Free Porcelain Keys by Sarah Beard

freedom that I’d never really thought beyond that point. “I don’t know. When I get to that point, I’ll figure out the next step.”
    “You should start preparing for Juilliard now. If you audition this year, then you can enroll next fall.”
    I gave a humorless laugh. “Okay, let’s ignore the fact that I haven’t taken formal lessons for five years, or that I can’t get enough practicing in when I’m living with my dad, or that a semester’s tuition is probably more than I earn in a year. I don’t know the first thing about getting into Juilliard, other than that my chances are slim.”
    “You could find a good teacher to help you prepare. There’s still time.”
    “I can’t. It would be too hard to keep it from my dad.”
    “Maybe he would let you take lessons if you practice somewhere else.”
    “He would never agree to it. Do you know how many people offered to teach me for free after my mom died? He turned them all down. He told them that both he and I needed some time away from music, and he would let them know when things changed. Things haven’t changed yet, and to be honest, I don’t think they ever will.” I shook my head and began walking up the trail again, silently cursing the emotion burning in my throat. It seemed to ignite something deeper in my soul, a desire I’d kept suppressed far too long. I wanted to take lessons. I wanted to chase the dream of Juilliard. It was where Mom had gone to school, and as a child, I’d wanted nothing more than to follow inher footsteps. But Dad had torn the dream from my hands, and until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how raw the deprivation still was. “I can’t even think about this until after I move out,” I said, my voice thick.
    He walked quietly beside me, his face troubled. Finally he said, “I’m sorry for pressing you. I’m just . . . in awe of you, Aria. You’re like a beautiful caged bird, and I want to unlatch the door and set you free.”
    I didn’t respond right away, and for the remainder of our hike I steered our conversation to more lightweight topics, like friends and movies and school. When we reached the lake, we wandered around a bit, circling the grassy shore to find a place to settle in and enjoy the scenery. A flock of geese waded along one edge of the football field–sized lake, and we skipped rocks across the clear water as we moseyed along. Aspens and pines skirted the lake, and beyond the trees, the mountains rose around us.
    “Aria!” Thomas called out from ahead of me with a beckoning wave.
    When I caught up, he was standing next to an old fishing boat that was half-covered in moss.
    “That thing has been there since I was a kid,” I said.
    His mouth slowly curved into a smile. “Can you swim?”
    “Why?” I asked nervously.
    He tossed his backpack on the ground and tipped the fishing boat right-side up. The seat was caked with dirt, and he kicked it off with his shoe, then wiped it clean with his sleeve before pushing the boat to the water’s edge.
    “Hop in,” he said.
    I laughed and shook my head. “Why don’t you take it for a test drive first? And when you get back soaking wet, let me know how cold the water is.”
    He picked the weathered oars off the ground and peered into the boat. “I don’t see any holes.”
    I leaned over and examined the boat for myself. “That’s because they’re hidden under all that dirt.”
    He reached down and scooped up a handful of water, tossing it playfully at me. I straightened and gasped as the frigid water splashed my face and neck. “See,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “it’s not so cold, is it?”
    I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie and glared at him. “In relation to the Bering Sea, no.” I had an impulse to shove him into the water, but after taking a moment to size him up, I thought twice. He was a head taller than me, and my willowy frame was no match for his broad shoulders and muscular arms. Retaliation would undoubtedly