Some Kind of Magic

After we left Rockefeller Center, the buses were waiting for us outside to take us to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on 5th Avenue. It was, without a doubt, one of the most amazing places I had ever been in my life. If it wasn’t enough that I was a huge art fanatic, the highly obscure and elaborate architecture of the building and the displays within it set me right over the edge. I couldn’t have cared less about where we were going afterwards; I would have stayed at the Met all day if I had been given the choice.

We returned to the hotel after we were finished so that everyone could get changed into something nice for dinner at The Four Seasons; if it wasn’t for Christabelle’s closet cleanout, I wouldn’t have had any particularly nice clothes—more specifically, dresses—to wear. I didn’t know how to pull off a style that was both formal and casual, so I settled on a white button-up blouse with frills, and high-waist grey dress pants with attached suspenders.

“Someone looks sexy,” Emma said teasingly, stepping out of the bathroom and clipping her hair up. “You’re not going to leave your hair in a bun, are you?”

“Of course not,” I replied, pulling the elastic out and allowing my hair to fall into thick curls around my shoulders.

“Can I make a suggestion?” she asked, approaching me almost warily. When I gave her a curt nod, she unbuttoned the two middle buttons of my blouse and my hand immediately flew to my chest.

“What are you doing? My boobs are almost showing!” I cried, moving to button them up again but she caught my wrist.

“That’s kind of the point,” she said with a wink, and went back into the bathroom. Emma was the kind of person that was endowed enough for the both of us, and she could surely pull off that kind of style but I couldn’t, and if I tried I just ended up feeling self-conscious. I redid the button furthest down that she had undone, but left the one higher because she wouldn’t have given me a break otherwise. When Emma was finished getting changed, she threw my jacket at me and I slipped it on while she worked on her own. She was wearing a pair of silk black dress pants with a matching blazer, light grey undershirt and four-inch black heels, and I knew immediately that she would be in tears by the end of the night.

“I think I may regret these,” Emma said, looking down at her feet after we had stepped out into the hallway.

I smiled. “You could go back in and change them,” I said and she shook her head. “All right, fine. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re complaining about sore feet.”

“You’re a real gem of a friend, do you know that?” she said sarcastically. I couldn’t help but laugh.

We met the rest of the students in the lobby and, once the attendance was taken, headed back out into the crisp fresh New York winter air. The Four Seasons was just down the street from the hotel so we walked, and based on the location of the Waldorf-Astoria, I had a good feeling that I would be getting quite the workout on this trip. At least I would be getting good sleeps during the night, provided we didn’t have to wake up too early but the chances of that were slim to none.

The Four Seasons was completely decorated with holiday spirit; Christmas Carolers stood in front of the entrance, their cheeks tinted bright red but enormous smiles etched onto their faces nevertheless, large Christmas trees were located all throughout the hotel and right into the restaurant, and all of the railings and banisters were wrapped in bright lights of red, green and gold. And to top it off, the music playing in the background was none other than—surprise, surprise—Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. I was really beginning to feel like the holiday season was upon us, and I could only imagine how fantastic a New York Christmas must be. Even though we wouldn’t be here long enough to experience it, I couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought of it.

The number of students our school had brought along accounted for a large majority of the restaurant, but since they could not fit almost one-hundred people at one table, they split us up into tables of eight, so Stephanie and Amelia sat with us, along with two of the twins’ friends from the trumpet section, James and Perry.

The night was turning out grand, but unfortunately, even though I was surrounded by some of my favourite people in the world right now, I couldn’t help but feel somewhat lonely, as I kept checking my phone for messages from any of my family members, or Ryan. The only messages I had gotten following the one Ryan had left for me at Rockefeller Center were from Blade, reminding me to pick him up some of the cologne he loved so much that was only sold in New York, and wishing me a good time, and then one from my mother, wanting to make sure I arrived at the hotel safely. Giving into the temptation of wanting to hear Ryan’s voice, I excused myself from the table, to the displeasure of Emma, Dylan, and Robbie, and disappeared around the corner to call him.

