Then the song ended. Reid tapped on Dad’s knee, said, You play a giant recorder!, pulled out his green plastic tragedy of an instrument, and played the birthday song all by himself. Reid was good—as good as anyone playing a piece of plastic could be.

The clarinet was mine for one jazzy happy birthday before Reid made it ours.

Suddenly Reid was joining us in the studio every Saturday morning for lessons that were supposed to be private. He listened to jazz and practiced in my basement for hours. By the time we were twelve, Reid had integrated himself into every minute of our intense schedule, accompanying us to recitals and asking my dad for intricate jazz pieces for extra practice.

I hated it.

Clarinet lessons had been the one space my dad and I shared, just us. My way into his studio and his musical world. He spent so much time in there—giving private lessons, prepping class materials, rehearsing with Lincoln Street Blues. If he was not playing music, he was talking about music, and I learned at a young age that if I wanted to spend time with my dad, the easiest way was to love the clarinet as much as he did. So I tried.

At least for the first year, Reid was catching up to me.

But then Reid crossed the break, hitting his high notes first, and everything got worse.

His presence became as grating as the high F he was now able to play.

And all of a sudden, I was the one trying to keep up with him. I’d play scales in my bedroom alone, in tears every time my high F fell flat. I worked so hard, spent so many hours on something that came so naturally to Reid.

I worked until I got that high F.

And in seventh grade, I beat Reid for first chair.

I didn’t know at the time that it’d be my last year with our instrument—or that winning would mean so much more.

Today, my clarinet is in the back of my closet, in a case that is collecting dust.

CHAPTER FOUR

Chao Down is a landmark in Lincoln. Jenny and Michael Chao opened this location when Henry was an infant—and nearly eighteen years, twenty locations, and one guest appearance on Top Chef later, they are local celebrities. Perks of Henry being the future heir of Chao Down, I have a flexible part-time job that means getting paid to hang out with my best friends. Fitz and I hostess, while Henry works in the kitchen as a line cook.

Any minute, arts students will storm the restaurant, demanding justice with a side of dumplings. I think. I hope. We reached out to school friends from the other cut clubs in solidarity to build on the momentum from the assembly—proposing a meeting at Chao Down to start a conversation about our options re: fighting the budget cuts.