“I know this is important.” Oscar motioned behind him as we left Lincoln Center. “This is part of why I’m here, but I wish I could get this piece finished first. You know? Every second I’m working with the orchestra, I feel like I’m wasting time.”

“Why don’t you ask Dad? I’m sure—”

“He said this is a good introduction to the way things work in the professional world with commissioned pieces. So.” Oscar pulled at his face. “Yeah, I have to make it work.”

I felt my own frustration rising. “But this isn’t commissioned. It’s yours.”

“Is it?”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I grabbed his arm. “Of course it is. And you’re a student, you’re seventeen, this is—”

“I have to do what they ask me to do. It’s cool.” He swiped his face, like he was trying to get rid of the last remnants of whatever had come over him back at Lilly Hall. “Will you sit with me tonight? While I work?”

“Of course.”

•   •   •

I sat on his bed. He wrote on the floor, filled a page, tossed it, started again, murmuring to himself. He didn’t ask my opinion, and I couldn’t give one. This wasn’t the moment for it. So I kept vigil. And at some point I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the room was dark, one corner illuminated by a roving beam. It took my eyes a second to adjust before I saw Oscar holding a tiny flashlight in his mouth, scribbling so fast, his fingers blurred. He would stop—head tilted like he was hearing a ghost—then nod in recognition and compose.

I grabbed my phone to check the time. 11:36 p.m. The sudden glow made him startle, dropping his flashlight. He laughed, holding his chest.

I sat up. “Why are the lights off?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so sweet.”

I smiled, rousing myself to pop on the lights for him again. But it nagged at me now, not hearing what he was hearing. Not understanding what compelled him to stay up and get something down—how someone could come up with that something in the first place.

He was someone who heard music singing to him in the night, who stayed up, who answered its call.

I was someone who fell asleep watching.

•   •   •

When I got back from the next morning’s run and waved good-bye to Jules, Nora was waiting on my stoop playing with her cell phone, a giant Birkin bag dangling off one arm. She gasped when she saw me, like I’d vaporized from nowhere.

“Hi.” I pulled my keys from my pouch, still winded, but managed an elbow wave.

“You’re a runner!” She stood surveying me. “Hidden depths! Are you doing the marathon?”

“No.” I laughed. “I’m new to this. And it’s just for fun.”