The Orchestra - Sinfónia Lifsins - 55. SPECIAL CHAPTER - INVITATION

A quick note: this is not chapter 55. Not yet, anyway.

The chapter you are about to read is actually a polished draft what is going to become the first chapter of Sinfónía, The Orchestra’s (hopefully) improved edition that I plan to publish as an e-book.

I chose to post this chapter here for a number of reasons: one is because it’s Christmas (sort of) and Gunni’s birthday (at least for the next couple of minutes in my time zone) and I wanted something special. It’s a thank you to all of you who didn’t give up this story despite my poor update record this year. And it’s also me saying sorry for said poor update record in 2016.

I know this year was horrible in many ways for many people. For me, personally, I got injured 3 times, in January, May, and October. The first two involved the same shoulder dislocating. The latest one (and reason I’ve disappeared recently) involved my knee. I still don’t know for sure what is up with it, but it’s the same knee I had surgery on 10 years ago to rebuild a torn ligament.

All those injuries – and the last one in particular, have really sucked away my inspiration and my ability to write anything good. I’d been working on this chapter since last year, so I figured that I might as well give you guys something while I can’t go back to the normal schedule.

I plan to post Siggi’s first draft chapter next month too. Maybe by then I’ll be able to get chapter 55 done.

Merry Christmas and happy New Year everyone!

(...)

The racing end to Mozart’s Haffner Symphony kept my heart beating hard against my chest even after the music was over. The tune still played in my mind while our audience clapped and I stood up with the rest of the first violins. My stand partner patted my back, and the conductor shook my hand. ‘You did great,’ she told me, and moved on to shake the hands of the other principal string players.

The crowd in front of us was all smiles. Their clapping echoed in the small school auditorium until I could barely hear the congratulatory whispers thrown back and forth in our section. I told my friends they had done a great job too, but my focus was on the last row of seats, specifically on the chair closest to the door. I wanted to make sure the person sitting there was happy more than anybody else.

I shouldn’t wish that some people had a better time than others, but this man was special. Pictures of him, with his greying short hair and beard, his gleaming blue eyes, and his charismatic smile, decorated my bedroom walls for years. The blue sling on his left arm was the only unfamiliar thing about him. He was a professional musician, the kind that was too good and too important to cross the country for a concert by secondary school students, or to look like he was enjoying our performance. But he smiled as he walked towards the stage. I wasn’t the only one who noticed him approaching, but I was definitely the only one whose legs turned into jelly and had his heart try to break through his chest. I heard my friends’ surprised laughter, followed by the excited shuffling of feet and chairs as they grouped around me to see what the visitor wanted.

The man stopped in front of me. He looked at me and smiled at me and couldn’t make it any clearer that he was there because of me. ‘You’re Gunnar Helluson, right?’ Arnar Sæmundarson, former Leader of the Icelandic Chamber Orchestra (ICO), asked. My voice couldn’t cope with so much excitement and hid deep inside my throat. All I could do was nod, though even that took a lot of conscious effort. One of my friends squeezed my shoulder, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Arnar began to introduce himself, but Fríða, the orchestra’s Principal Second Violin, my best friend, and ex-girlfriend (long story), didn’t let him finish. ‘Oh, we know who you are. Gunni is, like, your number one fan in the whole world. He has posters of you next to his bed.’

Why did she have to say that? Whatever good impression Arnar had of me would be out of the window now. She wasn’t exactly lying, tough; I probably knew more about Arnar and the other ICO musicians than anyone who didn’t work for them, but this was only because I loved their music and dreamed of becoming one of them once I graduated university.

Arnar laughed with my friends. Fríða’s arm rested on my waist and pulled me closer to her, like she knew I was about to dissolve in an embarrassed puddle of goo or sink through the floor in shame. This wasn’t how my first interaction with Arnar was supposed to go. I had imagined our perfect first meeting too many times for reality to mess it up like that.

But, thankfully, it seemed my reputation wasn’t going to be destroyed so easily. ‘Is that so? Thank you, Gunnar, I feel like a celebrity!’

My voice still refused to come out, so I nodded again. Even the thought of smiling and showing that I appreciated his words and his presence made my face heat up. I knew from experience that it meant I was redder than an oboe player after an extended solo, but I didn’t dare look away while Arnar talked to me.

