Love at First Note by Jenny Proctor Read Free Book Online Page B

anyone.”
    “It’s that black one, right? It looks expensive.” It took me a second to figure out she was still talking about Elliott’s car. It was an expensive car, more expensive than mine anyway. But this was stupid. Even if I did want to gush about Elliott’s car, it wouldn’t be with my little sister. I loved her, but she insta-posted everything— from the flavor of her breakfast cereal to the eye color of her current crush. She knew social media better than I knew music theory and wouldn’t let something as juicy as her sister living next to a famous pianist go unmentioned. I felt the need to call her off. I didn’t know for sure why Elliott had moved to West Asheville. Despite Lilly’s claims that it was cool and hip, which it totally was, it wasn’t exactly a popular haunt for the rich and famous. It made more sense that he really was trying to lie low and be off the grid for a while. Which meant Ava blabbing anything to her whatever-hundred followers was not what Elliott would want. Just what I needed to lock in my lovesick fan persona: a little sister revealing his secret location all over the Internet.
    “You haven’t posted anything online about Elliott, have you?”
    “What? No. Why would I?”
    “Because he’s famous, and . . . I don’t know why else. Isn’t that enough?”
    Ava shrugged. “I guess it’s kind of exciting, but it’s not like he sings or anything. None of my friends would even know who he is. I mean, he’s just some old guy who plays the piano.”
    “Old guy? He’s only a year older than me.”
    Her eyebrows went up. “Yeah. I know.”
    I sighed. “So what’s up with you? What are you doing here?”
    She pulled a loaf of bread out of her bag and handed it over . “Mom’s baking again.”
    “Really? She said she was feeling good on Tuesday but not baking-bread good. I’m surprised.” I pulled the loaf to my face and breathed in the familiar yeasty smell. Baking was a good sign, though it made me nervous that Mom had done it without me there. She liked to think she didn’t need me around, but it made Dad nervous too when she tried to do too much on her own. Six weeks before I moved home, she fell in the grocery store and broke her wrist. She hadn’t slipped or tripped or stumbled in any way. She ’d just . . . fallen. Her legs had stopped working and then she’d been on the ground. I would never forget the way Dad sounded on the phone, like it killed him that he couldn’t just be there for her all the time. He couldn’t, not with his work schedule. But I could.
    “Yeah, she’s had a good day. She was making cinnamon rolls when I left,” Ava said.
    “For real? Is she alone? She’s been on her feet all day. She shouldn’t be doing this if she’s by herself—”
    “Chill,” Ava interrupted. “Dad’s home. She isn’t alone.”
    “Oh. Well then, why didn’t you wait an hour and bring me a cinnamon roll too?”
    “Whatever. You’re only getting bread ’cause I have rehearsal and Mom insisted I bring it over on my way. Are you coming over on Sunday to help with my concerto?”
    “Yeah , I’m planning on it. I also thought we could look at Juilliard’s audition list. Have you looked at it yet?”
    She pulled out her phone without responding, her fingers flying over the keys. I waited a beat longer, then huffed out her name. “Ava.”
    “What? Oh. No, not yet.”
    For a second, I only stared, feeling the familiar Ava-tinted tension building in my neck and shoulders. “It’s not that different from when I auditioned,” I finally said. “You’ll need a Paganini Caprice. Do you know any Paganini? ” She didn’t look up from her phone, but at least her fingers stilled. “We’ll find you a good one. I like number twenty-two, but seven is good too, or fourteen, maybe. And a Bach sonata. Number three in C Major would be perfect.”
    Ava still didn’t respond. She stared out the passenger-side window, biting at her thumbnail with enough ferocity