Page 63 of The Other Brother

He doesn’t speak for a few seconds.

“Thanks,” he says eventually.

“No worries. I’ll see you soon.”

By the timeI find a parking spot and get into the theater, Cody’s already a few minutes into his performance.

I have to fork out over fifty bucks to get a ticket. And that’s the student price. I try to argue with the person in the ticketing booth that I should get a discount considering the concert has already started and I only plan to listen to one performance, but she’s one of those weird breed of humans who’s immune to my charm.

I creep into the back of the theater. I don’t even attempt to find my seat. I just prop myself up near an ornate wall light and watch him. There’s a baby grand piano in the middle of the stage and a golden spotlight is on Cody wearing a tuxedo, his curls tamed with hair product. As he finishes the song and begins his next one, I inch along the side of the auditorium slowly, trying to get close enough to see his expression, to see that look of complete concentration on his face that Cody has trademarked.

Even I know that he’s absolutely nailing it.

His fingers flutter over the keyboard in a blur of wizardry.

The place inside me where jealousy of Cody’s achievements used to hang out is vacant now. Maybe it’s because I now know what those achievements cost, how hard he works for it. Instead, I only feel pride.

He finishes up with Mozart’s Fantasia in D minor.

He’s talked to me so much about how hard it is to get the fingering in the piece correct, how much he’s had to practice, but from how he plays it, you’d think he was born with the ability to move his hands and fingers in that order. It comes across so natural and effortless.

The audience has been silent during his performance, but as soon as he plays the last note, people rise to their feet as one, clapping. A standing ovation. He’s getting a freaking standing ovation. And he deserves no less.

Cody gives a bow. A small grin plays across his lips, whereas I’m sure my grin is threatening to overtake my face. I almost wolf-whistle my approval then remember my surroundings and settle for clapping so hard I threaten to dislocate my wrists. If wrists can be dislocated.

Another thing I probably have to learn before I become a paramedic.

Cody walks offstage, and the concert ends. Around me, people are shuffling out of the rows, the buzz of conversation rising.

I hesitate. What do I do now?

I so want to track down Cody. I want to see his happiness. I want to tell him in person how amazing he was.

But his parents will be with him, and I know me being there will add a layer of awkwardness that Cody doesn’t deserve. He deserves just to bask in everyone’s admiration for his performance, not worry about whether his parents are being polite to me.

I take a quick selfie with the empty stage in the background and send it to him.

just watched best classical music performance ever

My phone beeps just as I’m climbing into the car.

where you now?

heading home

Despite my message, I don’t put my keys into the ignition. Instead, I sit there and wait for his reply.

My phone rings.

When I answer, Cody’s voice sounds breathless. There’s lots of noise and chatter in the background.

“We’re heading out for dessert somewhere to celebrate. You want to come?”

“Have you run that idea past your parents?” I ask.

“It’s my big night. They won’t argue. And Mel and Kate will be there, plus a few friends.”

I hesitate. Because I really want to see Cody. But my reasons for not wanting to gate-crash his celebration still stand.