Transcendence by C. J. Omololu Read Free Book Online

but that’s not a surprise. She has an after-school job at a boutique on Union Street, and when she isn’t selling clothes, she’s out somewhere buying them. To her, our house in the Haight is slumming it, so she spends as muchtime as she can in the “better” neighborhoods. She’s going to fashion design school in September, which is just about killing Dad, who’s had visions of her going to Stanford since before she could talk.
    Just as I toss the rest of my apple into the compost bin, our doorbell rings. I can see the watery shadows of Oscar and his mom through the glass in the front door.
    “Hi, Mrs. Garcia,” I say, opening the door wide. “Hey, Oscar.”
    Oscar pushes by me with barely a grunt, half dragging, half carrying his cello. This is going to be a very long lesson.
    Oscar’s mom shakes her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with that boy,” she says. “He doesn’t appreciate all that we’re doing for him. Trying to broaden his horizons.” She perches on the wing chair that Mom has set up for parents, although it’s a lot easier for me when the chair is empty. If it’s just me and the student I can relax a little bit, maybe show them some things that might be more interesting than the classical fingerings and scales that their parents feel they’re paying for.
    Mrs. Garcia puts her handbag in her lap and watches Oscar unpack his cello in the living room. I glance at her bag, hoping that she’ll get my telepathic message that it’s the first lesson of the month. Payday. I don’t mind teaching—sometimes it’s even fun—but I hate chasing the money. And it’s the parents with the most money that forget to pay me most often.
    “Did you practice while I was gone?” I ask Oscar, getting my cello ready. These are things I have to ask while the parents are sitting within earshot. They like it that their kids are taught by an actual child prodigy, but they still expect me to act like a teacher.
    He shrugs, which means he probably hasn’t touched it sincehe was here last. His bow bounces across the strings, making a grating sound that sets my teeth on edge. Some kids, no matter how much their parents want them to, are just never going to be into playing an instrument.
    I set my cello against my shoulder and play a few bars of a song I’ve been trying to teach him for the past three lessons, and Oscar does his best to copy my motions. After twenty-eight excruciating minutes, I let him put the bow down and pack up the instrument. As he gathers up his things, his mom motions me over.
    “I think he’s sounding so much better,” she gushes, making me wonder if she’s actually been sitting in the same room. “That last song was crisp and clear. You really have a gift—we were so lucky to get a place with you.”
    I smile a tight smile and nod, because that’s what they want me to do. I hesitate before opening my mouth. “Um, Mrs. Garcia? It … um … it
is
the first of the month and all. So I was wondering…”
    She claps her hands together. “Oh, yes!” she says, and rummages through her bag. “I seem to have forgotten my checkbook.” She smiles up at me. “I’m sure you don’t mind if I bring a check next time.”
    “Of course not,” I say, managing a tight smile. “No problem.” I mentally cross off those two new books I’d wanted to order from Books Inc.
    Mom meets them at the door just as they’re leaving, causing a flurry of
hellos
and some grocery bag shuffling.
    “How was the lesson?” Mom asks over her shoulder as I follow her into the kitchen. She puts the bags down on the counter and I start poking through them.
    “Fine,” I say. “Are there more in the car?”
    “No,” she says. “This is it.”
    I find one of my favorite protein bars at the bottom of a bag and unwrap it.
    “Don’t eat too much,” Mom says. “I’m making dinner early because I have an online meeting.” She closes the fridge and pulls a note off the front. “Did you get