Free Eternal Heat (Firework Girls #3) by J. L. White Page B

levels on the application, but didn’t know how to answer. Erik had told me he’d fill that in for me.
    The emcee announces honorable mentions and winners for the first level. The winners are all young, under ten at least. The girl who wins honorable mention looks no more than eight. I’m again jealous of all these people who’ve had such a jump start on me. But it’s not enough to kill my high. Even though I’m not winning anything, playing on stage in front of an audience has given me such a jolt it’s still inside me, stirring me up.
    I think about my fantasy of being a concert pianist. That wish, which has always been as vague and fuzzy as a wish on a star, is right now solidifying into something more real.
    I’ve had a taste of that dream. I want it now, in a whole new way. I don’t know how I’m going to make it happen, but as I sit here watching kids half my age climb on stage and get their awards, I’m feeling a level of determination I’ve never felt before.
    That can’t be the last time I get up on a stage.
    I want to do that over and over again until the day I die.
    As the emcee advances through the different levels, the winners are getting older, though there are the occasional standouts. “What level are you in?” I ask him. I want to know when to root for him.
    The emcee announces there’s one last group of awards, the highest level apparently.
    “This one,” Erik says, straightening in his seat.
    I cross my fingers and grin at him. “First place, baby. Four times in a row.”
    He looks nervous, which I think is completely adorable, but he smiles at me. He can’t seriously be nervous. There were some great pianists up there today, but no one touches Erik.
    The emcee says there are three honorable mentions for this level, and starts rattling them off. When he gets to the last name, my mouth falls open: “Ashley Morrison.”
    The audience starts their polite clapping. Erik joins in, elbowing me. “Get up there.”
    I turn my disbelieving stare at him. “I thought this was your category!”
    “Yours too!” he says, grinning. “Get up there silly!”
    I stand and make my way down the row feeling a bit numb. But then it hits me. When I get to the aisle I look at Erik and grin. Holy crap! It’s all I can do not to run up to the stage.
    They’re already announcing the remaining winners as the assistant on stage presents me with a certificate.
    At the top it says:
    Idaho Piano Association
Music Fest
Honorable Mention
    Below that it reads:
    Ashley Morrison.
    Right there! I can’t stop grinning like an idiot.
    The emcee says, “And in first place,” my breath catches in my throat, “Erik Williams.”
    I grin even wider and watch as he makes his way to the stage. He collects his medallion from the assistant, gives me a wink and a smile, and joins the line of winners. And me. I’m one of them! I don’t even care that I don’t get a medallion. Honorable Mention totally counts.
    We all bow and start to exit the stage. Erik falls in next to me and we smile at each other. He looks so composed.
    Half way down the aisle, I say, “Congratulations!”
    “You too,” he says.
    “Look!” I say, holding my certificate in front of him like a little kid showing her parents her kindergarten drawings.
    He laughs. “Now do you believe me?”
    “About what?”
    “About how good you are.”
    I don’t answer. I just grin down at my certificate. I can’t say whether I believe him or not, even though something in me has shifted. I do feel more confident, no question about that, but it feels too new a thing to give voice to it. I don’t want to chase it away.
    I want it to settle inside me, and give me the courage to do whatever comes next.

Chapter 7
     
    The following Wednesday, Erik and I are sitting on the floor in front of the couch, an ominous sheet of paper on the carpet in front of us. It’s a print out of the admission requirements for the Juilliard School of Music.
    I’ve admitted I want