A Hidden World

Carnegie Hall

"Taxi!" The Arab guy stopped for me and I got in. My next class was walking distance, but I was already late. He had a thick accent, so instead of giving him the right change I just gave him a twenty and told him to keep the change. He drove slowly, stopping to beep every five seconds like most New Yorkers do. When we arrive at my class, I walk in twenty minutes into the hour lecture, and get a dirty look from my professor. I sat in my seat next to the mean skank, Aimee. Who spells their name like that? Anyway, she was texting, so I didn't get a dirty look from her, which was good.

You might know the professor. His name is Emanuel Pahud. Anyway, we had our music performance, which was always hell. We play our latest song, and he picks every single mistake out, and totally embarrasses us. This is worse for me. I'm 16. I graduated early and got a full ride to Julliard. I cascaded my fingers across the strings, the pain of the blisters a sick pleasure. A, D flat, B, C. Everything seemed to disappear as I was hit with a rush of euphoria. I felt like I was on the outside, watching myself play. Then came the picking apart.

"Look at this young girl." I flinched. "Take notes, because this girl is going places, and you morons are nothing compared to her. For homework over spring break, I want you to compose a song for this young lady to play at Carnegie hall. Class dismissed."

I stared in awe. I could find ten million things wrong with what I just played, but he thought it was amazing. I felt like my legs were jelly. I couldn't move. Fear filled my mind, and I stood there, like an idiot, with my mouth wide open.

"You can't be serious."

"I can because I am. You will perform at Carnegie Hall as a solo cellist, with thousands of people watching you."

Words weren't forming from my mouth. I felt like I had been punched in the gut, but in a good way. Me, Clara Josefina, the girl whom no one believed in, is doing it. Living her dream.