He picked up after the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi Ryan,” I said, already beginning to smile.

“Isabelle! How are you? How is the trip going?” he asked. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“You too. The trip is pretty good so far, except for the part where I threw up,” I laughed, knowing that he would be concerned about me, but also somewhat amused upon learning the cause.

“What? What happened?” he asked me.

“We went up to the very top of Rockefeller Center today—”

“Oh God, that must have killed you,” he gasped.

“Well it sure didn’t help to hold my lunch down, we’ll put it that way,” I said.

Ryan was silent for a moment before I heard him laughing. “I’m sorry, I just had the funniest image of you throwing up over the side of the building,” he said, “and someone at the bottom having the biggest fit of their life because they’re covered in whatever you ate.”

I began giggling as well. “I can only imagine how that would have gone over,” I said. “It probably would have made the news!”

“They would have had to have an extremely dull day in the Big Apple if that were to be in the newspaper,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “Where else did you go today?”

“Well, we went to the Met, and right now we’re just having dinner at The Four Seasons,” I replied.

“Oh, well what in the world are doing calling me for?” he chuckled. “Go enjoy your dinner. You can call me later tonight once you’ve rested a little. You must be exhausted. You had an early morning, didn’t you?”

“Four-thirty,” I nodded. “It’s been a long day.”

“Well go have fun with your friends, and I’ll talk to you later. I don’t want to interrupt you with my hundreds of questions about your trip,” he said.

“No, it’s okay. I called you after all. I just really wanted to hear your voice,” I responded, and with a hesitant sigh, added, “I miss you terribly. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“That’s sweet,” he said. “But you’ve been busy with school, I understand. And we’ll have a day or two when you get back before you go to Italy. We’ll figure something out, I promise. I have a surprise for you when you come home, actually.”

I grinned. “You do?” I loved surprises.

“Yes, but you’ll just have to wait until then,” he laughed. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Once I’m made aware of a surprise, I can’t forget about it,” I joked. “It may very well be all that is on my mind for the next eleven days.”

“Well, you’ll just have to sweat it out. I’m sure you can manage,” he said. “Call me whenever you get a chance, there’s no rush. Just have a good night with your friends, enjoy the city, suck up all the glory, paint the town—”

“You sure have your fair share of phrases,” I smiled.

“Just hoping to put that beautiful smile on your face.”

“It’s working.”

“Yeah?” It was such a relief to hear Ryan’s light-hearted laugh ringing through my ears. Prior to the New York trip, it had been about two weeks since I had so much as heard from him, because of all the stress that school was piling on due to midterm exams and homework rushes; not to mention all of the supply teachers assigning pointless projects while the board of education continued to search for a fitting replacement for Mr. Bishop. “Well go on, then. Whenever you have the time, drop me a line or a text, whatever works for you. I’ll be waiting.”

“Okay. Have a good night, Ryan,” I said.

“Good night, gorgeous.”

I hung up my phone and placed it back in my pocket, and as I returned to the table, the sudden uplift in my mood must have been evident on my face because Emma began smiling.

“Was that who I think it was?” she asked.

“That depends, who do you think it was?”

“Your mom,” she said and we both burst out laughing.

“If it was my mom, I would come back scowling and kicking things.”

“Ryan?” Robbie asked and I nodded my head, took a sip from my glass of ginger ale. He looked suddenly intrigued and leaned forward, almost spilling Dylan’s water all over the table. He scowled and quickly moved it to his other side.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

“Oh, relax. It was an accident.” Robbie pulled on his vest and adjusted his tie. “Was he all gushy and happy because he got to hear your voice?”

“Robbie, don’t,” Emma said, her mouth turned down into the deep frown that she only got when she was very disappointed in someone.

“What?” he questioned.

“You’re embarrassing her,” she said, nodding in my direction. I tried to hide my tinted cheeks behind my glass but it did not work.

“He was happy to talk to me,” I answered, “And I was happy to hear from him too. We haven’t spoken to each other in a while, so it was refreshing. It was like a reminder that I do, in fact, have a boyfriend.”