‘How long have you been playing the violin?’ he asked.

This wasn’t a question I could answer with a nod. Fríða squeezed my waist in encouragement, and I finally coerced my voice into coming out to the world again. I was so relieved that I didn’t care my voice got higher with every word. ‘I play since I was four… almost thirteen years now.’

Arnar nodded, but before he could say anything, Fríða decided to add to my answer. ‘And he has been doing nothing but play for all those thirteen years too. I’m surprised he still remembers to eat and sleep every now and then.’ She winked at me, and our friends laughed.

‘It’s not like that!’ I did other things too, I just didn’t do them as much as everybody else. ‘I just really love playing, and I want to be part of an orchestra one day, so…’

Arnar grinned. ‘I’m glad to hear that. Do you like playing with your school orchestra, then?’

‘Yes!’ I finally managed to smile. It came so naturally that I didn’t realise it had happened at first. I started to talk, and the next thing I knew I was standing closer to Arnar, waving my hands in the air in gestures that vaguely fit what I was saying. ‘It’s really great. I love playing with others, making the sound of my violin blend with everyone. It’s like magic, like the music itself is alive, and we just give shape to it…’ That was when I realised I had been rambling on about my subjective music-making feelings, and that I was standing so close to Arnar that I could see the wrinkles on his face. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to–’

Arnar waved away my apology with his good hand. ‘Don’t worry; I can completely understand what you’re talking about. I’m the same; I think playing with the ICO is… I mean, was, my greatest pleasure in this life.’ Arnar glanced down towards his injured arm. He still smiled, but the gleam in his eyes was gone. ‘I think you’re doing a great job as Leader of this orchestra. I was really impressed with your technical skill so far, and with your ability to blend in with everybody else, but also to shine on your own when the music demands it.’

I never knew how to take compliments, even more so when they came from people I looked up to. Arnar was not only my idol; he was the person I dreamed of becoming as an adult. Everybody at the ICO had at least one interview on the internet where they mentioned how great a Leader Arnar was, how he was a father figure for the whole orchestra, and how he did his best to help everyone even when their troubles had nothing to do with music. Arnar gave his life and soul to the ICO, and this was part of the reason they were so great as group.

And now Arnar was saying I was already like him, at least on our understanding of music. He thought I was a good Leader. He liked my playing. If it wasn’t for Fríða’s timely hand on my shoulder, I would’ve fainted and fallen off the stage. I was too stunned for any kind of coherent reaction, but she kept the conversation going. ‘Gunni is the best! He’s our dear prodigy and we love him for it… or despite it!’ Fríða hugged me from behind and pecked my cheek. She stared at Arnar, at the sling on his arm, and finally asked the question that was stuck in my throat ever since I saw him walking into the auditorium before the concert. ‘But what are you doing here? Aren’t you a busy professional with better things to do than watch a bunch of children play?’

Our friends laughed at Fríða’s question, but I feared Arnar wouldn’t take it so well. We all knew the story behind his injury and the tragic consequences it had for his career (it made the news for four days), so she should’ve realised that implying he was busy with work would remind him of painful things. But I was the only one who seemed concerned. Arnar smiled, though it was hard to tell if he really meant it, or was just being polite.

‘I’m never too busy to support the next generation of musicians, particularly when one of you has a gift like Gunnar’s. I know we’re only half-way through the concert, but I’m already glad I came, overnight stay and all. I’m looking forward to the second half.’

Arnar’s new round of praise made my brain freeze again, but Fríða’s worked as quickly as ever. ‘But why? I mean, I get it that Gunni is great and cute and we should all see him perform at least once to consider our lives complete, but someone like you wouldn’t go around watching young prodigies just for the sake of it. Unless it’s some weird hobby of yours that not even Gunni knows about…?’

I should’ve protested at the implication that I was Arnar’s creepy stalker, but my mind was too busy between freaking over all the good things he said about me and trying not to die of embarrassment over Fríða’s bluntness. Thankfully Arnar took everything on good humour. ‘No, it’s not a hobby, though that’s an interesting idea.’ He nodded, scratching his beard like he was lost in deep thought. ‘I’m here as part of my job, or what’s left of it.’ Arnar sighed. When he spoke again, his voice sounded lower and raspier, like he too had trouble persuading it to come out of his throat. ‘The ICO will soon hold auditions to choose their new Leader. I can’t play for them anymore, but it doesn’t mean I can’t help them choose my successor.’ Arnar turned to me, and I sensed what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. I forgot how to breathe, and my heart skipped more than a few beats. ‘Gunnar, I want to invite you to audition for the position of Leader of the ICO. Would you be interested?’

