Page 43 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
“But you did so much on your own.” I’m embarrassed that I’ve let Sam’s disapproval stop me so often, while she didn’t let anything—not even her parents—get in the way of what she wanted.
“I lucked out. In Korea, people call me a diamond spoon.”
“A diamond spoon?” From her tone, it isn’t anything flattering.
“Yeah. A spoon, but made out of diamond. It’s like a silver spoon, but a lot more valuable. And I was born with one in my mouth.” She shrugs like that kind of talk doesn’t bother her, not really. “So tell me what you’re going to do now. Are you going to pursue music? You should. You’ll be amazing.”
Looking at the bright sparks in her eyes, I feel a little sad and pathetic, like I’ve lost something I shouldn’t have. “I can’t.”
“You haven’t been practicing?” she screeches.
I wince. She couldn’t sound more upset if I were to confess I had unnatural feelings for a cow. “No, no, I have. I mean, I remember the pieces I must’ve played before, so I’ve been keeping up.”
“Whew. I thought you’d quit, which would’ve been a travesty. You should totally go for it. I can just see the critics jumping to their feet, tears streaming down their cheeks… Smith’s debut is an unstoppable force!” She leans closer. “I’m going to ask Dad to sponsor you. And maybe you can even be broadcast in Korea. Think about the human-interest angle. You’ll be fascinating.”
She’s so animated, waving her arms, her eyes sparkling. She’s serious about the debut. But the more jubilant she is, the more deflated I become. “I can’t.”
“Why not? It was your dream!”
“Maybe, but things are different now.” I feel as flaccid as a crepe.
“How?” She jumps to her feet and rushes to the piano. “Look at this!” She points at the music. “You’re practicing ‘Mazeppa’!” She turns to Tony. “Be honest. Does she suck?”
“She’s brilliant. The best.”
“Seeeee? He thinks you’re amazing.”
“But I have panic attacks every time I try to perform in public.” The confession makes me feel like a broken doll, and I hate it. I glance down so as not to see the inevitable pity in her eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Yuna asks.
Gazing at my lap, I play with my fingers. “I was in a coma after the accident. After I woke up and recovered enough, I tried to have a small recital because I thought I’d be able to reclaim some part of my life that way. But as I was walking toward the piano, I started to sweat and my heart started to beat so hard, I fainted. They actually sent me to an ER to make sure I wasn’t having some kind of heart issue, because I apparently collapsed clutching my chest. But doctors ruled it out. So I tried again, but it happened again. That’s when I got diagnosed for panic attacks.” My voice is small. I’ll never forget the way the ER smelled. Or the endless beeping of the machines. Or the clinical concern from the doctors. To them, I was just a girl who didn’t know her limits. And I feel like I’m failing my friend by being much less capable and cool than I used to be.
Yuna raises a hand. “Hold on a minute. That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never seen anybody as incandescent on stage than you. You fed off an audience’s energy.”
I look at her, unsure what to believe. If Sam told me I was prone to panic attacks, I’d ignore him, since I know what kind of man he really is now. But I actually experienced them myself. Twice! How can she be so sure? “I don’t know. But it felt like my heart was about to explode, and I passed out.” I might not recall much of what happened before the accident, but I remember everything since.
“If you think it’ll help, I could do a duet with you just to get your feet wet, so to speak. But I’m telling you, whatever reaction you thought you had was not a panic attack!”
I frown, unsure why she thinks that’s a good idea. Surely she knows my preferences. “I don’t like playing duets with people. Or anything that requires me to play with others.” Except Tony. But he’s different.
Yuna rolls her eyes. “Obviously not, when you don’t have me! You didn’t like to play with people who couldn’t keep up with you. But we did plenty together, and you got invited to play in quintets a few times. I still have the piano quintet you did.” She pulls out her phone and fiddles around until she finds the video she’s looking for. “See? That’s you.”
It’s a recording of me and four string players, performing Dvorák’s Piano Quintet in A major. “Where was this?”
“At Curtis. About a year before…you know.”
The quintet is beautiful, and everyone’s playing well. But something about the music bugs me. It isn’t the phrasing. It isn’t that anybody hit wrong notes. But my skin crawls anyway, like a hundred ants are marching along my spine.
Yuna gestures at Mr. Kim and says something to him in Korean, and he nods and disappears. “I know you’re skeptical, so I’m going to prove it to you,” she says.
I wait, unsure how she plans to do that. Obviously she isn’t going to show me any more videos, since she isn’t going through her phone anymore. And she’s just drinking more champagne.
I look at Tony. He shrugs. “Whatever she’s going to do, I’m looking forward to it,” he says.
“You’re going to weep,” Yuna tells Tony. “We’re going to be awesome.”
“I thought you Koreans like to be modest,” he says teasingly.
