Chapter 2
"You think you've won?"
The moment I stepped out of the music academy, Colleen struck like a venomous snake from the shadows, gripping my wrist with vice-like fingers.
Her nails dug into my skin, making me gasp in pain.
"Colleen, you're hurting me..."
"Hurting?" She sneered, her eyes flashing with malicious light. "You humiliated me in front of over three hundred people. Do you know how much that hurt?"
I yanked my wrist free from her grip, leaving deep nail marks on my skin. "I didn't..."
"Didn't?" Colleen stepped closer, her voice low but every word cutting like a blade. "I orchestrated the perfect plan to make you look like a fool, and instead you... you got Samuel to praise you publicly?"
Her face contorted with rage. "Do you have any idea what I went through? I practiced piano for three solid months for today! I was supposed to be the one Samuel noticed!"
Now it all made sense.
"So you deliberately signed me up for the audition?" I stared at her in disbelief. "You wanted me to embarrass myself, then swoop in with your performance to look brilliant by comparison?"
"Brilliant!" Colleen clapped mockingly, but her eyes grew even colder. "Too bad you, a musical illiterate, ruined my masterpiece!"
She pulled out her phone, showing me a number on the screen. "Guess whose number this is?"
My heart began racing with dread.
"Berklee College of Music admissions office!" Colleen grinned triumphantly. "I just called them to confirm. They have absolutely no record of any student named Darlene Bennett!"
My blood turned to ice.
"You lied, dear stepsister!" Colleen's eyes gleamed with vicious satisfaction. "You never attended Berklee! You're nothing but a complete fraud!"
My legs began to wobble. "Colleen, what are you planning to do?"
"I'm going to tell Samuel the truth!" she spat venomously. "I'm going to let the whole world know that the so-called genius Darlene Bennett is actually a musical illiterate who can't even read sheet music!"
"Please..." My voice was trembling. "Don't do this..."
"Please?" Colleen burst into laughter. "You think I'd pass up this opportunity? Tomorrow when Samuel starts training you, I'll personally call him and reveal everything!"
She turned to leave, then spun back with one final cruel blow: "Oh, and I've already told Dad to cut off your mother's medical expenses. After all, fraudsters' families don't deserve the Bennett family's charity."
With that, she clicked away on her high heels, leaving me collapsed on the academy's front steps.
It was over. Everything was over.
I buried my head in my hands as the world crumbled around me. Tomorrow Samuel would begin professional training, and Colleen could detonate this truth bomb at any moment. Once exposed, I wouldn't just become Nashville's laughingstock—I'd lose Mom's last chance at treatment.
My phone suddenly rang. Samuel.
"Darlene! I'm absolutely thrilled!" His voice bubbled with enthusiasm. "I've already mapped out tomorrow's training schedule!"
My heart hammered. "Samuel, actually I..."
"Don't say anything yet, let me finish!" Samuel excitedly cut me off. "I've contacted some old friends in the music industry, and they're all fascinated by your situation! Professor Johnson especially wants to see your academic transcripts!"
Transcripts? My face went deathly pale.
"Also, I've arranged for a New York Times music journalist to interview you. They want to hear about your experiences at Berklee..."
Interview? Experiences? I felt like I was suffocating.
"Samuel, I don't think I'm ready for interviews right now..."
"Not ready?" Samuel sounded puzzled. "Why not? This is an incredible publicity opportunity!"
I desperately searched for excuses. "I... I need more time to prepare..."
"Time?" Samuel's voice turned serious. "Darlene, I get the feeling you're hiding something from me."
He was getting suspicious!
"No... really, there's nothing..." My voice shook uncontrollably.
Samuel fell silent for several seconds, then said, "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock. My studio. We need to have a serious talk."
The call ended, leaving me slumped on the steps, feeling like the sky was falling.
Just then, a gentle voice spoke behind me. "Miss, are you alright?"
I turned to see a bespectacled man looking at me with concern.
"I'm Dr. Martinez, a music therapist at the academy," he introduced himself. "I noticed you seemed distressed..."
Music therapist? I wiped my tears. "I'm fine, thank you."
"Your performance today was extraordinary," Dr. Martinez sat beside me. "That technique... I've been practicing for twenty years, and I've never seen such pure musical expression."
"Really?" I looked up, eyes still teary.
"Absolutely." He smiled warmly. "Though I do have a question, if you don't mind me asking?"
My heart jumped to my throat again. "What question?"
"Your playing technique is clearly self-taught—unconventional," Dr. Martinez studied my expression. "That circular breathing and multitonal technique isn't something traditional music schools teach."
My face went pale. "Are you... saying I lied?"
"No, quite the opposite." Dr. Martinez shook his head. "I'm saying true musical talent doesn't need certificates to prove itself."
What? I was stunned.
"You know," he continued, "many great musicians were self-taught. Beethoven's father was a drunk, Bach came from poverty—many never attended formal schools."
He looked into my eyes. "Music isn't in diplomas. Music is in the heart."
Those words... Dad used to say the same thing.
"But Samuel and the others are so professional. All that music theory they expect—I don't understand any of it..." My voice trembled.
"Then learn it," Dr. Martinez smiled. "With your talent, mastering basic theory is just a matter of time. The key is being honest."
Honest? I laughed bitterly. "If I'm honest, they'll know I never went to Berklee. I'm just a..."
"Just a what?" Dr. Martinez interrupted. "Just a genius who can make a harmonica sound like a symphony orchestra?"
He stood and pulled a business card from his bag. "If you're willing, I can help you with basic music theory. No charge—because I believe real talent deserves to be nurtured."
I took the card with shaking hands. "Why would you help me?"
"Because twenty years ago, I was also a music student who lied about his credentials," Dr. Martinez smiled gently. "I understand that fear and desperation."
He patted my shoulder. "Darlene, remember this—your music is real. That's enough. Everything else, we can work on."
Watching him walk away, I clutched the business card tightly. Maybe... maybe there was still hope?
But then my phone rang again.
Unknown number.
"Is this Darlene Bennett? I'm a reporter from the New York Times. I'd like to interview you tomorrow..."
My heart sank back into the abyss. Reporter, interview—they'd ask about my specific experiences at Berklee, demand to verify my academic records...
And at nine tomorrow morning, I'd have to face Samuel's suspicions.
Worse yet, Colleen could detonate that truth bomb at any moment.
I looked at the business card in my hand, Dr. Martinez's words echoing: "Music is in the heart."
But Dad, if music really is in the heart, why does mine feel like it's breaking?
Night fell as I walked alone through Nashville's streets. Neon lights flickered, and music drifted from distant bars. This music city continued singing in the darkness, while I felt like I was about to lose everything.
Tomorrow, when Samuel discovered I couldn't even read basic sheet music, what would his expression be?
Tomorrow, when the reporter asked about my "wonderful memories" at Berklee, how would I answer?
Tomorrow, when Colleen called to expose everything, would I still be able to stand?
I stopped in front of a music store, its window displaying various expensive instruments. Piano, violin, saxophone, guitar... each one gleaming, each one worth a fortune.
And I had only a five-dollar broken harmonica.
This harmonica had won me applause from the world today, but tomorrow—could it still protect me?
I pressed the harmonica to my lips and played "Amazing Grace" softly on the empty street.
This was the purest music I could think of, perhaps my last moment of free performance.
Because after tomorrow, the whole world would know—
The so-called genius Darlene Bennett was nothing but a complete fraud.