Transcendence by C. J. Omololu Read Free Book Online Page A

this?”
    “No,” I say, reaching for the scrap of paper.
Veronique would like to come today and Thursday because you both missed last week. I told her it’s fine. Love, Mom
.
    “Well, I’m sorry,” she says. “I put it where I thought you would see it.”
    “That’s so weird,” I say, glancing at the paper again. “I just saw her. In Peet’s.”
    “When were you at Peet’s?”
    “I wasn’t,” I say. “I was on the bus. Never mind. It’s not important.”
    “Well, she’s coming around six.”
    I look at the clock—she’s due here any minute. “You should have called me.”
    “Sorry,” Mom says. “You know I’m not crazy about you spending all this time on lessons in any case. Especially if it’s going to cut into your schoolwork and your own practice time.”
    “You guys won’t give me extra money, so what else am I supposed to do? It’s better than working at McDonalds,” I say. “Or at the O’Farrell Theater.” Kat actually knows someone who works as a topless dancer, and she really does make good money. We both know I’d rather die than take my clothes off in front of strangers, but still, point made.
    “Don’t try to be funny,” she says. “We get you everything youneed, and there’s nothing funny about you wasting your gift teaching untalented beginners how to mutilate a cello instead of taking extra classes at the conservatory like we’d planned.”
    “Nothing funny about increasing my allowance,” I mutter, making sure I’m out of earshot first. Ever since I picked up a bow for the first time when I was four, the cello has been my destiny, and Mom hates anything that might interfere with that in the tiniest way. I sometimes wonder how different my life would be if we hadn’t gone to Aunt Karen’s house that day. Not really my aunt, but my mom’s best friend from college, Karen had an old cello sitting in her living room, and according to family legend, I climbed up on the chair, grabbed the bow, and started playing perfect notes right from the start. I’m not sure how much of that is actually true, but what is true is that the cello comes ridiculously easy for me. It’s like learning how to talk—not something I have to really concentrate on, it just happens, like I’ve known it forever. Within a year, I’d outgrown my first cello teacher, and my parents had me on the fast track to world cello domination.
    “I’m sorry, dear?” Mom says, staring at her laptop. “What was that?”
    “Nothing,” I say, and finish putting the groceries away just as the doorbell rings.
    “How was London?” Veronique asks before she’s even through the door. “I hope you don’t mind me coming twice this week, but I can’t stand missing a lesson.” She’s holding her cello with one arm and gives me a quick hug with the other.
    “London was great,” I say, backing up and letting her into the hallway. “And it’s totally fine to come today.”
    Veronique is slim and super-fashionable, with her straightblack hair cut in a severe bob—a style that my long wavy hair can only dream about. There’s a tiny brown birthmark that looks like a comma over her right eye, which is good, because otherwise she’d be a little too perfect and I’d have to hate her. She’s in her early twenties and is some sort of scientist over at UCSF. Whatever she does, it makes enough money for the best instrument, the latest clothes, and the freedom to be at a cello lesson on a weekday evening.
    She hands me a sealed envelope and I smile, knowing it’s cash. Veronique has only been my student for about six months, but I can always count on her not to forget. “Thanks,” I say, shoving it in the back pocket of my jeans. “Come on in, I’m already set up.”
    It is actually enjoyable to teach Veronique—she isn’t a natural, but what she lacks in skill she makes up for in determination. From week to week, I can tell she’s been practicing, although she gets really embarrassed when I