chapter one: its a music minefield

Predictably, music has taken over my entire life.

As a music major at Peabody Conservatory, it’s pretty much what one would expect. Ever since I got off the waitlist for Peabody in senior year, I’ve devoted my entire life to cello. Freshman year, I was a double major in math at Johns Hopkins, but I quickly decided that it didn’t leave enough room for practicing, so I dropped it down to a minor. Being a performance major means living at the music school; in the symphony hall, in the practice rooms. Barely any time for anything else.

My family hates it. I barely call them; I never visit. Last year I stayed at school for fall break, Thanksgiving, and spring break. And I went to a music festival in North Carolina over the summer. I’ve gone home maybe twice since freshman year.

And I don’t talk to my high school friends anymore. Haven’t seen them since graduation. I was the “music kid,” the side character at most. I left the group chat, deleted Instagram. Don’t keep up with any of them.

“Lolaaaa.” Ben’s voice brings me back into reality, sliding into the seat next to me in the library. “I am not passing my juries this time around.”

I laugh, not looking up from the Rachmaninoff score I’m housing. “Yes you are, Ben. You always do.”

“They moved them before Thanksgiving!” he says, dramatically slumping face-down on the table. “I’m barely through the exposition of Bartok.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re low on viola applicants this year, so they’ll have to keep you.”

“Lola.”

I grin, enjoying teasing Ben.

Freshman year, I got lost trying to find the audition room, almost missing my symphony audition. Benjamin Nam found me crying beside the water fountain in Friedberg Hall. He sat down next to me and said, “I’m a violist, so all the cool kids shunned me. I guess I have a new friend now?” It made me laugh so hard I forgot all about getting lost, and he helped me find the right room after. He’s been my best friend ever since.

“How is the Dvorak going, anyways?”

Now it’s my turn to groan. “Don’t remind me.” The Dvorak cello concerto is famously difficult, but I really didn’t expect it to be that hard. I can’t even get through the first page yet, let alone the first movement.

He laughs. “So, we both fail our juries, then what?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Well, it’s not looking good for either of us.”

“It’s only Halloween.”

“Halloween was a week ago, Lola.” Ben gives me a look. “Have you been losing track of time already? I swear, you’re in the practice rooms way too much. Do you even touch grass?”

I throw a highlighter at him, which he catches. “Yes, I touch grass. Except not now, because it’s getting way too cold outside.”

Everyone talks about how Baltimore gets freezing in winter, but nobody warns you about the fall. It’s beautiful, majestic, red and orange trees, rain, low jazz music while taking a walk in the park. But the weather. It’s freezing by November. We got snow twice last fall.

“Nam, Nguyen!”

Ben and I look up. Milo Bewley stands in front of our table, dunks a stack of scores on top. “I need you to look over my composition.”

“Aren’t you doing the music theory homework now?” Ben says, nodding at my Rachmaninoff score.

“Yes. Harmonic analysis of the first movement of Rach 2,” I say, rubbing my neck. “Exactly how I wanted to spend my Friday afternoon.”

“That’s not a lie, and you know it,” Milo says. “Anyways, you’re literally the music theory goddess. You do harmonic analysis for fun.”

I nudge him, but it’s true. In high school, I got a 5 on AP music theory. Since freshman year, I’ve been top of my theory class. I just love music theory. It’s related to math, my minor, so it’s something I’m good at, too. Even music composition majors like Milo ask me for help.

“I’ll save it for Monday morning,” says Ben, getting up and stretching. “See you two nerds later!”

I stick my tongue out at him, and Milo slides into the now vacant seat. “I can wait for you to finish.”

“I was just finishing up,” I say, capping my pen. “Let’s see it.”

Like me, Milo is a little bit of an overachiever. Ever since freshman year music theory when we were assigned partners for the composition project, I knew we’d get along. Ben thinks we’re both crazy, but Ben thinks everyone who works hard is crazy.

“It’s good,” I say, nodding slowly. “String quartet?”

“You’re a cellist, so does this look okay to you? Like, is it possible to play that note?”

I laugh. “Maybe switch this to tenor clef. It’s easier for us to read that way.”

Milo groans. “It was a stretch to write alto clef, and now you want me to write tenor clef?”

“Here, I’ll do it.” I start erasing and rewriting.

“Thanks, Lola.”

“All done.” I hand the score back. “When’s this due?”

“Tonight.”

“Wow, Milo. Cutting it close, are we?”

“I finished days ago, but I’ve been revising ever since.”

I laugh, because I know the feeling. Milo is one of the few people that really understands me, being a perfectionist musician.

There was one other, in high school. Christian.

“Hey, are you free tonight?” Milo says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Ben and I wanted to grab dinner at Ramen Utsuke.”

“Sure,” I say, opening my Rachmaninoff score back up. “I just have to finish this theory homework and practice.”

Milo shakes his head, standing up. “You never do stop practicing, do you?”

I give him a funny look. “Juries and midterms are, like, now. You think I have time for anything else?”

