“Excuse me,” a middle-aged security guard shouted from the far doorway.

Oscar and I shuffled apart, hands locked tight by our sides as we stepped out of the temple.

“This area’s off limits for tonight, folks.” The guard’s voice was carefully neutral, in case we were major donors.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as we made our way past him. The guard grunted.

“Couldn’t resist,” Oscar said—and that got a chuckle out of him.

We went as fast as we could without running through the Egyptian Wing, taking a wrong turn into Arms and Armor. Oscar eyed a Mongolian display curiously, but I tugged him away, whispering, “Let’s not press our luck.”

We clip-clopped through the empty Great Hall, burst into the humid dusk air, then trotted down the stone steps in synchronized rhythm. When we got to the bottom, our shadows preceded us, monumental, glowing at the edges, like we’d grown into gods while we were inside.

“We should get dinner.” The careful cadence of Oscar’s voice told me he was asking for something more.

“Sounds good.” I twisted a loose thread on my dress. “What are you in the—?”

“Oscar!”

It took me a few seconds to adjust to the incongruity of Dad’s voice coming from a parked Bentley at the curb. I turned to see him leaning out of the back window.

“I’ve got to steal your date, Rooster,” Dad said, winking before turning back to a stunned Oscar. “Johann Wittenstein. Conductor at the phil.”

Oscar nodded quickly. “I know, he’s one of my—”

“Wants you to shadow tonight.”

“Oh my God.” Oscar scrunched his hands in his hair.

“I’ve been trying to reach you.” Dad squinted between us.

I winced. “My phone’s on silent. I thought it was more . . . polite . . .”

“Mine too,” Oscar said, rubbing his face.

“Never mind, we’ll make it.” Dad opened the car door and stepped out. “Slide on in. Erich, make some room, would you?”

Oscar turned to me, mouthing, “Erich Fuller?”

My dad’s weird German friend. Most important minimalist composer in history.

I shrugged wildly and motioned him off. “This is awesome, go!”

“Aren’t you—?” Oscar glanced at the car.

I smiled softly, knowing better. “No room for me. I’ll catch you later.”

Oscar, flummoxed, disappeared into the car, hand extended to introduce himself.

Dad waved to me as he got in with them. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

“No worries,” I said to the empty sidewalk as they sped away.

Then I made my way back across the park, listening to every tree rustle, every bike click, every heartbeat along the way, wondering what it would sound like in a song.

•   •   •

The music woke me up—slower, sadder, sweeter, higher. It danced around the first one like a firefly.

I grabbed my phone. Two a.m.

“Oscar,” I groaned, half laughing as I buried my face in the pillow. “This is unacceptable.”