Если я останусь

           Andeventhoughyoumightthinkthatbeingpartofagroupwouldmakeyourelaxalittle,notcaresomuchhowyousoundedblendedamongeveryoneelse,ifanything,theoppositewastrue.

           Isatbehindaseventeen-year-oldviolaplayernamedElizabeth.Shewasoneofthemostaccomplishedmusiciansinthecamp—she’dbeenacceptedintotheRoyalConservatoryofMusicinToronto—andshewasalsomodel-gorgeous:tall,regal,withskinthecolorofcoffee,andcheekbonesthatcouldcarveice.Iwould’vebeentemptedtohateherwereitnotforherplaying.Ifyou’renotcareful,theviolacanmakethemostawfulscreech,eveninthehandsofpracticedmusicians.ButwithElizabeththesoundrangoutcleanandpureandlight.Hearingherplay,andwatchinghowdeeplyshelostherselfinthemusic,Iwantedtoplaylikethat.Bettereven.Itwasn’tjustthatIwantedtobeather,butalsothatIfeltlikeIowedittoher,tothegroup,tomyself,toplayatherlevel.

           "That’ssoundingquitebeautiful,"SimonsaidtowardtheendofcampashelistenedtomepracticeamovementfromHayden’sCelloConcertono.2,apiecethathadgivenmenoendoftroublewhenI’dfirstattempteditlastspring."Areyouusingthatfortheconcertocompetition?"

           Inodded.ThenIcouldn’thelpmyself,Igrinned.Afterdinnerandbeforelights-outeverynight,SimonandIhadbeenbringingourcellosoutsidetoholdimpromptuconcertsinthelongtwilight.Wetookturnschallengingeachothertocelloduels,eachtryingtoout-crazy-playtheother