And just like that, my world turned upside down. I had no doubt about what my answer would be, but at the same time I couldn’t believe he had asked such a question. No matter how talented people thought I was, I hadn’t even left school yet. I was sixteen years old. How could anyone expect me to be able to replace someone like Arnar? How could Arnar think I would be ready for the job?

‘I… Of course! That’s… that’s my dream…’

‘Excellent! I’m really glad to hear that. We’ll talk more at the end of the concert, then, and I’ll give you more details. I’m assuming your parents came to the concert too?’

‘Yes.’ I didn’t feel like telling him that only my mother was here. I knew from experience that it would prompt him to ask about my father, and I would have to tell him that he died before I was born. It would make him feel awkward and try to apologise for asking, even though there was nothing to apologise for. I didn’t want to end our first meeting with him feeling embarrassed.

‘Good. It will probably be useful to talk to them too, if only to tell them what a great musician you are. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your break now.’

I only realised how much I had been staring at Arnar walking away from us once I felt Fríða’s hand under my chin, forcing my jaw close. She grinned when I turned to her, and our friends closed their circle around me. Everyone spoke over each other, buzzing with excitement over Arnar’s invitation and sharing their ideas of what the ICO would look like with me as their Leader. It all sounded great (and embarrassing), but they acted as if Arnar had offered me the job, not the chance to fight for it. As good as it felt to imagine myself leading the orchestra of my dreams, I had to be realistic about the situation.

Surely the audition would be full of the world’s top players. The ICO would hear me play, and hopefully agree with Arnar that I was good, but I couldn’t be good enough for such an important role.

But no matter how much I tried to believe this, a tiny sparkle of hope clung to my chest, and wouldn’t let go. Arnar had gone through a lot of trouble to come to my concert and invite me personally. He must have seen some kind of potential in me. He wouldn’t have come all this way if he didn’t think I stood a chance.

Those conflicting feelings clashed inside me for the rest of the interval, but at least I got distracted by helping my friends set up the stage for the second half. The next performance would be of my string quartet, so we had to take away all the extra chairs and music stands. We had just been chosen the best student quartet in Northern Europe, and the school wanted to show off their students’ success. I was the leader of this quartet, and Fríða played second violin.

We took our seats and waited for the audience to quiet down. Our friends form the orchestra crammed at the back of the auditorium or sat on the middle corridor. It was so crowded that I felt like we were playing for the biggest audience in the world, even though there were only about a hundred and thirty people there.

But Arnar was one of those hundred and thirty. He was still the person I needed to please the most, even more so now that I knew why he had come. Our programme for the evening was Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, one of the biggest crowd-pleasers in the repertoire. Playing such well-known music in a small ensemble was already challenging enough (because everybody could tell when we made mistakes, and who made the mistakes), but playing for someone who held the key to the job of my dreams was the biggest challenge I ever faced. There would be no conductor for this performance. It was my responsibility as the Leader to make sure everyone played together. I had to keep the right speed and communicate it to the others while playing my part. I had to signal changes in dynamics, and keep my ears open to stop an instrument overpowering another. If anything went wrong, it would be my fault. If Arnar wanted a test of my skills, this would be the perfect opportunity.

Fríða leaned towards me just as we were about to start. ‘You’ll be great. Just play like you always do, and Arnar will be impressed.’ She winked at me, and the other players nodded. I took a deep breath. We were ready to start. I placed my bow on the violin and cued everyone in.

I had to forget about Arnar, about the possibility that my dream job was within my hand’s reach even before I left school. I had memorised my part, so I barely glanced at the score. I looked mostly at the other players, directing them as best as I could. I turned to the audience for the solo passages, and tried not to laugh when my friends cheered every time I nailed fast streams of notes.

The clapping lasted forever at the end. My friends cheered and shouted compliments about my playing that were obviously meant to impress Arnar. Fríða laughed, but I just wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. I thought I was going to be relieved when the clapping stopped, but instead I was taken over by the anxiety of talking to Arnar again. What if he changed his mind after the second half? What if he gave up on me because of my embarrassing friends? My mind was so busy fretting over it that I couldn’t even remember how to put my violin back on its case.

