The Vanishing Violin Read Free Page A

and play my guitar in all the cool clubs down there, so a girl in an NYU sweatshirt is a source of valuable information.
    She gives me kind of a funny look at first, but then she shrugs. “It’s okay, I guess. Is that where you wanna go?”
    “Yeah, but my parents are pushing for Columbia. We know a guy who—” I stop myself, deciding she probably doesn’t really want to hear about Malcolm Chance’s promise to help me get in.
    She leans over the counter. “Well, don’t go telling everyone, but right now my main ambitions are for this place.”
    I look around at Perkatory’s motley collection of furniture, its peeling paint and impressively grungy floor that is only slightly less sticky than a movie theater’s. The place is a dump, but it’s our dump—know what I mean? I don’t know how I feel about somebody new coming in on her first day and talking about making big changes. “They are?”
    “Oh yeah. I mean, this is a coffee shop, right? You’ve got to have music. Live. Real.”
    Leigh Ann puts her arm around my shoulders. “It just so happens that we have a band.”
    I elbow her and shake my head. Actually, what we have is an idea for a band. We’ve never actually playedtogether yet. “We’re just getting started,” I say, which is only a little total lie.
    “Does this band of yours have a name? Gotta have a great name.”
    Leigh Ann looks at me. “Do we?”
    “Um, no.”
    The girl sets our drinks on the counter. “Well, how about this—the Blazers. Cool, huh? If you like it, it’s yours. A gift. You guys let me know when you’re ready for your first gig. I’m Jaz, by the way.”
    The Red Blazer Girls. The Blazers—I like it.
    Back on the couch, Leigh Ann tells the others about Jaz’s plan to add live music to Perkatory’s menu. “And she said we can play whenever we’re ready.”
    I see one eyebrow go up on Margaret’s face. “Who is ‘we’?”
    Leigh Ann looks at me for support.
    “Oh, you know, I’ve been talking about starting a band for a while,” I say. “Me on guitar, Becca on bass. And now we have Leigh Ann to sing. You should hear her, Marg. She’s awesome.”
    Leigh Ann tugs on Margaret’s sleeve. “What about you?”
    Margaret smiles. “Thanks, but I’m not sure a classical violin is a fit. You guys need a drummer or a piano player. Besides, I just don’t have time now that I’m in this string quartet.”
    My mom, who is Margaret’s violin teacher, recruitedher to join a youth string quartet. Mom is prepping them for a big competition over at Juilliard in February—very serious stuff—and they have an aggressively ambitious rehearsal schedule.
    “Is that, like, short for Jasmine?” Becca asks, completely out of the blue.
    Leigh Ann’s head tilts to one side, a quizzical look on her face. “Is what short for Jasmine?”
    “Her name. Jaz.”
    Ahhhhh. Jaz-mine.
    Speaking of which, there she is, clearing tables and wiping them down. When she gets to us, she points to Margaret and Rebecca and asks me, “So, is this the rest of the band? Did she tell you guys the name I thought of?”
    “Noooo,” Rebecca says, looking confused.
    “Oh yeah,” I say. “Jaz came up with a really cool name for the band. The Blazers. What do you think?”
    “That depends,” Rebecca says. “Am I gonna have to wear my school blazer when I’m playing? Because that is definitely not cool. Art is supposed to be about expressing individuality, not worshipping conformity.”
    A month of art lessons in SoHo and suddenly she’s a rebellious near teen.
    “Jeez, Becca. Who peed in your orange juice this morning?”
    “Ugh. I really hate that expression, Sophie,” Margaret scolds, holding up her bottle of Orangina and grimacing.
    My goodness, aren’t we a sensitive and delicate bunch.
    I look up to see a Greek god towering over me. He is six feet tall, carrying a duffel, and wearing a school blazer with the St. Thomas Aquinas crest, which I recognize because that’s where