Kelly approached me backstage, where we stored all our instrument cases. "You ready?"

I scoffed. "You think?"

She placed a hand on my shoulder. "We believe in you. You're brilliant, Ethan. You've got this. Just like we practiced, alright?"

I rolled my eyes. "I sucked yesterday; what makes you think I'll figure it out today?"

Reid, our second chair cello player, turned around from behind Kelly. "Come on, Eth, you gotta believe in yourself. Hiroshi believes in you."

"His mistake," I muttered. "I just want to get this over with."

Kelly pursed her lips and motioned to the stage. "If it makes it easier, you can look to me if the crowd gets too stifling to look at."

"Thanks," I said, though I didn't think her encouraging smile would help. I knew she and the others meant well, but it was hard to accept. 

Luckily, the hall staff member directed us to take our seats before any of the guests arrived as we set up our music scores. Mr. Hiroshi probably would've allowed me to bring mine, but as a soloist, it's expected to recite a piece by memory.

The brass and woodwinds ran through some scales as the string section rosined their bows and got ready to practice. The nerves hit full force once the doors opened and the ushers were helping guests to their seats. I needed to tune my violin, but all I could see were more and more faces entering the space that would surely be disappointed by my playing. 

At least if it had been a free performance, I wouldn't have felt so bad, but this was a paid event. People paid to see us perform, expecting this money to go directly into the music program. Kelly noticed my distress and tapped my shoulder with the tip of her bow. 

"I'll help you tune," she said. I nodded numbly, going through the motions, unsure if I was tuning it correctly. Such a simple task and I couldn't even handle that. At some point, Kelly must've been fed up, so she helped turn the pegs on my violin, fine-tuning it without the aid of a tuner or pianist. Truly, a prodigy.

With a nervous laugh, I turned back to her. "You sure you don't wanna switch places?"

She shook her head. "I believe in you."

I sighed, running through a few bars I knew I'd struggle with as the remaining guests trickled in. I hadn't seen Cameron enter the building yet, but the warm stage lights made it impossible to see everyone's faces. It was for the best that I didn't see his face and most definitely his smile in the crowd. 

Alan introduced us to the crowd once the doors shut, the lights going dim in the house. I tried to focus on one spot in the music hall, hoping that would keep me grounded and focused on the task at hand. It was a short piece that wasn't deemed very difficult, either. A few parts were repetitive, often having similar bow directions and vibrato. 

But as the conductor started, the sound of my peers playing in unison only intensified the anxious thrum in my chest. 

The thing about Romance in F Minor was that there were a couple of places with rests and two very large breaks in between, but it was also an easy place to get distracted and miss your cue. Luckily, the beginning rest that spanned 23 bars was, in theory, a good place to calm the beginning nerves. Unluckily for me, 23 bars felt like an eternity with my overthinking brain. I waited as the rest of the orchestra played, slowly counting the beats in my head and remembering the music clearly. The beginning was always easier to remember, but after the seventh page is where I continuously messed up during practice. It was after the second longer rest, which involved trills and complicated bow work that I could never fully remember. 

As I made it through the first part and waited for the second resting point to be over, my mind struggled to remember the notes; what I could remember was being jumbled up. Had this scale been first or second, where was I supposed to play pianissimo? 

So lost in my head, I almost missed the conductor's cue, playing the next bar a half beat off. The raised brows of a few of my classmates made it worse as I played catch up. And because it was rushed, my notes were flat when they needed to be sharp, the bow direction was completely off, and it took forever for me to find where I was in the piece. 

At another short rest, I glanced back at Kelly, who did give me an encouraging smile like she promised, nodding her head to the tempo to keep me in check. 

I made it through most of the piece, with a few notes flat in certain areas, but nothing as catastrophic as earlier. 

I felt like such an idiot, even more so as the audience rose to their feet and clapped after the performance. It was well deserved for the rest of my peers, but I knew none was for me. 

Alan returned to the stage to thank everyone before they moved on to other pieces that the rest of our orchestra would perform. Alan had made it so I could come off stage and allow each section to receive a solo after my piece. Our flutist and trombone player had their pieces after us, which meant I had to sit alone backstage with my racing thoughts as they finished their piece. 

By the time the concert was over, the flurry of students had returned backstage to store their instruments. I had put mine away a while ago, too ashamed to look at it anymore. As Kelly and the rest of the strings returned, I had put the case on my shoulders, eager to get the hell out of there. There was no way they'd appreciate the mess I caused on stage.