“Just…don’t work too hard.” Milo stands up. “We only have two weeks before Thanksgiving break, and it’s basically easy money for the rest of the semester. Don’t burn yourself out just yet.”

I smile and flash him a fist. “Don’t worry about me.”

♫♫♫

The door jingles and I step in after Ben, rubbing my hands together. It’s cold and rainy outside, but the ramen shop is always humid. I unbutton my long red toggle coat, unpin my long hair.

Milo grabs us a table by the window. “Over here!”

I hang my coat around the chair and take a seat. After we order, I peer out the window. The rain looks like it’s going to turn into snow soon. Across the street, families walk together at the park, skates slung across their shoulders. The ice skating rink is full of couples skating, friends hand-in-hand. It looks like a snow globe.

“You have that look on your face, Lola,” says Milo.

“What?” I look at him.

“You’re about to say something poetic.”

“Shut up,” I say, nudging him.

“Seriously, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you,” Ben says.

I sigh. Honestly, I can’t get anything past them. “I was just looking outside.”

Milo follows my gaze. Two siblings race each other to the rink, their mom shouting from behind. A girl is teaching her little sister how to tie her ice skating shoes. It’s like a real-life Christmas snow globe, except I’m not in it.

Milo looks at me. He’s always been able to read me like a book. “You miss them.”

The waiter comes back with three bowls of noodles. Chicken noodle for me, spicy ramen for Ben, tonkotsu for Milo. I open my chopsticks and dig in, slurping loudly.

“Lola?”

“She’s always the first to eat,” says Ben.

I kick him under the table.

“So, is it true?”

I don’t need to ask who “them” is. He means my family, even my old friends. I haven’t seen them since the last weekend in summer, when I went home briefly to get my luggage for school.

Mom tried to make me stay longer. I told her I was going back to school early to get ahead, which I guess she thought was an acceptable answer, but I know she knew the real reason.

I blink hard.

“You should go home for Thanksgiving,” says Milo.

I roll my eyes. “Not a chance. After juries, I still have schoolwork to do.”

It’s half true. It should be the other way around, but my white mom is more strict than my dad, who is Vietnamese. She understood that I had work to do, but we both know that’s not the reason I’m staying at school.

Ben gives me a look. “Milo and I are both leaving. Who will you be with?”

“It’s okay to have some alone time.”

Ben scoffs, but Milo looks worried. “Lola, please go home. It would do you some good.”

“I already told my mom I’m not coming.”

“Are you having a big Thanksgiving dinner with your extended family?” says Ben.

“No, not this year.” I sigh. “My mom just wanted it to be us four this year, but I’m too busy.”

Milo gives me a skeptical look.

“What? It’s true!” I put down my chopsticks. “It’s a music minefield out there, Milo. Seating auditions are in January, I have a sophomore recital next semester. And my quartet wants to play some holiday gigs this year. I’m never catching a break.”

“You’ll catch a break if you allow yourself to,” he says.

I pick my chopsticks back up, slurp the noodles. “Well, I’m not. And neither should you, if we’re being honest.”

He doesn’t say anything.

We both know I’m not fooling anyone. I’m not staying here because of schoolwork or music. I’m not even trying to avoid my family.

♫♫♫

I got the text two weeks ago.

I was practicing, getting annoyed with my intonation. I stepped out into the hall to grab water, and my phone buzzed.

Dana Karasu Heyyy Lolaaaa!!

My breath hitched. Dana Karasu, from my sophomore AP bio class. I hadn’t talked to her in two years. Two. And suddenly she was greeting me like an old friend?

Dana Karasu Sorry this is so out of the blue. But me and our friends from high school were talking, and we wanted to have a little reunion this year! We’re doing Friendsgiving on the Friday after Thanksgiving at my house. Bring food, casserole, salad, anything. It’s been so long!! I hope everything is OK and please let me know if you can make it!! :)

I read the text once, then twice. My hands were shaking. What business did Dana have texting me on a random Tuesday?

It wasn’t surprising that everyone had talked about it without me. I’d left the group chat, after all. But why did Dana want me to come? Was it out of pity, or her conscience? Or did they actually want me there?

A small part of me was excited, intrigued. To see my old best friends, talk to them like no time had passed. See how everyone was doing, because I honestly had no clue.

But he would be there.

So it didn’t matter. Whether anyone wanted me there or not, I wasn’t going.

Lola Nguyen hey dana. thanks for the invite, but i am swamped with work this year. i’ll have to stay at school for thanksgiving break. thanks for reaching out and happy holidays

♫♫♫

Milo is still staring at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He looks back down, exchanging a look with Ben briefly.

I haven’t told them about my old friends. I mentioned it once, that I wasn’t in contact anymore. And I’ve never brought up Christian.

The snow has turned back into heavy rain. The ice skaters evacuate the rink, heading home. A few strollers linger, but the park begins to clear up.

Everything comes to an end, one way or another.