January/February 2004

INTRODUCTION   Helen Silverstein tried to fight back tears as she sat in the passenger’s seat of her mother’s sleek, blue Dodge. Despite the fact that Olivia Roi Silverstein, her mother, was almost breaking the speed limit, Helen felt that she could never be far enough away from her viola teacher’s house. The woman’s harsh words still rang in her ears: “You need to work on this! It won’t just come to you one day, you know.” Helen had spent weeks perfecting the Bach sonata and three-octave arpeggios that she had just played flawlessly, or so Helen thought. Obviously, her teacher thought that the performance was far from flawless. In fact, she seemed to find a fault in every note: the pitch was flat or sharp, her bow was crooked, her instrument wasn’t high enough, or worst of all, her vibrato was wrong. Why did everyone else seem to think her vibrato was so beautiful while her teacher considered it to be sloppy and terrible? Because, thought Helen, everyone who likes my playing knows nothing about music. This wasn’t quite true; after all, her parents were both excellent musicians, but did they truly enjoy her playing? Sometimes it was hard to tell. The radio cut sharply into Helen’s thoughts, and the monotonous voice of a man droning on and on about the stock market was like a needle jabbing into her temples again and again. “Mom, do you mind turning off the radio?” she asked. “I’ve got a headache.” “You know, I’m entitled to listen to something I like once in a while,” said Olivia, turning off the radio. “Did you finish your French homework yet? You said you’d do it on the way to your lesson!” The first slow, rich notes of the concerto poured from her viola “Oops! Sorry I forgot. Do you have a pen?” “It’s in my purse, and I don’t have a free hand right now! You’ll have to get it yourself!” snapped her mother. Please be calm. Take a deep breath, begged Helen silently, but she said, “I don’t mind getting the pen. Sorry to bother you.” “I just don’t see why I have to do everything for you, Helen,” sighed Mrs. Silverstein. Helen felt a lump rise in her throat. Now her mother was angry with her. Could this day possibly get any worse? She arrived home to find her house dimly lit and quiet. This was to be expected, as her dad loved privacy and conserving energy. Sighing, Helen pushed in the doorbell. After a few seconds, her dad rushed to open the door, a plate of freshly cooked chicken paprikash in one hand. A towel was tucked into his shirt collar, and his silver-gray beard and mustache glistened in the blackness of the night. His large, warm brown eyes pierced through the milky strands of moonlight that clung to the sky With a tight smile on his face, he asked, “Why’d you have such a long lesson?” Helen could hear the stormy annoyance in his voice, and she couldn’t bear to see him upset, too. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” said Helen, kissing her father. “I’ll meet you upstairs.” She jogged up the stairs to her room, changed into her pajamas, and started in on the tedious task of running a brush through her hair one hundred times. *          *          * MOVEMENT ONE Helen strode confidently down the hall on her way out of the Harrisburg School of Music (H.S.M.). She had just finished her last orchestra rehearsal of the year, and it had ended early. Helen hoisted her viola strap higher on her shoulder as she watched the other violists chatting happily Amy, Sara, and Katy were inseparable. In fact, the only student from Helen’s orchestra who would speak to her was her stand partner, Allysa. She hated to sound like a typical moody, depressed teenager with social problems, but sometimes Helen felt like no one liked her. Even Tori Peterson, a girl from her math class and the only other person from her grade who attended H.S.M., refused to talk to her. Instead, she and her snotty, popular friends, Quinn Wallace and Astrid Amberson, completely ignored Helen. The only time Helen felt comfortable at H.S.M. was when she was playing viola. The power of being the principal, the leader, the best violist, was invigorating, and the pure joy and love of playing rich, beautiful music enlightened her and filled her with pleasure. Helen’s only regret was that she wasn’t in the most advanced orchestra. A hot-pink flyer startled her, and Helen peered at it more closely. It was information about the advanced orchestra. Scanning the list of audition requirements, Helen popped it into the side pocket of her purple case. She also flipped through the thick stack of excerpts. Every student auditioning had to play the required excerpts, or small sections of pieces. Violins had to play Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, and Prokofiev; cellos were required to perform Haydn and Schubert. Finally, Helen’s hands found the viola excerpts. There were only two: Mozart and Haydn. Carefully sliding the excerpts into her case, she continued down the hallway. Adrenaline pulsed through her body at the thought of auditioning. It was an exciting, educational experience that always made Helen feel proud, and since performing never made her nervous, she looked upon auditions as rare opportunities to test herself and push her limits. Besides, joining this orchestra might be the key to improving her playing. *          *          * MOVEMENT TWO Helen anxiously flipped through her two books of pieces. The Bach sonatas all seemed too difficult or too basic to play for her audition, and she knew the judges would be annoyed to hear the same Suzuki pieces over and over again. At first, she had thought of asking her teacher to help her choose a piece, then decided against it. Helen’s teacher would only select a piece like the Seitz Student Concerto in C Major, a concerto played by