Page 11 of String Boys

He’d progressed past “Turkey in the Straw” and moved on to “Running Dry.” Dr. Boyle had written an adaptation of the violin classic so Seth played a slightly simplified solo part, and the rest of the boys played the other melody line.

The result was stunningly haunting.

They wrapped up the song, and Seth closed his eyes during the breathless pause that followed, holding those last notes close to his heart.

When the applause erupted, he opened them again, and was ready to face the consequences of his silence.

“WE’LL MEETyou at the ice cream place,” Seth’s dad called to Kelly’s dad. “Kelly, buck up. I promise, we’ll be there.”

Kelly nodded weakly, and Matty scowled. Nobody was happy with Mrs. Sheridan’s announcement, and Seth knew they were holding back from going to the local Baskin-Robbins for one reason only.

They needed to talk.

Please don’t get mad, please don’t get mad, please don’t get mad.

“Seth?” Craig Arnold said after the Cruz family had walked about fifty feet ahead. “Are you still afraid I’ll hit you?” He asked it gently, but Seth knew if he answered this one wrong, his dad would be hurt. So hurt that maybe he’d have to have another meeting, and Seth always felt bad when that happened.

“No,” Seth answered, voice a little rusty. “It’s… it’s not that.”

“Okay.” His father’s relief was palpable. “Then why? Why would you keep an opportunity like this a secret?”

Seth shifted uncomfortably, still clutching his violin case to his chest. He was outgrowing this one; he knew it. There were notes he wanted to get from it, but no matter how well he tuned it, how carefully he drew his bow, it still sounded tinny and flat sometimes. But he loved it. It had been his first instrument, his first love.

“Matty can’t come,” he muttered. “And Kelly’s only playing because I play. By the time he gets to junior high, I’ll be on to high school—”

“A different one than they’ll go to,” Dad said, as though he understood. “And you don’t want the change.”

Seth looked at his father miserably. “Things just got good,” he pleaded, hoping his dad would understand.

“And you don’t want to change the balance,” Dad said softly. “Got it.” He sighed. “Seth, we’re not moving. You’ll still be home often enough to practice where Kelly can hear you, and help Matty with the girls. I promise. I wouldn’t take that away from you.”

Seth swallowed. “But high school—”

“Well, maybe they can go to the high school with the orchestra,” his dad said hopefully. “I’ll talk to their parents. It’s a better school than the one in walking distance, and I’m home in the mornings. I can take everybody, maybe, if Linda can get you home. And you’re getting old enough to take the city bus. But that’s two years away, son. In the meantime….” Craig sighed. “I saw your face light up when Dr. Boyle stood up. You really like him, don’t you?”

“He looks like Grandpa,” Seth mumbled.

“And like you.” Craig’s voice sounded funny, like a violin string pulled too tight. “I think you should go. Mrs. Sheridan thought of everything—even the bus for Joseph Crocker. Don’t worry. I’m not leaving my job at the warehouse. Xavier and Linda aren’t winning the lottery. I think you’re safe if you go to this junior high. It’s a challenge you can meet.”

Seth swallowed tightly. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re so good at this. Why’d it get so hard?”

His father’s arm over his shoulders was one of the best things he’d ever felt. “Because I was weak. And alone. And I failed you. I’m sorry about that, Seth. I’m sorry you’re still paying for it. I… I hurt you in ways that aren’t going to heal soon. I… I don’t know how to fix that.”

“This is good,” Seth muttered, leaning his head against his dad as they walked. “Let’s just do this now.”

His father’s arm tightened, and they made plans for the future.

THE BESTpart of junior high was orchestra with Dr. Boyle. Seth practiced during lunch, before school, and after he got home. He played with Matty when he didn’t have soccer, but missed him sometimes and played with Kelly instead.

Kelly still came downstairs after his family ate to listen to Seth practice.

“Where’s your brother?” Seth asked in early December.

“Out hanging with stupid Castor Durant. Stupid asshole. I hate him.”