“Scout?”
“Yeah, of course. Haven’t you seen them? Some of them have been here all weekend. They’re mostly looking at the seniors. They find out where you’re planning on going, then try to convince you to go to their schools. Funny thing is that a lot of these kids aren’t even planning on studying music.”
In the next morning’s auditions, the judges wouldn’t see the competitors, only hear them. When it was Ray’s turn, he entered the green room adjoining the stage that had been converted to an audition room.
Down the center of the room, blocking the other side from view, an enormous white plastic sheet hung from the ceiling. Three sets of legs were visible below: two sets in trousers, and one set wearing pantyhose and high heels.
In the center of the open space before him, a lone music stand beckoned. On it lay a single sheet of music: the Offenbach solo. Ray swallowed. He knew he could play the notes, but making this solo sound good was a real challenge. Although the Berlin Philharmonic performance was the best one he’d found online, it was still a rougher recording than he wished it had been. Why hadn’t he spent more time studying a better recording?
No time to think about it. No time to second-guess. He lifted PopPop’s fiddle to his jaw, closed his eyes, and dove in.
The solo came from Orpheus in the Underworld—a spikey, brittle moment in the lushness of the rest of the piece, high-soaring phrases leaping like frogs from one high note to the next.
He pressed his jaw against the chin rest, tried to make the solo lilting and effervescent, imagining beetles scaling trees, birds lifting off one branch and alighting on another, higher branch, looking out at the view, and then leaping even higher.
One minute later it was over.
After dinner, the conductor, in a quick monotone, read out the results of the auditions, starting with the second violins. This was Ray’s first blind audition—for the first time he’d be placed according to how well he played the music. No one had an unfair advantage. The conductor didn’t call Ray’s name. Had he made first violin?
“First violins. Your seating is as follows. Jenny Carlson. Congratulations. You’re the concertmistress.” A tiny red-headed girl two seats over from Ray would be playing the Offenbach solo. She screamed and hugged her stand partner.
In the commotion, Ray didn’t hear the next names ring out. The judge hadn’t called him. Had he not even placed at all? Was he last chair? His anxiety rose. The students were shifting to their assigned seats. Ray raised his hand. “Sir, I think I missed my name being called. Ray McMillian.”
“Rayquan McMillian. Yep, there you are. Third chair.”
He was third chair, first violin. His legs moved on their own. The associate concertmaster position. If the concertmistress and her stand partner, the number two violinist, left for any reason—if either got sick or broke a string, or just decided to go home—Ray would be playing the solo. The responsibility of leading the orchestra would fall to him. He didn’t think there was any chance of this happening, but still.
Ray had to pass Mark Jennings, three chairs back, to get to his new seat, so he heard Mark mumble to one of his buddies, “What the fuck is going on? How the hell did that nigger beat me?”
“You need to open your mouth when you speak,” Ray told him. “Someone could mistake what you say for something, oh I don’t know, racist?”
“Fuck you, Ray Ray.”
Ray grinned and took his seat as the associate concertmaster.
* * *
—
By Sunday morning, they were ready. He understood now the joy of playing with a full orchestra, how the other players lifted him up, how his own notes blended and soared and twisted with the rest. Every time the conductor raised his baton, new joy blossomed in his chest. Each note felt special, a gift.
At the end of the performance, they went into the dressing rooms to pack up their instruments. His stand partner whispered, eyes wide, “You were incredible. I’ve never seen somebody so into the music before. It was really cool to watch. I think I learned a lot just sitting next to you.”
“Um, thanks,” he said. “You too.” But he couldn’t remember even noticing her during the performance.
Back down the narrow hallway, from dressing room to main auditorium, he and the other students headed out. The audience had come onstage. Most kids now held huge bouquets that their parents, glowing with pride, must have given them.
Mixed in with the adults were men and women wearing blazers with university insignia on their left lapels: Duke Blue Devils, Appalachian State Mountaineers, and others he didn’t recognize. Scouts, here to recruit students for their colleges.