The Burning of the Palace at Versailles (or, Butterfly) [REWRITING]

Chapter 10 - One Bad Day

It was a bad day. Those happened every once in a while, Colt knew. People had off days. He had off days. It was only fair. He had good days, days when he woke up feeling on top of the world and when he felt like he could do anything. So of course, it was fair that there were bad days. Days when no matter how hard he tried, the piano keys didn't sound right and he couldn't follow the sheet music in front of him. As he tried to fumble through the piece on the music stand, he could see his teacher's brow furrow deeper. When the dissonant noise of a C and D key accidentally crashed together, Colt stopped playing and placed his hands in his lap. There were no other lessons happening in the building, and Colt flinched at the sudden silence.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Angela sighed and removed her glasses, sliding back in the teacher's chair. "That was — well, you don't need me to tell you how you did."

"I practiced, I promise," he said.

"I know you did," she said. "You don't get to be my star pupil without practicing.''

Normally, Colt would preen under such a statement, deep down where no one could see it. But now, there was a quiet tightness in Angela's voice, one that she was definitely trying to hide and failing.

''The concert will go fine,'' he said as quickly as he could. "I'm just having an off day today. I'll do great. Everyone will."

"I hope so. You're our headliner."

Colt swallowed. He had not wanted to be the headliner for the recital. But Angela and all of Colt's classmates thought he was the best, so he had to lead the show. They even put one of his senior graduation pictures on the posters advertising the recital. So he had to swallow his dread and be the best player. But it was two days until the recital and he couldn't make his way through any of the pieces he was supposed to play.

"It'll be okay," Angela said. "Have you been sleeping well lately?"

Colt thought about it. He had been sleeping fine. Mostly. That wasn't the problem. The problem was the Reserve Officer Training Corps program. He was happy to do it. It was his responsibility to do it. But that didn't mean it was always easy. The leadership. The drills. He didn't want to be someone who screamed in the faces of the people he was supposed to lead. He preferred to play the piano, let the keys speak for him.

It didn't matter. It's not like he could leave, anyway. The ROTC contract was a legally binding one. And he had gotten a scholarship he'd have to pay back. If he were to drop out, he would have to pay that money back, and all the military salary in the world would not cover the cost of the expensive college he was going to attend to stay close to home and to Angela's studio.

All that notwithstanding, he couldn't go because of his family. Colt wondered what his parents, a corporal and a sergeant each, would say if he told them. His mother would probably remind him that leadership is a responsibility and like all responsibilities, it was earned and it took time. His father would probably say that all cadets feel like that at some time. Colt wasn't so sure. A lot of the cadets he went to classes and drills with found all the parts he hated incredibly exciting. Their eyes glittered with happiness when the commanders told them about who— what— they were going to be. Some of them wore their uniforms around the town and to school, others had already cut their hair in the specified military styles. Colt tried to be like them, tried to happily announce his plans for after graduation like all the rest of them - "I'm going to join the Marines!" "I'm going to fly jets with the Air Force!"

But every time he tried to talk like that, it sounded like a lie.