After each student played, his fellow judges would mutter a few pointers to the students, and scrawl additional comments on a score sheet. Ray always made sure to end with something positive and encouraging, but his fellow judges—who couldn’t seem to wait for him to stop talking—seemed to relish in being brutally unkind. Ray wondered if they were in a secret competition to figure out who could reduce the most students to tears.
The master class taking place in a few hours would consist of the players with the highest scores from the day, so Ray kept track of the scoring, just so he would have an idea of who he’d be teaching later. “I swear,” Jessica said to Henry, “I don’t know what these teachers are doing to these kids. The standards seem to get lower and lower every year.”
“This is a waste of my time,” Henry agreed. “These kids are very poorly trained.” He checked his watch. “Only another hour till lunch. Thank god.”
The next student, a Black teenager, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, came in with his mother. The boy held his violin and the mother carried a portable CD player. The boy set up and started tuning as the mother fiddled with the player.
“Are you kidding me? He doesn’t even have an accompanist?” Jessica said, loud enough for the boy to overhear.
“Can we get this over with, please?” Henry said as he stared out the window.
Ray found the boy’s name on the roster. “Hey, Bryce. What’re you going to play for us today?”
Bryce mumbled, “I’m playing ‘My Heart Will Go On’ from Titanic.”
“Excellent,” Ray said.
Jessica sighed.
“That’s one of my favorite songs,” Ray said. “Your accompaniment is recorded?”
“Yeah, is that okay?”
Before either of his fellow judges could respond, Ray leaned forward. “That’s just fine. We’re looking forward to hearing you. Anytime you’re ready.”
Bryce’s mom hit play.
Next to Ray, Jessica and Henry began writing immediately, not even listening. Ray leaned forward, engaged. Bryce needed a lot of technical work—his fingering was jumbled and the bowing was choppy—but much of the roughness could be smoothed out pretty quickly. The trick was to keep the kid engaged in playing, not let him get defeated.
Two and a half minutes later, Ray applauded and stood to shake Bryce’s and his mother’s hands.
“I thought you did a bang-up job,” Ray said. “Keep doing what you’re doing. You have a great sound and a killer vibrato. Are you working on any other music?”
“Not really. I can play the Concerto in A Minor.”
“The Vivaldi?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Fantastic. How would you like to play that in the master class this afternoon?”
“I’d love to.” Bryce grinned.
“Great, you’re on the list. You can play the Vivaldi. Nice work today. Keep it up.”
After they’d gone, Henry said, “If you teach him today, you’re taking a spot from someone who deserves it. I’m going to talk to someone about this. This just isn’t right.”
“What’s not right is that you wrote that kid off before you even heard a note,” Ray said, keeping his smile plastered on his face, pulling back his shoulders. “Why doesn’t he deserve an opportunity to learn?”
“This is absurd. There’s no way he’s ever going to—” Jessica stopped herself.
“There’s no way he’s ever going to what?”
“Can we have the next student?” Jessica said loudly.
For the rest of the hour, none of the judges spoke to one another.
The afternoon master class began at one o’clock. Each student was given a twenty-minute slot for Ray to work with them. All the white girls seemed like clones, playing the same pieces the same way, until Bryce got up to play and Ray perked up. Whispering from the audience seemed particularly loud. “Vivaldi in A Minor, right?” he said to Bryce.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We have Ms. Lakeland here to accompany you. Have you ever played with an accompanist?”
“No, this is my first time.”
“Great, this is pretty exciting. You can start when you’re ready.”
Bryce raised his violin. The collar of his dark blue polo shirt was askew as he tucked the violin under his jaw. Ms. Lakeland began, and Bryce followed. This was no virtuoso performance: his instrument was poor, like a school rental; his technique was mediocre; his shifting was awkward because his shoulder rest was the cheapest quality and barely held the violin in place. But Bryce continued to play. After the last notes he beamed at Ray and at Ms. Lakeland. “Wow, that was fun.”