The Guarneri

The Highmore Concert Hall was a temple of sound. Velvet curtains, gold leaf trim, a chandelier that cost more than Kai’s entire neighborhood.

Backstage, the air was thick with tension and rosin dust.

Elena sat in her dressing room. She was wearing a midnight blue gown that shimmered under the lights. Her hair was pinned up perfectly.

"Five minutes, Miss Vance," the stage manager called.

Elena looked at her reflection. She looked like the perfect Dean's daughter.

She looked at her hands. They weren't shaking. They were fists.

She thought about Kai. She thought about the rooftop. She thought about the way he had looked at her when she froze in front of her father—the disappointment.

*I play to eat.*

"No," Elena whispered.

She stood up. She grabbed her car keys.

She ran out of the dressing room, past the confused stage manager, past her father who was schmoozing with donors in the hallway.

"Elena!" Dean Vance shouted. "Where are you going?"

She didn't answer. She ran to the parking lot.

She drove like a maniac. She drove to the Conservatory’s secure storage facility. She used her father’s master key code, which she had memorized years ago.

She ran into the climate-controlled vault. There were rows of instruments. Stradivarius. Amati. Guarneri.

She grabbed a black case. A Guarneri del Gesù. 1741. It was worth millions. It was insured for more.

She ran back to the car.

She drove to Kai’s apartment.

She didn't buzz. She ran up the four flights of stairs, her gown trailing on the dirty steps. She burst onto the roof.

Kai was there. He was sitting on the edge, staring at the city, holding a beer. He looked defeated.

"You're late," Kai said without turning around. "Show started twenty minutes ago."

"We're the finale," Elena panted. "We have time."

"I told you," Kai stood up, angry. "I don't have a violin!"

Elena walked over to him. She held out the black case.

"Open it."

Kai looked at her. He looked at the case. He undid the latches.

He gasped.

The wood glowed with a deep, honey-colored varnish. The instrument radiated history. It was a masterpiece.

"Is this..." Kai stammered.

"A Guarneri," Elena said. "From the vault."

"You stole a Guarneri?" Kai looked at her like she had grown two heads.

"I borrowed it," Elena corrected. "Indefinitely."

"Elena, if anything happens to this..."

"It won't," she said fiercely. "Because you're going to play it. You're going to play it like you played that Vivaldi in the tunnel."

Kai shook his head. "I can't. I'm done, Elena. Look at me. I'm a mover. That's all I am."

"That is a lie," Elena stepped closer, grabbing his shirt. "You are a musician, Kai Rivera. You are the best musician I know. My father thinks you're nothing. He thinks you're noise. If you don't play tonight, you're proving him right. You're letting him win."

She shoved the case into his chest.

"It’s not yours," she said. "But the music is. The music belongs to you. Take it back."

Kai looked down at the violin. He felt the hum of the city around him. He felt the anger, the pain, the hope.

He looked at Elena. She was terrifying. She was beautiful.

He snapped the case shut.

"Drive," Kai said.

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