“What, you were beginning to question it?” Dylan asked, genuinely confused.

I lifted a shoulder innocently. “There were just times where we wouldn’t talk for days and it made me momentarily forget that we’re dating. Distance does that to people,” I said.

“Dylan would know all about that,” Emma mumbled under her breath and he shot her a fierce glare.

I looked between Robbie, Emma and Dylan, who all seemed to know something I didn’t. “What?”

“Nothing,” Robbie quickly cut in. “Hey, cheers!—to the best field trip, and the best field trip crew that Westwood could ever have.”

James, Perry, Stephanie and Amelia all shot their glasses up and waited for the rest of us to join in, but there was some obvious tension between the four of us. Despite this though, we lifted our glasses into the air and joined in the toast.

“And by the way, we are going to kick ass at that music festival on Thursday,” Robbie added.

“Hell yeah, we are!” James cried, and high-fived Perry delightedly. The outburst caused other people dining next to us to look over with disapproval, but that only resulted in all of us chuckling under our breaths, so as not to disturb them again.

When we were on our way back to the hotel, Amelia sidled up beside me and put her hand gently on my arm. “You and Robbie . . . you’re quite a handsome couple, has anyone told you that before?”

I didn’t know why, but this made me laugh hysterically. “Never.”



Our second day in New York consisted of waking up at seven-thirty and meeting downstairs for breakfast at Oscar’s Brasserie in the hotel at eight o’clock, visiting The Cloisters and then travelling to Juilliard, which I could not express my excitement for enough. As we sat on the bus on the way there, I was on the edge of my seat, staring out the window and tapping Clair de Lune on my knees.

Not only were we getting a tour, but we had the chance to talk to some of the students currently enrolled in their music program, meet some of the directors and professors, and listen to a performance from the music class before we left. To say the least, I was ecstatic. My anticipation was driving me over the moon.

From the very moment I stepped off the bus and onto the steps of the Juilliard School for Performing Arts, my mouth was gaping opened and my hands were shaking. Emma didn’t seem to understand why I was in such a state of shock and elation, but her future was directed in another path. Although she loved music, and was very talented at it as well, she thought of it as more of a past-time, and was not considering it as a career possibility. For me, on the other hand . . . Juilliard was my future, and I could not see myself going anywhere else in the world but here.

Ms. Giry did a headcount before directing us inside the building and into the foyer, where students were bustling around, looking down on us like insects; but instead of disgust, their faces held curiosity, amusement and, every now and again, alarm or warning.

“My cousin goes here,” James said, glancing around. “He said ‘James, if any of your friends try to study here, do everything in your power to convince them out of it’.”

I looked over at him immediately. “Why is that?”

“Well, Juilliard is practically the most prestigious performing arts school in the world. It doesn’t just train actors, musicians and dancers; it creates legends, masterminds, gods. There’s no way a journey like that would be easy.”

“Well yeah, but it has to be worth all of the effort, right?” I said. “After all, no post-secondary education is a walk in the park, especially not one where it’s looked up at by every other school that any country in the world has to offer.”

He chuckled dryly and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever. All I know is, seven of his friends have been kicked out since the beginning of the semester, and it was only their first year.”

“Maybe they were just bad students.”

He looked back at me doubtfully. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

I didn’t, but I was trying not to look on the bad side because the bad side was, I would be competing against thousands, or rather, millions of other violinists from all over the world if I were to apply to Juilliard, and if I were accepted, it would be one hundred times more difficult. If I thought that Westwood’s music program was difficult, I had another thing coming.

Suddenly, I saw the image of a very familiar-looking putrid trench coat passing by me, and when I turned, I spotted Delilah. “Mrs. Cole!” I called out to her and she turned around swiftly. She looked lost as she scanned the crowds of people, until finally they landed on my waving figure. She smiled delightfully and made her way over.

“Isabelle Donahue. Well, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you here,” she said, taking my hands in hers and giving them a firm shake. “How are you, dear?”

