Chapter 3
I didn't sleep all night.
At three in the morning, I was still in the Bennetts' backyard, staring blankly at the Basic Music Theory for Beginners book Dr. Martinez had given me. The dense musical notes twisted under the flashlight beam like those black tadpoles from yesterday's audition room.
Damn dyslexia. Even with hope, I still couldn't understand anything.
My phone screen lit up, showing today's schedule: 9 AM, Samuel's studio, professional training. 2 PM, New York Times reporter interview.
Each time slot felt like a ticking bomb, waiting to destroy the false glory I'd built just yesterday.
I gripped the harmonica in my hand—yesterday it had won me the world, but today, could it still protect me?
At eight-thirty in the morning, I stood outside Samuel's studio, my palms slick with sweat. Dr. Martinez's business card was clutched tightly in my palm, the phone number on it my only lifeline.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.
"Good morning, Darlene!" Samuel's enthusiasm burned as bright as ever. "Ready to begin our musical journey?"
I forced a smile. "Of course."
Samuel's studio gleamed in the morning light, equipment sparkling, walls covered with photos of him alongside various music masters. I felt like a fraud, contaminating this sacred space.
"Come, let's start with the basics."
Samuel placed a simple sheet of music at the piano—just a few basic notes.
"This is the C major scale. You must have practiced it countless times at Berklee." Samuel smiled warmly. "Let's review this, then move on to more complex arrangement exercises."
My heart began to race. Those notes started their manic dance before my eyes again, twisting like the black tadpoles from last night's nightmare, mocking me.
"Darlene?" Samuel noticed my distress. "Ready?"
I had to find a way to bluff through this!
"I... I was too excited last night, couldn't sleep," I said, feigning exhaustion as I rubbed my temples. "Could you play it once first? I like to understand the overall structure of a piece through listening."
This was my only lifeline—learning by ear.
Samuel nodded. "Of course, that's actually a good learning method."
His fingers danced lightly across the piano keys: Do-Re-Mi-Fa-Sol-La-Ti-Do. Eight simple notes, yet under his touch they flowed like clouds and water.
Thank God. I secretly sighed with relief.
I raised my harmonica and perfectly replicated his performance. Every note was precise, and I even added some subtle vibrato techniques.
"Excellent!" Samuel nodded with satisfaction. "Your pitch is still perfect. However..."
However? My heart leaped to my throat again.
"Your playing style is quite unique," Samuel looked at me thoughtfully. "More... free-form than standard academic style. How did your professors at Berklee evaluate this approach?"
My brain raced frantically: "My advisor... encouraged personal style development. He said technique should serve music, not music serve technique."
Samuel nodded thoughtfully. "True, modern music education increasingly emphasizes individualization. But next we need to practice sight-reading, which requires strict adherence to the score."
Sight-reading! I felt my blood freeze in my veins.
Samuel placed a more complex score at the piano. "This is a simple etude. Take a look first, then we'll play it together."
I took the sheet music with trembling hands, the notes writhing like venomous snakes before my eyes. I desperately tried to recognize them, but dyslexia made everything blur into incomprehension.
"How is it?" Samuel asked expectantly. "This difficulty should be quite simple for you."
Sweat began beading on my forehead, my heart thundering like a drum: "I... I still don't feel quite right today. Could you play it once first? I'd like to hear the overall musical feeling."
Samuel looked somewhat confused but agreed: "Alright, that is indeed a learning method."
Just as he was about to play, the studio door was suddenly knocked.
"Come in!" Samuel called.
The door opened, and my blood instantly froze.
Colleen clicked in on high heels, followed by a middle-aged man with camera equipment. She wore an exquisite suit, her smile sickeningly sweet.
"Good morning, Mr. Samuel!" Her voice was sweet as poisoned candy. "Hope we're not interrupting your training!"
How could she be here? Now?
I remembered her venomous threat from yesterday: "When Samuel starts training you tomorrow, I'll personally call and tell him the truth!"
But she hadn't called—she'd come in person!
"I'm Colleen Bennett, Darlene's sister." She gracefully extended her hand to Samuel. "This is Mr. Johnson from the New York Times, the reporter you contacted yesterday. Since you've already arranged the interview, why not do it now while Darlene's in good form?"
A reporter! I felt the world spinning.
"Ah, the New York Times reporter!" Samuel had an epiphany. "I almost forgot, I did schedule an interview yesterday. But isn't the timing a bit..."
"Perfect timing!" Colleen's eyes flashed with the malicious gleam I knew so well. "Yesterday's audition was so spectacular, we can't miss this optimal publicity moment!"
She walked toward me, patting my shoulder with feigned concern, but I could feel the threat hidden beneath her fingernails: "Right, dear sister? I'm sure you'd love to share your wonderful memories from Berklee!"
Mr. Johnson pulled out recording equipment: "Miss Bennett, our readers are very interested in your background. Could you talk about your study experience at Berklee College of Music? Which professor influenced you the most?"
My throat felt strangled—I couldn't make a sound.
Colleen "helpfully" added: "My sister might be a bit nervous. How about this—let her demonstrate what she was just practicing with Mr. Samuel? I'm sure it would be very interesting!"
Her gaze fell on the sheet music on the table, full of malice: "Just play this etude! I'm sure for a Berklee honor student, this is way too simple!"
I felt like I'd fallen into an ice cellar. This wasn't coincidence! Colleen had obviously calculated the timing. She knew I couldn't read music, yet she specifically wanted me to sight-read in front of the reporter!
"I..." My voice trembled. "I mentioned earlier that I'm not feeling well today..."
"Not feeling well?" Mr. Johnson asked confused. "Should we come back another day?"
"No, no, no!" Colleen waved frantically, her eyes flashing with manic light. "My sister is just being modest! Her sight-reading ability is world-class! The professors at Berklee all praised her!"
She turned to Samuel, her voice carrying challenge: "What do you think, Mr. Samuel? An excellent Berklee student should be able to handle this basic exercise easily, right?"
Samuel looked at me, then at Colleen, doubt beginning to appear in his eyes: "Indeed, if she's a Berklee student, this level of sight-reading should be..."
"Then let's see it!" Colleen interrupted triumphantly. "Come on, dear sister, show everyone your true ability!"
Looking at the malice in her eyes, I suddenly understood everything. This wasn't spontaneous—this was the perfect trap she'd planned last night! She wanted to expose my lies publicly, in front of the reporter, in front of Samuel!
I gripped my harmonica tightly, feeling myself pushed to the edge of a cliff. Ahead was an abyss, behind was Colleen's vicious trap.
No matter what I chose, it was a dead end.
But at this critical moment, an unexpected voice saved me.
"Sorry to interrupt!" An urgent knock came from outside the studio. "Mr. Samuel, there's an emergency call for you!"
Samuel frowned: "Now?"
"It's a producer from Los Angeles, about the Grammy nomination—very urgent!"
Grammy? Samuel's expression immediately became serious.
"You go ahead!" Colleen said "considerately," but her eyes were full of vicious pleasure. "We'll wait here for you to return!"
No! I screamed internally. Once Samuel left, I'd be completely exposed to Colleen's claws!
But Samuel was already standing: "Sorry, Grammy matters really can't be delayed. I'll be right back. Darlene, rest for a moment."
He hurried out of the studio, leaving me alone with Colleen and the reporter.
The moment the door closed, Colleen's mask instantly fell away, revealing her demonic true face.
"Now," she sneered as she approached me, "we can have a proper chat."