Free Falling Stars by V. C. Andrews

without
speaking. "You already know Mr. Marlowe, your
drama coach, and this is Mr. Leonard Bergman, our
instrumental and piano teacher." Mr. Berman's eyes
brightened a bit, but he didn't change expression and
barely nodded.
She then recited our names and, after our
instructors sat, we sat.
"Everyone settle in okay?" Cameron Demetrius
asked immediately, to break the silence.
We all answered at once, and that lightened the
heavy air with some laughter.
Howard then started a long story about his trip,
speaking as if he was doing a scene on the stage, his
hands moving like two birds circling each other. A moment later. Edmond Senetsky entered with
Madame Senetsky on his arm and everyone rose. She
took her seat at the head of the table. Edmond sat at
the far end, and our first formal dinner at the Senetsky
School began.
We learned that Alfred Littleton, our vocal
teacher, was a former light opera star, and the
instrumental teacher. Leonard Bergman, was an
internationally famous conductor. The more we
learned about each and every one of them and their
accomplishments, the more nervous and insecure I
felt. Surely, they would take one good look at me and
see what an imposter I was. How could a farm girl
from Ohio be considered someone so talented she
could compete for a place in the world's greatest
orchestras?
Mr. Masters would find my speaking ability
and speech patterns so flawed, he would throw up his
hands in frustration. I knew I didn't have the kind of
grace or muscle coordination to please a professional
dance instructor, and I couldn't carry a vocal note. There would be no point to any singing instructions for me. Once all this was learned. I was sure I , would be called to Madame Senetsky's office, where she would quickly inform me a great error had been made and there was someone far more qualified waiting in
the wings. I would almost be relieved. I thought, I was so frightened. I competed with Ice for the
position of the most silent person at dinner. I could
see how Mr. Masters was keenly listening to
everyone's speech patterns. It made me very selfconscious. As I expected. Howard Rockwell led us
with his questions, his eagerness to show just how
much he knew about each of our teachers. When
Brock Marlowe asked him about parts he had played.
Howard rattled off a very impressive range of roles. I
was terrified Mr. Bergman would follow by asking me
how many times I had performed in public, what
orchestra I had been a member of, or what my training
had been up until now. I would surely look like a
musical pauper.
I continually glanced at Madame Senetsky to
see her reaction to everything said and asked. She
maintained a stoic expression, her eves barely
confessing an emotion or a thought. I had the distinct
feeling that she wanted her staff to make its own judgments about us and would do nothing to influence
that evaluation.
As the evening wore on, most of us did relax.
Despite the formal, stiff beginning to the dinner, each
of our teachers spoke about himself and his
professional experiences, and before long we were all
witnessing a fascinating conversation about
international theatrical events with names of famous
people woven in so casually and so quickly, we didn't
have a chance to react. Every so often. I looked at
Cinnamon and Rose, who wore soft smiles of
appreciation on their faces. Steven looked bored and
from time to time fidgeted with his silverware. Ice
looked like someone visiting another country, her
eyes small but full of curiosity. Only Howard sat with
a demeanor of confidence, as though he was a regular
participant at such dinners.
Edmond Senetsky apparently knew something
about everyone anyone mentioned and had stories of
his own, name-dropping his clients at every
opportunity. Since Howard had made his accusation
earlier. I couldn't help but watch the way Edmond
glanced at Rose from time to time. It was probably my
imagination. but I did think he was trying to catch her
eye more than he was trying to catch