“Wonderful, thank you. And yourself?” I asked, unable to control my grin. Dylan, Robbie and Emma watched on from a distance, and I could hear them mumbling from behind as they contemplated where they may have seen this mysterious lady before.

“I’m not too bad, thank you for asking. What in the world are you doing in New York?” she asked me, eyes sweeping over the rest of the students.

“We’re on a field trip for band,” I responded. “We’re actually competing in the music festival at Carnegie Hall on Thursday, have you heard of it?”

“Oh, yes! Of course, I remember now. Your teacher told me about it briefly over the phone,” she said with a warm smile. “I would love to stay and chat but I have a class to teach in the other building and”—she stopped to look at her watch—“in two minutes, I’m going to be running late. Good luck to you and your classmates though.”

“Thank you! And if you have time, you should really stop by to see the festival. We’d be honoured to have you there,” I said.

“You know what? I might just have to take you up on that offer,” she said with a wink and I smiled proudly. “It was good to see you again, Isabelle. Have a lovely trip.”

As she departed, I turned back to my friends who, upon seeing her exit, suddenly recognized the jacket and it dawned on them why she looked so familiar.

Emma clapped her hands together and Robbie gasped, pointing his finger at her. “Ugly trench coat!” he yelled and Dylan covered his mouth. Luckily for the four of us, Delilah was far enough away to not hear us, but I could not contain my laughter.

“You’re a charmer, picking on people’s clothing,” I said.

Robbie frowned at me. “Oh come on, Iz. You can’t deny it. That is one ugly coat.”



I had been lucky enough to meet two violinists from the music class at Juilliard and discuss what classes were like at the school, and where they saw themselves a few years from now, but neither one of them was particularly enthusiastic with their responses. From what I had gathered, classes were busy, tiring, and limited your social life, but a few years down the road, they could picture themselves either being composers, music teachers, professional violinists in large concert bands, or learning another instrument to see where that could take them. I couldn’t exactly say I was surprised; playing the violin was an amazing talent, but jobs were rather limited. Then again, that was true for any musician, really.

When we all sat down in the auditorium to watch a short performance by the music class of over two-hundred students, another large group came in, all clad in matching uniforms of green blazers, plaid ties and purple dress pants. Those definitely were not the school colours of Juilliard.

“Who’s that?” I whispered to Dylan, tugging on the arm of his shirt.

He leaned forward to look past me and his face contorted into a look of disdain. “That’s the Columbus School of the Arts. They’re pretty much the snottiest people you could possibly meet. They’ve came in second to our school every year for the past three years, but during that time, the festival was held in Toronto, so they were always making snippy comments about how Canadian cities are disgusting and trashy. Honestly, avoid them at all costs, if you can. They are unbelievably obnoxious.” He looked over at his brother momentarily, then leaned in closer to me to speak softly, “last year, Robbie threatened to kick their lead trombonist in the teeth.”

“Why?” I asked, both shocked and amused.

“He said he was going to touch Robbie’s drumsticks.”

“And . . .?”

“We found him lying in the parking lot two hours later with a black eye and a fat lip,” he replied, and I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

“Oh God.”

Dylan smiled at me. “Robbie takes his drumsticks very seriously.”

“Clearly.”

I looked over at Columbus, where two girls were sitting in the row adjacent to my own, staring at me with narrowed eyes and pouty lips, and as soon as I caught their eye, they turned to one another and began whispering like middle schoolers. Emma leaned forward from the row behind and, once they turned around, she put on a fake smile and stuck up both of her middle fingers.

My eyes went wide. “Emma!” I whispered, my tone sharp in warning.

“What? They’re bitches,” she responded flatly and sat back again.

While Robbie, Dylan and Emma clearly found it all thoroughly amusing, I, on the other hand, saw the tough relationship dynamic between rivalry schools to be rather enlightening and amazing. At Riverview, any band members were considered geeks, but at Westwood, it meant you were a badass with a killer attitude and tough exterior, and was not someone to be messed with. It blew my mind.

And just like that, I realized I had stepped right smack dab into the middle of a high school music war, and oddly enough, I was enjoying every minute of it.