Intro & Chapt. 1 (in part)

Oliver Spitziconni always had a cigarette in his mouth. He’d look at me with that patronizing expression on his face, puff smoke out of the side of his mouth and tell me that the world is our oyster. He’d say, in his thick Boston accent, “You can control anything and anybody you want, you just have to do it clean and right.” That’s Oliver’s specialty, controlling things. He doesn’t need luck, or prayers, or wishes. He controls everything that happens to him, so it happens the way he wants it to. If you got in the way of what he wants, he’d take you out so quick nobody would even knew you were there. That’s his darkest side, the side that always needs to clear the way.

Oliver was known all over Boston by his wealthy and powerful family, his last name came with an infamous reputation. His older brother and his uncle were arrested a while ago for suspicious connections to a few murders in the area, but we never convicted because there wasn’t enough evidence. His family was famous for all the wrong reasons and he soaked up all the attention like a sponge. Having a reputation is more important to Oliver than anything else.

It wasn’t like he was that great of a guy, morally. He was an idiot a majority of the time. He drank and smoked so much he either had a hangover or was drunk every time I talk to him. He charmed girls with the flick of his credit card, had sex with them, and then forgot their names the day after. He was constantly moving, throwing people away, letting them go, or shoving them aside. He threw countless parties and everybody I’d ever known would show up. He had unlimited access to his parents’ money, meaning that I or any of our friends never went hungry, or never had to think twice before paying for something. His huge black Cadillac was his pride and joy, and I’m pretty sure he loved that car more than his mother. With all this, he was greedy, selfish, manipulative, cocky, materialistic, and a downright asshole.

But he’s the best friend I’d ever had.

One

It was the week from hell, and it started with a meeting with satan himself; Mr. Lucas. A man that required such little respect he’d permanently had the Mr. dropped from his name by almost all of his students. He’d summoned me into his deep and dark office during my only free period, making me skip lunch. I was a music concentration, and he was the head of the department, but we’d never gotten along since I was a freshmen. Four years later, I still hated going into his office and smelling the pungent odor of wine that stayed with me for the rest of the day.

His office was in the old, drafty part of the music wing, giving you a long hallway to think about the worst that was coming to you. I hesitated before opening the door, straightening my tie the best I could.

“Anthony I’ve been expecting you. Come here, sit down.” Lucas was freakishly tall and lanky, his beady eyes making you feel like you were looking at some sort of praying mantis. His grin stretched way too far across his face, flashing me a fake-white smile. I already had my hand on the back of my neck in nervousness. The guy was always rummaging through papers; always stacks of manilla folders that never got organized, no matter how many hours a day he seemed to sit in his office and rifle through them.

“I just wanted to speak with you about...about the…” He picked up several folders and put them down, looking lost. I rolled my eyes.

“About, sir?”

“About the orchestra.”

I sat there for a few minutes, trying to bite back the frustration. “What about it?”

He finally found whatever he was looking for, because he then put on his glasses and leaned forward to look at me. He started to say something else but his eyes narrowed on my tie.

“You should probably retire that, Tony, it’s important to look presentable.”

I rolled my eyes again and undid it in sharp, jerky movements. “Why did you call me in here, Lucas, this is my lunch.”

“Why gee sorry to inconvenience you, this is my lunch too. I called you down here to tell you that Blake Herrington has been demoted to second hair cellist.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Blake? He’s orchestra president too, though.”

“He’s not anymore, due to his...difficult personality traits that I’ve found to be too cumbersome to deal with.”

“Well now that’s just a damn shame.” I mumbled sarcastically. Lucas smirked.

“My thoughts exactly. I know you and I haven’t been the best chums in your high school career, but I’ve been noticing you.”

I nodded, slowly. “Great.”

“I’ve noticed that your talent is so exceptional. You’re second chair cellist in an elite, competitive, orchestra that’s really only meant for the prep school graduates and you’re only a senior. You’ve won a few awards, been spoken to by Juilliard, and for heavens sake you just hands down play better than anyone in your section. You’re a hard worker, and I like that.”

“Well...thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” Lucas stared at me for an extremely long few seconds and clasped his hands together.

“I’m making you first chair cellist and president of the orchestra, Tony.”

I fought to keep my composure for a good minute, and when I could finally speak I didn’t know what to say.

“I...well...wow.”

“Wow is right. You will be replacing Blake in all his responsibilities and-”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” I said. “I can’t take that from him.”

His face fell. “What do you mean, you can’t.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do you know what Blake Herrington is going to do to me once he realized that I’m his replacement? Do you think we’re going to lock arms and skip down the hall about it? He’s going to murder me.”

“Anthony, this is not elementary school. If Blake wants to settle a mistake that he made due to his own faults like a child then I will remove him from the orchestra completely. I’m on your side. If anyone gives you any crap, you know where to find me.”

I sighed. “I mean...this is a lot of time I just don’t think I have-”

“I really expected you to be more happy, Anthony,” he said, rummaging again. “Most people would be jumping up and down, but all you say is that you’re worried about Blake and that you don’t have enough time?”

“Sir, I’m really honored that you picked me, but I-”

“Don’t want to get into Yale? Or play at Carnegie hall? Or make your parents proud?”

“I’m not saying that I don’t want it.” I said sharply, heat rising in my face.

“Then what are you saying?” He said, staring me down. “If its anything but yes then I’ll see you in class later today with the rest of the mediocre musicians who will become soccor moms and office workers.” Rummaging.

I took a deep breath. “I’ll take it.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Thank you.” I finished.

“You and me, Tony, we’re going to become great friends.” He put his hand out over the desk, a sickly smile coming to his face. When I shook it, it was an ice cold that traveled up my arm.