"Ethan," Kelly called out, hastily putting her instrument in her case to meet up with me.

I couldn't look at her or the other violinists behind her. Nor could I even make eye contact with the rest of the chamber orchestra. I couldn't do anything right. If only I had practiced more like I should have or continued to badger Mr. Hiroshi to let Kelly or the others take my place. At least if I had been second or third chair, I could've blended in instead of having my mistakes on full display. 

Her hand touched my shoulder, and I resisted jerking away. "Ethan, it's okay. You did great."

"We both know that's a lie," I spat. 

"Ethan," Alan called out, making a beeline toward me. Our other classmates cleared a path, not even pretending to be distracted in a conversation to witness whatever Alan had to say to me.

"I told you not to put me as the soloist," I cried out, shoving my fist into Alan's chest. Though not strong enough to hurt, it probably wasn't best to be hitting a professor. "I shouldn't have even been here."

Kelly reached out again, but I jerked away. "Ethan, please."

Alan stepped in front of me. "Son, you sounded fine. It was a minor mistake; it was barely noticeable. It's okay."

I shook my head. "You don't get it! It should've been Kelly! I told you I couldn't do this."

"Ethan, you did; you performed out there. A little mistake is nothing."

"I don't want your pity," I nearly snapped. The weight of my violin case on my back felt heavier as the stares of our chamber orchestra watched as I raised my voice at our professor. I tore it off my back and shoved it at Alan. "I—I don't want it. I don't want to do this anymore."

As frustrated and guilty as I felt, I knew it was childish—I knew I was acting like a fool, but I couldn't do it. I was sick and tired of the violin and what it had turned me into. Sick of having to live up to all these ridiculously high expectations everyone set for me. From my parents to teachers, peers, and friends, I just couldn't deal with it anymore. 

I needed to leave this place before my mind turned on me too. Before, it went down that dark and twisted path that I almost didn't make it out of in senior year. I couldn't go through it again.

"I can't," I muttered, brushing past them and their judgmental stares. I needed to leave, needed some air to clear my head, or I'd end up having another terrible panic attack with no one to save me from. But with all these people in the hall, I couldn't find an exit, couldn't find a quiet corner where I could still have the thoughts in my head. God, my chest was burning.

As I turned around and around for an exit or even a bathroom, that's when I heard it.

"Ethan!" That voice halted me in place. No. I couldn't turn around, not now. My chest tightened as my breaths quickened. I couldn't face Cameron now, not when he was expecting a great performance. He must think I was awful. Anyone—even a toddler— could've heard my mistake out there. He shouldn't have been here; he didn't deserve to hear that atrocity in there. 

His footsteps, which I could recognize instantly, were approaching, but I didn't dare turn around. Especially not when I could hardly breathe. Not when it felt like a million eyes were on me from my obvious mistakes from minutes earlier. Not when it felt like my heart would burst out of my chest at any second.

When I turned around, I hadn't expected to see more than just Cameron there. Behind him was a whole swarm of people, half in expensive suits. I recognized a few from the lobby, among other young men who looked just as built as them. Did he bring his entire team? Oh, no. He'd see what a failure I'd become. They'd all know.

"Ethan," he said, that silly grin on his face. "Good job!"

Good job? No, he must've been sarcastic. There's no way he could possibly mean that.

Then I noticed the bouquet. It looked the size of a cello's body. Geez, how much did he spend on that? Maybe it was for someone else; it had to be.

"Hey," his voice cut through the noise of other audience members filing out of the hall. He closed the distance between us, and with just the flowers right in front of me, my sense of shame and guilt grew like an awful pit. "Eth, you alright?"

My head shook robotically left and right as I tried to focus my attention on something else: anything but his face. 

"Eth—"

"I can't," I sputtered, my feet stumbling backward. "I—I can't do this."

I didn't even know what this was, my head spiraling as it felt like the hall was closing in on me. Though I was certain Cameron was saying my name, it sounded warbled as I took another unsteady step backward, then pivoted on my heels and ran back down the hall I had come through. 

I nearly crashed into a few groups of people as I ran down the hall. When I slowed down to try and get some air into my lungs, I finally found the sign to the bathroom. The wave of nausea finally caught up to me as I stumbled to the restroom, hoping no one would be in there. 

God, I was so pathetic.