I looked for Arnar amongst the crowd of people getting ready to leave, but he wasn’t by his seat anymore. Did he leave already? Was it because he realised I wasn’t good enough for the ICO after all? Thankfully, it didn’t take me long to find him further down the auditorium, chatting with no one other than my mother.

It was a strange scene. Arnar and Mum shouldn’t be doing things together; they belonged to different worlds. The professional musician looked weird talking to normal people. It made him look “normal” too, not this incredible god of music he was. And what were the chances that, out of all people in the audience, he found the one related to me? Mum and I had a similar hair-cut and face shape, but I wasn’t her younger male clone. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

I approached them in time to hear some of their conversation. ‘So Gunnar is Hrafnkell’s son? I should’ve guessed.’ Arnar knew my father? How was that possible? I didn’t get a chance to ask anything before they saw me and Mum pulled me for a hug. Arnar smiled fondly and spoke to both of us from then on. ‘Hrafnkell was a few years ahead of me at university, but he was like a mentor to everyone who came after him. I don’t know how meaningful it is to give you my condolences after so many years, but… Hrafnkell was a great man. I used to look up to him as a student. He had a way to inspire everyone around him that I’m still trying to imitate. We knew he cared about us not just as musicians, but as… as people, as his friends.’ Arnar’s smile faltered. ‘I’m sorry, I…’ He wiped his eyes with a tissue. ‘You’re quite special, Gunnar. Not only you already sound like a professional at age sixteen, but you are the son of a great cellist and you’re not afraid of hugging your mother in public!’ We laughed, and Mum pulled me closer on reflex. ‘I’m actually surprised I haven’t heard more about you. Usually prodigies with your kind of talent go out in the world as children, but here you are, still in Iceland and still relatively unknown if it wasn’t for your string quartet’s success.’

‘It was my choice.’ My answer came easily this time around. Mum’s hug created a safety shield inside me that prevented my mind going into melt-down from Arnar’s new round of praise. My voice didn’t squeak either. ‘I play violin because I love it. I love music… I love making music. I didn’t think I was ready to deal with the pressure of being a child prodigy. I didn’t want to be known as a soloist either. I just… I wanted to enjoy the music for what it is for as long as could. If I was famous and there was pressure for me to perform, it would lose much of that enjoyment.’

Arnar arched his eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure what I was expecting you to say, but it wasn’t anything close to this level of maturity. It’s the first time I hear someone consciously decide not to be famous.’

‘I’m not playing for fame. I want to be an orchestra musician. I want to be one sound mixing with all the others, not the soloist who shines in front of the orchestra. That’s not… that’s not the type of person I am.’

To confess to this kind of feeling was embarrassing, even if it was true. Mum gave me a reassuring squeeze. I knew that the classical music world could be very competitive and brutal, and that many people found my ambitions foolish, but I couldn’t change who I was. I didn’t want to change just because most people weren’t like me.

Though, if Arnar thought I was being foolish too, then…

‘You sound a lot like your father. It’s refreshing to hear that someone’s ambition isn’t just about becoming the most famous performer or getting up the orchestra ranks. You’re exactly the kind of person we look for at the ICO. We’re like a family there, and I think you would have no problems fitting in.’

I was never so glad to have Mum holding me. Arnar had all but given me his job. He really thought I could do it. The tiny sparkle of hope in my chest grew so big it took over my whole body. If Arnar thought I had a chance, then I would grab it with everything I had.

(...)

Fríða’s joke that I played at my every waking moment became reality in the two weeks between meeting Arnar and going for the audition. I had so much to prepare, so many things to get absolutely right, that I felt guilty if I wasted practice time with proper meals and eight hours of sleep. But despite all that playing, the two weeks passed too quickly. On the night before the audition, I still didn’t feel anywhere near ready. To make things worse, Mum was at work and wouldn’t be back until morning. I was alone to face my nerves.

I had already resigned to a sleepless night when Fríða (who happened to live across the street) appeared on my doorway with a backpack, her violin case, and a pillow. She shoved the pillow on my face and let herself in as soon as I opened the door. ‘I thought you would like some company for the night!’ Fríða grabbed me by my shoulders and walked us to the kitchen before I had a chance to let go of the pillow. ‘Have you eaten already? Are you done with packing?’

