Verona Comics
Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINETEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
- CHAPTER THIRTY
- CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
- CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
- CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FORTY
- CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
- CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
- CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
- CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
- CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
- CHAPTER FIFTY
- CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
- CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
- RESOURCES
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Cover
Dedication
To RJP, who always cheered the loudest.
I miss you every day.
CHAPTER ONE
Jubilee
“YOU LOOK LIKE you’re being tortured,” Jayla says. “This is supposed to be fun.”
Easy to say when you’re the one on the other side of the tweezers. I squeeze my eyes shut as she picks them up again, a tinge of fear washing over me when I smell the glue. I can’t move my head while Jayla’s working on my eyelashes, something she’s stressed to me about a dozen times already in increasingly frustrated tones, so I try to distract myself by practicing the prelude from Bach’s Fifth Cello Suite in my head. I tap my fingers against the cold bathroom counter, pressing imaginary strings and feeling homesick for my instrument.
Feather eyelashes and fancy dresses are worlds apart from the chunky sweaters and ballet flats that I prefer. But this is for the greater good, a part of my weekend of “pushing the boundaries and embracing life for the sake of my music,” which has somehow turned into letting my best friend dress me up for FabCon prom after an already long day at the convention, selling comics with my parents.
“Can I open my eyes yet?”
“No,” she says. “You have to relax. Remember what Mrs. G said.”
Right. I’ve been instructed (read: forced) by my private instructor, Mrs. Garavuso; the school orchestra teacher, Mrs. Carmine; and both my parents to “let go” and take a weekend off from my instrument. On a technical level, Mrs. Garavuso says I’m the best cellist she’s ever had. But apparently I’ve been, and this is a direct quote, “playing with the passion of a robot lately.” Mrs. Carmine, traitor that she is, agreed wholeheartedly. Not exactly what I want to hear as I prepare for the biggest audition of my life—the summer program at the Carnegie Conservatory, where I’ll get to study with Aleksander Ilyashev. He’s been my dream teacher ever since I heard him play Beethoven’s Triple Concerto with the Boston Symphony. And if I want a shot at getting into Carnegie for real after high school, a summer of his advice and guidance is the biggest boost I could possibly get.
“You think too loud.” Jayla sighs, so close I can feel her breath on my cheek. “Seriously, get out of your head.”
“I’m not in my head.”
“Lies,” she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “Respect the rules. I bet you’re breaking at least two right now.”