I shove down a mouthful of crème brûlée pointedly, but it doesn’t convince her.

Once the plates have all been cleared, and the headmaster stands to announce tonight’s performance details, Rose runs a fingertip along my thigh under the table, causing a shiver to run along its trail and radiate up and out. My mind fogs over. “Come on,” she says. “We can leave now, nobody will mind. If you’re not well…”

“I can’t leave,” I say, as quietly as I can get away with. “I wrote you something.”

“You … pardon?”

The headmaster takes center stage, and I almost pass out. Here I go. “For tonight’s arts performance,” he says, “we’re being treated to an original piano piece by Danni Blythe. For those of you who haven’t yet had the privilege of meeting Danni, she joined us this year from America, and is one of the most remarkable piano talents Caroline has seen in a long time. And anybody who knows Caroline will agree this is high praise from her indeed.”

Understanding dawns on Rose’s face, as our friends whoop and cheer for me, and Harriet gets to her feet, clapping and jumping she’s so excited. If I thought I was nervous at dinner, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now.

But like Rose said, I have to keep taking the next step forward, or I’m going to be stuck in place. If there’s even a chance in hell of me becoming a soloist one day, I’ve got to let myself be perceived.

Besides—I’ve already been perceived, right? I’ve had my face plastered all over Molly’s socials, and tabloids, and news articles. I’ve been watched, and photographed, and filmed, over and over again, for the whole freaking country to see. People in other countries, even. Today is the perfect example of that. This is just a teeny tiny piano piece—a simple one at that—for one roomful of students.

Still, somehow, this feels a thousand times scarier.

The piano was brought onto the dining hall stage especially for this—I’m surprised its presence didn’t tip Rose off, actually, but she was too busy freaking out about my head to notice anything else.

I’ve sat in this piano seat so many times now, and tonight isn’t any different—other than my aching tailbone. I’m in the ballroom, and no one else is here, and the only people listening are the people crossing the courtyard. I’m safe.

Then I catch Rose’s eye, and she breaks into a grin, and I almost believe what I’m telling myself.