Chapter 26

Iyla

TERRIFIED WAS AN UNDERSTATEMENT. I was literally starting all over, and Zagan was right. Starting from scratch wasn’t going to be easy. Despite feeling absolutely horrified at the idea, I had to admit that I was a little excited at the prospect, too. For the first time ever, my dreams felt possible. Far away, sure. But possible. I was allowed to think about it at the very least, and that was more than I’d ever been allowed before.

How was I going to get there?

That was what I was trying to figure out as I sat down across from my advisor come Monday morning.

“It’s good to see you,” Mrs. Yates said as she repositioned in her brown leather chair. Her gray hair hung around her face in a sharp bob, and her black glasses hung around her slender neck on their beaded necklace. She placed her folded hands on the top of her desk, the air of complete professionalism radiating off her. “I looked over your grades on your way over here. They are looking as fabulous as always. You’re really excelling.”

Her praise made the nerves in my stomach run rampant. I forced a smile and said, “Thank you, ma’am. That means a lot.”

She waved a wrinkly hand at me and asked, “So what were you needing to meet about?”

I swallowed the sand in my throat. “I recently got to thinking about my future, and I … well, I wanted to see what steps I needed to take to change my major.”

She raised her slender black brows. “Change your major?” She plucked the glasses dangling over her chest and put them on as she grabbed some papers. “Political science is the best major for someone who’s looking to become an attorney. Are you wanting to just add a minor, or—”

“Music,” I breathed out, making her freeze in her search for a pen. “I want to be transferred to the music department.”

Mrs. Yates stared at me over the rim of her glasses. She’d gone as still as a paused movie, stalling in place so that her gaze bore into mine. Finally, she repeated, “Music?”

I nodded and shifted nervously in my seat. “I know it sounds crazy. We’re nearing the end of the first semester of my junior year, and I’ve already taken so many pre-law courses. But I—I really want to do this. I want to play piano professionally.”

Mrs. Yates slowly leaned back in her chair, her blue eyes tracing my face like she couldn’t believe I was actually sitting here and saying all of this. “Can I ask where this is coming from? You’ve never shown an interest in the music department before. You’ve never even glanced at the music electives.”

“Actually,” I started, my hands fumbling with the material of my pants in an effort to keep my shaking fingers busy, “it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I just never thought I could until now. It took a long time, but I finally feel ready to reach for it. For my dream.”

And it was all thanks to a demon who refused to let me continue hiding away in my cage.

Mrs. Yates watched me skeptically, and the confusion previously marring her features slowly morphed. Her nose turned up slightly, and the faintest condescending smile pulled at her lips in an expression I knew all too well from interactions with Mom and her colleagues. It was a look they reserved for people they deemed beneath them.

“And do you know how to play piano?” she questioned, that haughty tone just barely shining through her professional one.

I ignored it and nodded. “I do.”

It had been years since I’d played, and I’d never actually studied music and all that went into it. I’d have a lot of work cut out for me, and it was going to feel near impossible. But the prospect of doing that for the rest of my life—learning new pieces, performing for audiences here and far—made the resolve in my gut harden. For the first time, I was sure of myself. This was what I wanted, and this was what I was meant to do. Not study cases to argue in a stiff suit in the courtroom.

I wasn’t a lawyer.

I wasn’t my mother.

I was a pianist.

Mrs. Yates slowly took her glasses off and held them tightly as she rested her chin on her knuckles. “I love that you have this calling to play the piano,” she said, her tone all forced politeness. “That’s a great hobby to pick up. I’m sure you could find a course or private lessons to do on the side. You don’t need to change your entire major and career choice for that. You’re such a gifted individual, Iyla. Smart with a successful mother in the same field. Throwing that away would be …” she paused and waved her glasses as she searched for the words. Finally, she finished with, “A pity.”

The churning in my gut grew. Only now, there was bitterness mingling with the anxiety. Bitterness at her dismissal of what I wanted, and bitterness over her judgmental attitude.

It took me a few moments to find my voice. “With all due respect, Mrs. Yates, this isn’t a hobby. Playing piano is a career, and it’s what I want to do with my life. My mother is successful, but her success doesn’t determine what mine should look like. I want to do this.” I took a deep breath and added, “Please.”

She stared at me, looking like she was contemplating dismissing me and pretending this exchange never happened. Her chair swiveled slightly from side to side as if it, too, were debating what to say or do. Did she fight me on this to try and keep me on the path that had been laid out for me, or did she let me carve my own?

“You understand that changing now means more work for you, right? You won’t be able to graduate next year. There’s also no guarantee of a good, well-paying job in the career field you’re seeking. Have you truly taken the time to consider this?”

“I have,” I answered. “I understand, and I’m willing to put in the work and deal with the potential risks.”

Her lips thinned in disagreement. I knew she’d hoped I’d reconsider, but that wasn’t happening.

