On Monday when I saw the shadow in the hallway, I didn't panic. The vase would live to see another day. A second later, Lincoln popped his head around the door.

"I'm outside again. Didn't want to scare you."

"I wasn't..." I started indignantly then trailed off. Who was I kidding? Nobody carried a vase around for fun. "Thanks."

He disappeared, and I tried to put his face out of my mind as I began to play my part of Schubert's Piano Trio No. 1. I'd been allocated into an ensemble that morning, thankfully with Jude on cello, so at least I had a friendly face with me. I'd been sitting next to him when the groups were announced.

"Now you'll be able to see how many cock-ups I make," he whispered, earning a dirty look from the professor.

I half-smiled in return, more worried about my own inadequacies showing through. When we'd introduced ourselves to our peers last week, I was one of only three students who'd never performed in public, and the thought of freezing up on stage terrified me.

The professor read out the next name, "Brigitte Dupont on the violin," and a red-haired girl on the far side of the room sighed.

Jude echoed her sentiments. "Don't worry, love, we don't want you either."

I hated to be quick to judge, but I couldn't avoid the rumours already flying about her. She'd chosen to live on campus, and so far, she'd insisted on moving rooms because she didn't like the view, berated the cleaning staff for a lack of clean towels, and accused the chef of xenophobia because the menus in the cafeteria were only available in English.

And when we started our first rehearsal, it turned out I'd been right to worry. Despite Jude's crack about making mistakes, he played his cello beautifully, and it was me who managed to mess things up. Three times I got my fingers muddled so much we had to start over, and Brigitte made her feelings on the subject quite clear.

"This is supposed to be a school for the gifted. I've seen better pianists in bars."

"And I've seen chimps with better manners," Jude retorted, but I held up a hand to quiet him. I didn't want to cause an argument, and besides, Brigitte was right. I needed to do better.

Which was why I played until my fingers seized up on that Friday evening. By the time I staggered out at ten, I could barely move my arms. Lincoln was the only person still around when I left. He gave me a little wave as I crossed the lobby, and I nodded back.

"Have a good weekend," he called.

All I wanted to do was sleep.

"She's awful!" I said to Sofia as I hastily swallowed a slice of toast the following Tuesday. "How can one person be so spiteful?"

After yesterday's ensemble session, where Brigitte had suggested I faked my school audition video, and lunch, where she'd driven one of my classmates to tears with barbs about her weight, I wanted to take Brigitte's perfectly buffed nails and gouge out her eyes with them. So far, I'd stayed silent on the subject, but that morning over breakfast, I couldn't bite my tongue any longer.

"Just focus on yourself," Sofia told me. "Karma will get her in the end."

"'In the end' won't be soon enough. Our first recital's in two weeks, and every time I step into the same room as her, Brigitte makes me break out in a cold sweat."

Hisashi laughed as Sofia fed him a spoonful of mushed-up banana, and then she straightened. "In that case, we should pray karma gets her act together, shouldn't we?"

After I kissed Hisashi goodbye, I muttered a quiet plea skywards as I hurried downstairs to the parking lot. My usual driver was waiting for me, and I reluctantly climbed into the backseat.

"Good morning, ma'am."

"Please, call me Akari." I'd asked him twenty times already. "And good morning, Clint."

Only I'd lied about it being good. Every day I spent at school, I missed Hisashi more and more. Deep inside, I was starting to wonder whether I'd made a terrible mistake by coming to Boston. True, the instruction was second to none, but without my family around, I felt lonelier than ever. If it wasn't for Sofia's down-to-earth attitude and easy smiles, I'd have packed up and gone home.

"Ready for another day in the fun factory?" Jude asked when I plopped onto the seat beside him in our music theory class. "I brought you a coffee. Figured you'd need it with the hours you've been practising."

"Thanks." I took a grateful sip. "Caramel syrup—perfect."

I'd discovered the joys of flavoured coffee when I moved to Virginia with Emmy. She was somewhat of a coffee connoisseur.

"And cream." He rummaged in his backpack. "And cookies."

Brigitte strode past, pausing only to scowl at the bag of snacks. "You won't fit into your dresses if you eat all those."

"Ignore her," Jude whispered. "She's just jealous."

But I couldn't ignore her. I'd had a baby, and I still carried proof of that on my hips and stomach. Stretch marks didn't lie, and although I'd lost most of the baby weight through running around after Hisashi, I couldn't deny my clothes were slightly snugger than they should be.

"I'd better pass."

He shrugged, broke one cookie in half, and popped a piece into his mouth.

"Oh, well. More for me."

I felt the first tickle of a cold at the back of my throat on Wednesday, and my constant sneezing earned a series of glares from Brigitte.

"Do you need to go home?" the doctor teaching our health class asked.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head. "I'll be fine."

But I was still battling the virus on Thursday morning. Jude flopped onto the seat beside me, leaned back into his usual slouchy pose, and handed me a bottle of orange juice.

"Thought you could use this rather than coffee. You know, vitamin C and all that?"

"Thanks," I whispered.

My throat felt like someone had gone at it with sandpaper, but that wasn't the only problem as my muffled hearing caused embarrassment in our ear training class. The notes all started to sound the same, and when it came to singing music from the page, my voice came out as a croak. Brigitte performed beautifully, of course, then rolled her eyes when the girl next to me took her turn. Yoga didn't go much better, but miraculously, Brigitte was nowhere to be seen. Probably she'd gone back to her coffin to sleep.