‘No and no. I don’t feel like eating.’

‘That sucks.’ Fríða dumped me on a chair and put some food from the fridge on the microwave for me. ‘You’ll be sick tomorrow if you skip a meal now.’

‘I feel I’m going to be sick if I eat.’

‘Better sick here than in Reykjavík.’ She sat in front of me at the table while we waited for the food. ‘You’ll do great tomorrow. There’s no way you can fuck this up. You were born playing the violin!’

I chuckled at the mental image of my baby-self playing a tiny violin. Fríða knew what to say to make me feel better. Growing up with her across the street made us as close as siblings (people mistook us for twin girls until my voice broke at age fifteen). The only person who knew me better than her was my mother.

‘That said…’ she continued with a stern look. ‘The worst that is going to happen is that you go there, play in front of your heroes, and get to know them. Even if you don’t get the job, you’ve already made a hell of an impression on Arnar, so I’m sure they’ll keep you in their contacts list and call you for freelance work. The rest will only build up from there.’

‘I guess…’ I pictured all of the ICO musicians on stage, ready to play. They set up their orchestra with the first violins facing the cellos (unlike us, who put the first violins facing the second violins). This meant that if I sat in their Leader’s chair, the player in front of me would be a certain Principal Cello who was part of my dreams as much as Arnar (though for completely different reasons). ‘I hope Siggi will be there.’

‘Of course you do!’ Fríða chuckled. My face heat up and I shrunk on my chair. ‘I bet you want to meet Siggi even more than you want to meet Arnar again, am I right?’

I couldn’t convince my mouth to open, so I just nodded. Fríða’s laughter echoed in the kitchen, and I felt an urge to crawl under my bed and never come out again. Siggi had been my crush for two years, but I still couldn’t talk about him with a straight face.

‘I’m sure Siggi is dying to meet you too! I mean, I would be if I was eighteen years old and surrounded by old geezers every day at work.’

‘He’s nineteen. He was born on 17^th June 1993.’

Fríða narrowed her eyes and glared at me until I backed against my chair. ‘I’m going to pretend you only know this information because it’s the same day as our most important national holiday, not because you’ve memorised every bit of information you stalked out of him.’ She couldn’t keep her intimidating face for long, though. ‘That said, I give you my blessing to go after the man of your dreams! Or your wet dreams, I guess…’

‘Fríða!’

‘What? We’re not twelve anymore; you’re too old to be embarrassed about your urge to bang that cellist!’ She rolled her eyes. Thankfully, the microwave beeped just then, so I had an excuse to leave the table without saying anything. But the smell of the fish and baby potatoes was so overwhelming once I opened the microwave door that I had to rush back to my seat to not be sick. Fríða’s eyes followed my every movement until I was sitting in front of her again. ‘Sorry, just kidding. You look too cute when you blush like that.’ She stole one of my potatoes and popped the whole thing in her mouth. She was still chewing it when she spoke. ‘I know you have only the most pure and chaste thoughts towards Siggi, and that the dirtiest thing you want to do to him is offer to put rosin on his bow… which is a hell of a wasted euphemism if you ask me, but whatever.’

Fríða was right, as embarrassing as it was. I had been imagining my perfect first meeting with Siggi since I saw the news about him getting his job. I always pictured us standing in the middle of the stage at the ICO’s concert hall. The spotlight shone on us, making the room’s bright red walls and the three floors of seats dim in the background. We were alone in the vastness of the place, but the Romance from Monzart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik whispered in the background, as if coming from beyond the stage doors.

‘I’m really glad to finally meet you,’ I would say, holding Siggi’s huge hands and straining my neck to look into his eyes. Siggi’s exact height wasn’t the kind of information available on the internet, but he was at least a head taller than a double bass, so he had to be close to two meters tall. I hadn’t even reached 1.70 meters yet, so I would be like a dwarf next to him.

I had never heard Siggi speaking in real life, but I couldn’t imagine his voice being anything other than the smooth baritone of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. ‘It’s nice to meet you too.’ This voice sent shivers down my spine. He smiled, and something inside me melted. ‘I’m happy to have another teenager playing with us.’ Siggi lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. ‘Finally someone I can get close to, if you know what I mean.’