Finally, she leaned forward to grab some papers. “Alright. If anyone could start over this close to the end, it’s you. I meant what I said. You are very talented and smart. I’ll reach out to one of the advisors in the music department and get you switched over for the start of spring semester.”

Excitement as bright as the rising sun and as bubbly as a fresh soda rose up inside of me. I beamed at Mrs. Yates as I thanked her and left the office. I knew that was merely the first in a long list of looming struggles, but with that one completed, the rest felt less daunting. It felt like this was really possible. My dream was on the horizon, just beyond these upcoming grueling battles.

I could do it. I knew that now.

And it was all thanks to Zagan.

I SAT NEXT TO GEMMA on the garden bench, soaking up the warmth of the evening sunshine. Her complexion was clear of any gray undertones, warm with a pretty pink flush against cream-colored cheeks. Her eyes held a warmth like polished brass instead of muted murky waters. Even her frame seemed taller and stronger as she sat up straight on the bench, people-watching as she ate her red jello and gossiped about the drama at Bloomings.

“So that’s why they broke up,” Gemma finished, nodding at two patients that were currently on opposite ends of the garden—one doing a puzzle at a table and the other being wheeled through the shrubbery by a nurse.

“Wow,” I said, forcing some shock into my tone. “I can’t believe Tony did that. Sharing his crayons with another girl is definitely not cool.”

“ Exactly ,” Gemma said incredulously. Her voice held so much passion and life that it nearly choked me. She was really improving. “Poor Martzia cried for hours when she found out he’d done that. He even gave the turquoise one to Raylee, which he knew was Martzia’s favorite color.”

I tried not to laugh at the scandalous drama that was the seven year olds lives.

“The audacity,” I gasped with a shake of my head. I finished off my own cup of jello and set it aside. “I don’t have anything as juicy as that to share, but I do have a little bit of exciting news.”

Gemma faced me fully then, her jello forgotten and her eyes locked on mine with the utmost curiosity. “What?”

I pressed my lips firmly together and watched her lean closer as she waited on pins and needles for me to speak. After letting the tortuous silence stretch on for a few seconds, I announced, “I’m going to play piano again.”

Her eyes doubled in size with nothing but glee. “Oh my gosh! Really?”

I nodded, unable to fight my own grin. “I talked to my school about it today. I’m officially changing my major so that I can be a pianist instead of a lawyer.”

“I always loved hearing you play. And Dad. You were both so good at it.” Gemma’s eyes took on a dreamy look as though she were traveling back in time to old, blissful memories of Dad standing next to me while I practiced Beethoven or Chopin, Gemma watching from the carpet on the floor with a wide smile.

She’d been young when he passed—only seven. I loathed the fact that she didn’t get more time with him, yet she and I clung to the memories we did have. Knowing she still remembered the sound of his playing made my throat burn with emotion.

Worry quickly clouded the expression as her eyebrows dipped. “Does Mom know?”

Dread deflated the excitement flooding my chest. I shook my head. “No.”

Gemma stared at me. “You’ve always done what Mom says, though.”

I chewed my lip and ran my fingers through Gemma’s brown hair, letting the soft strands slide through my fingertips. Feeling how much healthier it was, no longer brittle and thin, helped me find the confidence to say, “I know. But sometimes, what Mom says and wants is wrong. As crazy as it sounds, moms and dads aren’t always right. I’m only just learning that. So even though Mom wants me to be what she is, I need to be who I am. Does that make sense?”

Gemma smiled softly and nodded. “I’m glad. It always made me sad when Mom was mean to you about the things you liked and wanted, but … I thought maybe that was just how it was supposed to be.”

I frowned, and the weight on my chest grew heavier. I realized then that Gemma must’ve watched me and Mom all these years and thought that treatment was normal—being put down and told that your dreams were wrong was okay.

Regret as potent as a mouthful of pennies filled my mouth. “Kids should listen to their parents. Most of the time. Parents should guide you and teach you so that you can be a better person than they were, and a lot of the time, they’re motivated to do that by their love for you. But sometimes, the things they do and say are wrong. It can be hard to tell when that’s the case, which is why you have to trust that voice inside you. When it comes time to decide whether you’ll listen or make your own choice, I hope you’ll choose what you want, Gemma. You shouldn’t obey at the expense of your own happiness. I’m so sorry that I haven’t been a better example of that for you.”

Gemma’s eyes widened, and she grabbed my hands. “Are you kidding? You’re the bestest sister in the whole world. I love you and want to be just like you when I grow up.”

Emotion clogged my throat. I squeezed her hands, not afraid of bruising her for once, and smiled. “I love you, Gemma. So, so much.”

Gemma grabbed her jello cup again and worked to scoop a bite. “Just remember, when you’re famous and playing the piano everywhere, I was your biggest fan first. So get me lots of free tickets to see you play, okay?”

Laughing, I twirled some of her hair around my finger and watched her eat. “It’s a deal.”