amie started running toward the sound, heels striking the pavement. She reached the corner just in time to spot the bicyclist from behind as he pedaled away from her, his purple blazer flapping gently in the breeze.
Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
The future’s not ours to see
Que será, será
Amie stood on the corner, dumbfounded and panting.
Then she started laughing. Louder and harder, until she almost felt embarrassed, despite the fact that she was alone.
As she regained her composure, a gust of cold wind blew past, lifting the edges of her dress, and she felt invigorated, awoken.
Amie knew that she had to go back inside.
She needed to find Ben.
What will be, will be.
Anthony
Anthony and Katherine were the last to leave the building. They had been meeting with the mayor in his office at City Hall as part of a brief campaign stop in New York, amid a larger attempt at damage control after Jack’s stunt.
In the days following the incident, footage of Jack’s outburst circulated online and replayed on air, while dozens of embarrassing memes were spawned from images of Anthony’s seething expression. The Rollinses had been bracing for a disastrous month, to say the least. But nearly every politician or wealthy donor had a surprisingly similar tale of familial dysfunction, of children or grandchildren breaking ranks and siding with their opponents. （“You should hear what my niece and nephew would say about me,” they all said with a laugh.） And while Jack’s immature rebellion may have resonated with some undecided voters under age thirty, it ultimately had a negligible impact on much of Anthony’s core base: older, anxious Americans who felt their tranquil, long-string lives were being threatened by the very anger and erraticism that Jack had displayed onstage.
Since they were hoping not to be accosted by too many people—either fans looking for a photo or protesters looking for a fight—Anthony and Katherine had scheduled their meeting at City Hall just before five p.m., so they could exit the office after most employees had already left for the night.
In this part of the city, the streets emptied after dusk, and as they walked out to meet their town car, they saw only one other person, a young woman in a blue dress and heels, sitting pensively on the curb. Katherine wondered aloud if the poor girl had just been stood up, or perhaps dumped during dinner nearby. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to recognize them.
The car was late to pick them up, so they were waiting around the corner, slightly miffed, when Anthony’s phone lit up with an advance copy of the next day’s news. His numbers had dipped for the first time since June.