With only a week to go until my first public performance, I headed to the practice room as soon as I'd unbent myself from downward-facing dog. My back ached as I settled onto the stool, and I rummaged in my bag for an aspirin. What sadist said exercise was a good idea?

Schubert grated on my ears as I began playing. I'd once loved that piece, but each time I struck a key, all I could see was Brigitte's smug face as she hit every note perfectly on her violin. Over and over again, I played the damned arrangement, over and over... And eventually it sounded like music once more. The practice room took on new life, no longer the same box I'd been sitting in for so many evenings. Now it filled with a greater presence, one of warmth, love even. I took my eyes off the music and turned my head. Someone was watching me from the doorway.

No, not someone. Hisashi's father. One step at a time, he came closer, and I wanted to run to him, to throw myself into his arms and tell him how much I loved him. How much I'd missed him. Except I was frozen to the seat, my fingers playing of their own accord no matter how hard I willed them to stop. Why couldn't I move? When he got close, the only man I'd ever loved paused and reached out, touching not my heart but my shoulder.

"Miss?"

I reached up, closing my hand over his, finding his skin warm to the touch. But why was my face so cold?

"Miss?"

The voice was wrong. Why was he speaking with an American accent rather than his usual sexy Spanish?

"Miss?"

I woke with a start, groaning when I realised I'd fallen asleep on the piano. Oh hell, I'd drooled on the keys. I tried to wipe up the mess with my sleeve, putting off the moment when I turned to face...

"Hi, Lincoln."

"Long day?"

Just act natural, like waking up with three black keys and four white ones imprinted on your cheek is perfectly normal.

"You don't know the half of it."

He leaned on the piano, and I resisted the urge to tell him off. "I know you practise longer than anybody else here."

"Because I need to. I'm supposed to be playing in an ensemble next week with a girl who makes Donald Trump look modest."

Why did I tell Lincoln that? I shouldn't have been burdening others with my problems.

"You mean Brigitte?"

"You know her?"

"You're not the only person she's made an impression on since she arrived. The catering staff have been queueing up to spit in her dinner and housekeeping's responsible for the sudden glut of spiders in her room. You didn't hear the news, then?"

"No, what news?"

"Brigitte has left the building."

"What, for today?"

"No, permanently?"

My eyes went wide. "You're kidding. What? Why?"

He chuckled, the sound deep and hearty. "The dean found out about a little movie she made in France and wasn't too thrilled. He doesn't like students bringing the school into disrepute."

"What kind of movie?"

"She tried to write it off as expressing herself through art, or so the dean's PA said, but given that it starred Brigitte, three men, and no clothes, the dean didn't buy it."

I almost choked on my own tongue. "Porn?" I whispered. "Brigitte made a porn film?"

"Indeed she did, and her acting skills are no better than her interpersonal ones."

"You've seen it?"

"The support staff held their own showing at lunchtime. Chef even made popcorn."

"Oh, I wish I'd been there." I felt my cheeks turn red. "No, no! Forget I said that. I don't ever want to watch her doing...that."

Lincoln laughed louder this time, and I made the mistake of looking at his eyes again. Such a deep brown, and up close tonight, I saw the flecks of gold rippling around the edge of the irises. They were kind eyes, and the fine lines spreading from the corners hinted at past laughter.

"I don't blame you. It was kind of interesting, but in the same way a presidential debate is interesting. Everyone faking for the camera while they try to shove it up each other's ass, and the only reason anyone watches is because there's nothing better on the other channels."

"I can't believe it." I still struggled to accept the news. Was he joking? Had Brigitte truly gone? "I've never been that lucky."

He pushed away from the piano. "Maybe your luck's changing."

As I watched Lincoln walk away, I mused over his final words. Could he be right?

Friday morning came, and the empty seat in the seminar room told me Lincoln hadn't been lying. Whispered rumours flew around my fellow students, but none of them seemed to have been privy to the gossip. I certainly wasn't going to spread it.

Dr. Vasilyevich arrived five minutes late with an unfamiliar face in tow, and the entire class fell silent as the door clicked closed behind the pair. It hadn't taken long for everyone to realise that Dr. Vasilyevich was not a man to be messed with.

I tried to study the newcomer without being obvious—easier said than done as he was doing the same to us, gazing around the class. He was the same height as Jude but a little skinnier, probably because Jude never stopped eating. Beside me, Jude didn't seem so curious about our new classmate as he snuck a gummy bear into his mouth and chewed. I shook my head when he raised an eyebrow in my direction. Dr. Vasilyevich didn't tolerate snacking.

"I'd like to introduce a new pupil. Jansen has transferred across from the Conservatorium van Amsterdam, and I want you all to join me in welcoming him to Holborn."

A smattering of applause sounded from around the room, and I joined in as Jansen took Brigitte's seat. Would he be an improvement on its previous occupant? Surely he couldn't be worse.

"Jansen plays the violin," Dr Vasilyevich announced. "So as Brigitte has unfortunately had to leave us, he'll take her place in the recital next week."

I figured I was about to find out.