“Excuse me?” I say, inserting myself into the direct path of a guy with ginger hair passing by whose trombone case is dangling by the strap over his shoulder. “Which way is woodwinds?”

Trombone raises his eyebrows. “New students?”

“Prospective,” Fitz says. “Natalie here plays a mean clarinet.”

“Cool.” Trombone smiles. “Woodwinds are in Mozart.”

Of course. He points us in the direction of the building and we’re on our way toward Mozart, toward Jenny Nelson, toward the chance of fixing my massive mistake.

I knock on the door to Jenny’s office once, twice, three times.

I close my eyes and inhale because this is it. Jenny Nelson is not an easy person to get in front of, let me tell you. I had to convince the receptionist at the front desk that I had an appointment.

“Jenny’s first appointment is at eleven,” the receptionist said.

“Right. It was last minute. Jenny is good friends with my dad. She’s giving me a tour. I play clarinet, like Jenny. Like my dad.”

The receptionist tried to call Jenny, at which point I pulled out my phone and said, “I have her number. See? I can call her but she’s expecting me, so…”

This earned a reluctant okay and a point in the right direction, toward the door with the plaque that reads JENNIFER NELSON, M.F.A.

I twist the knob and push the door open to Jenny’s office. It’s the sort of office that screams academia in a way that surprises me, with a huge wooden desk in the center, bookshelf walls, and a set of two mahogany chairs facing Jenny’s desk. Her blonde hair is parted down the center, brown eyes sit behind clear plastic glasses, and she wears a cherry-patterned dress I swear I’ve seen on ModCloth. She doesn’t look up from her computer screen.

I clear my throat.

“Office hours are tomorrow,” Jenny says. When she does glance up from her screen she blinks, clearly taken aback. I hope the surprise is an advantage, not another thing counting against Reid. “You’re not my student.”

I shake my head. “My dad says hi.”

“Natalie?” Jenny removes her glasses. “Wow, I haven’t seen you since—wow. Is Aaron here? I’d love to catch up.”

I shake my head. “I came alone. I was hoping we could talk. About Reid—Reid Callahan? He’s the best clarinet player I know, and he worked so hard, and you have to reconsider withdrawing his audition invitation. Please.”

Jenny’s expression is compassionate, but more pitying than understanding. “Oh, Natalie. It’s sweet that you came all this way for your friend. But I can’t give anyone special treatment, not even on an old friend’s daughter’s behalf.”

“Reid isn’t my friend,” I say.

Jenny closes her laptop, her eyebrows shooting up. “Oh?”

I take a seat and unzip my backpack. “Who evaluates the audition tapes? You?”