In Harmony(15)

I saw Jasmine smirk at that idea. “That’s right.”

“Okay. So the two of you were just about to, ah….”

Jasmine looked blank.

The cop tried again. “You were—you know—just about to….”

Jasmine frowned, bemused. I realized what was going on in the cop’s head, but I was too late to stop him.

The cop sighed. “He was jumped as the two of you were about to complete your business?”

There was total silence for a second.

“WHAT?!” asked Jasmine, horrified.

The cop didn’t flinch. “It’s okay, miss—you’re not my concern tonight. Some other night, I might have to run you in, but right now I’m just trying to establish what happened.”

Jasmine’s outrage made her voice go nearly ultrasonic. “I AM NOT A HOOKER! Why would you think—” I saw her look down at her ultra-tiny dress and the long fur coat. “I’m an actress!”

“Uh-huh,” said the cop.

I finally found my voice. “Um, she actually is an actress,” I said, stepping forward.

The young cop turned and looked at me—he really was very good-looking, I realized. He looked at Natasha and Clarissa. “And I suppose they’re actresses, too?”

“Oh no,” I told him. “They’re ballerinas.”

The cop ran his hand over his face, as if this was going to be a very long shift.

The paramedics finished with Dan and walked him past us. “He’ll live,” they told us. “The cut on his head looks worse than it is. Looks like there’s no concussion.”

We all took a long breath. Everything was going to be okay. I felt almost giggly with relief. Jasmine, meanwhile, looked like she was trying to melt the cop’s brain with her glare. I stepped forward to intervene, before she killed him or he arrested her.

Then I saw that the paramedics were helping Dan into the ambulance. “I thought you said he was okay?” I asked.

The paramedic beamed. “He is. Don’t worry, his head’s fine. I just want someone to look at his arm.”

“His arm?” I asked. My giggles evaporated. “What’s wrong with his arm?”





Chapter 3



Jasmine and I went with Dan in the ambulance. Natasha and Clarissa followed in a cab, but they needn’t have hurried. An hour after we arrived, we were still sitting in plastic chairs in ER admissions, gradually sobering up under the harsh fluorescent lights while Jasmine told us about colorful fates she’d like to befall the cop.

We all told Dan it was going to be fine. The arm was probably just bruised, or it was a light sprain. But his right elbow swelled and stiffened, and he said he couldn’t move it at all.

When the doctors eventually x-rayed it, they told us the detailed version of what we’d already guessed. When he’d slammed into the wall, Dan had put his arm out to stop himself—probably saving him from a concussion. But the impact had shattered his elbow, and broken his ulna.

“How long?” asked Dan, and the doctor couldn’t understand why he’d gone so white.

The doctor shrugged. “Eight weeks in a cast. Full mobility: three months?”

Dan just blinked, his mouth open.

“You’ll be alright,” the doctor said, thinking we didn’t understand. “It’s only your arm.”

I pulled Dan into a hug.



***



By morning, Dan was home and resting in bed, sporting a cast already covered in names and doodles. I promised to stop by with a care package later in the day, then went home to bed.

And found I couldn’t sleep, the conversation I’d had with Dan going round and round in my head.

I’d been through the situation with him, and it wasn’t quite as bad as it first appeared. He’d pretty much cleared his schedule for the next few months anyway to focus on the recital, so that was the only thing he’d miss. And his grades were high enough that, even though he’d miss the recital completely, he’d still graduate.

Once we’d been through that, though, we had to talk about me.

Since Dan now couldn’t play the Brahms with me, I’d have to find something to play solo. Solo pieces weren’t normally allowed in the recitals, since part of the aim was to teach you teamwork, but in this case I was sure they’d make an exception. All the work I’d spent on the Brahms so far was wasted. I’d have to find a piece I could play solo and practice it like crazy, hoping I could impress the New York Phil scout on my own.

There was one tiny silver lining. At least with only myself to worry about, I could practice day and night, however long it took. It was going to be a brutal few months, but maybe, if I found the right piece, I could still pull it off.