“For admission?” Evelyn replied. “Competitive.” Sarah appreciated the answer.
“How competitive?” “Usually forty to sixty applicants for twelve fellowships. Your son would still need to audition like everyone else.” “Good.”
Evelyn paused. “That’s an unusual response.” “I don’t want him invited because people felt sorry for the hoodie.” Neither did Evelyn.
The audition was five weeks away. That created the first practical problem: Eli still had no piano. Evelyn could not release a loan instrument before acceptance because the program owned only nine and current fellows had priority. Hartwell practice rooms were technically available to applicants twice a week, but the conservatory was downtown and Sarah could not drive there after every hospital shift.
The train fare would still cost money before any transportation voucher existed. Opportunity, Sarah quickly remembered, always came with hidden costs. Mrs. Alvarez solved part of it.
When Sarah called her and described the station, the mockery, Evelyn, and the fellowship, Mrs. Alvarez stayed silent so long Sarah thought the call had dropped. Then she said, “Put Eli on.” He took the phone at the kitchen table.
“Did you play Mozart too fast?” was the first thing she asked. Eli blinked. “No.” “Did you rush the recapitulation?”
“Maybe two measures.” “Then we have work.” That was Mrs. Alvarez’s version of celebration.