Free Love at First Note by Jenny Proctor

turning point since she’d called me about the video for CIM, but things were no better.
    If she wasn’t so good when she did play, I might just throw my hands in the air and walk away. But it felt wrong to give up when she was so close to being ready.
    “Ava, please come play this with me.” I gave it one final try. “If we play it together, you’ll get the feel of it and have an easier time practicing when I’m not here.”
    She sighed a purposely loud sigh and stood up, slipping her cell phone into her back pocket before retrieving her violin from the back of the piano.
    “On my count, all right? One, two, ready, play . . .” We made it through the first eight measures before her phone dinged with an incoming text, and she left me to play Barber’s Violin Concerto opus Fourteen on my own.
    “Ava, come on! Why did you want me to come over?” There was a reason I wasn’t Ava’s regular violin teacher. Mom brought it up once, wondering if she could save the money she spent on Ava’s tuition. It took about seven seconds for me to shoot that idea down. Even just helping her with her pieces on the weekend was enough to make me crazy.
    She shot me a backward glance. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distracted. I t’s just . . . this is really important. How about you play it for me all the way through and record it so I can listen and practice along with the recording.”
    It wasn’t a bad suggestion. But it would be even better if we could play through the entire thing together. Then I could help her identify any trouble spots she’d need to work on. “I can record it for you, but let’s play it through first.”
    She giggled, her eyes still glued to the phone.
    I sighed my own purposely loud sigh. “Seriously? I’m going home.”
    Mom poked her head around the corner of the kitchen and gave me a pleading look.
    “What do you want me to do, Mom? She’s worse than the Garrison twins, and their mother pays me to put up with their antics. I can’t help her if she won’t play more than four measures.”
    “These are important audition s, Emma.” Mom’s voice was quiet, soothing.
    “I
know
they’re important. I went through the same thing when I was her age, and I worked around the clock to be good enough. I had to build an entire portfolio of work, and I took it seriously, without anyone having to browbeat me into practicing.”
    Ava huffed, finally dropping her phone. “Well, isn’t it just too, too bad we can’t all be as talented as you. Talented enough to be first chair everything all the time, to get into CIM
and
Juilliard like it was nothing, to be the grand-high-violin-goddess of the Cleveland Orchestra and the Asheville Symphony. Isn’t it just so sad we can’t all be as perfect as you.” She slammed her violin into its case hard enough to make me wince and stormed out of the room.
    Mom let out a frustrated breath and shook her head. “I should’ve bought that girl an oboe.”
    I sank onto the piano bench. “I shouldn’t have rubbed stuff in her face. I just don’t understand. She’s so talented. Why won’t she try?”
    “You left her some pretty big shoes to fill,” Mom said. “I know you don’t expect her to be just like you. Your dad and I don’t either, but she puts the pressure on herself.”
    “But she’s better than I was at her age. She shouldn’t feel pressure at all—she’d be brilliant if she’d just try.”
    “She’s got a lot of natural talent .” Mom kept her voice low. “But I’m afraid you got the lion’s share of the one thing she might not have enough of.”
    I raised my eyebrows and waited for her response.
    “Desire. She has to want it, Emma.”
    I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. We’ve talked about it. This is what she wants.”
    Mom looked tired. “I think you’re right, but I have to wonder if we aren’t pushing her too hard.”
    “If this
is
what she wants, there’s no other way to get her there. She won’t make it if she