My imagination was so embarrassing. Siggi’s warm gaze melted my whole body. My heart beat so fast I had trouble hearing my thoughts. But I had something important to tell him. I had to keep focused. ‘I owe you so much. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you getting hired at age seventeen and making me believe that I could be an orchestra musician like you. I love the ICO because they gave you that chance, and your age didn’t matter to them. So thank you for everything, and –’

Siggi pulled me close to him. He was so skinny I could almost touch my elbows when I hugged him under his ribs. His black silky shirt was loose enough to fit two of him. But despite all this, his embrace was strong and firm. ‘No, thank you. I’m sure we’ll have a great time together.’ Siggi’s hands played with strands of my hair, and I became lost in the warmth and imagined softness of a body made mostly of skin and bones.

‘I think I have a crush on you. You play so beautifully, I can’t get enough of it.’

‘Is that so?’ Siggi moved away from me and gently lifted my chin to make us face each other again. This was the big moment that my imagination had been waiting for, so as embarrassing and cliché as it was, I couldn’t end this any other way. ‘I have a crush on you too. Would you like to be my boyfriend?’

‘I would love to.’

Siggi lowered his body until our faces levelled. Our lips met, and I forgot about everything else.

‘Gunni! Are you still there? Earth to Gunni!’

When I finally realised Fríða was trying to talk to me, she had leaned over the table and clicked her fingers in front of my eyes. ‘Sorry. I got a bit… distracted.’

‘You were imagining the moment you confess your undying love for Siggi, weren’t you?’ Fríða laughed. ‘I want to be maid of honour in your wedding!’

‘There’s not going to be any wedding! I haven’t even met Siggi yet!’

‘But you still want to marry him and have his babies. That face you pulled just now with the dreamy eyes and the mouth hanging open like you’re about to open the flood gates of drool? I know it well. You’ve looked like that for the last two years every time someone mentions Siggi’s existence. You even make that face watching him on concerts!’

Fríða didn’t stop laughing. This was so embarrassing. ‘You make me sound like one of the main characters of your sappy romantic novels.’

‘I don’t know why you say it like it’s a bad thing; you’ve read all of them too.’

‘Because you asked me to. I’m not like those girls. I don’t believe my Prince Charming will walk into my life and change everything for the better. Those things don’t happen that way.’ Even if I did wish Siggi was my Prince Charming.

But the whole idea of a Prince Charming was bad. It wasn’t the kind of thing girls should have as their life’s ambition. I wasn’t even a girl and I was still dreaming of finding the perfect man who would sweep me off my feet and erase all my worries with one passionate kiss. No matter how much I knew that my dream was to play for the ICO, the moment I thought about Siggi, nothing felt more important than spending the rest of my life with him.

‘You’re doing that face again.’

‘This is bad. If I act like this tomorrow, I’m definitely going to fail the audition. They’ll think I’m just a ridiculous lovesick teenager and won’t call me for anything. I’m going to screw up.’

‘Don’t be so harsh on yourself. Your ability to focus on the music and forgetting everything else is, like, your best superpower.’ Fríða snatched another potato and moved behind me to squeeze my shoulders and lay her head on top of mine. ‘You’ll do great tomorrow. You are great. Our string quartet wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if it wasn’t for you keeping us motivated and inspired through marathon practice sections. You know your stuff, so don’t be afraid of failure. It’s not going to happen. Arnar already likes you, and I’m sure everyone else trusts his judgement, or he wouldn’t be their Leader.’

‘Thanks. I guess I really need some boost in my confidence now…’

‘You need some food in your stomach. Eat those things before I’m forced to do the work for you.’ Fríða picked up another potato. There were only five left on the plate, plus the fish fillet. ‘Unless you want me to feed you…’ She held the potato in front of my mouth. I realised that she was going to shove it there as soon as I opened it to tell her not to do it, so I just let her. I thought I was going to run to the loo as soon as I swallowed the food, but the first bite made me want more. I didn’t need Fríða feeding me after that, but she insisted on giving me another two potatoes before she let me hold my own fork. ‘You’re such a cutie, I feel like I have to take care of you.’

‘I’m sixteen; I’m not a kid anymore.’

‘I’m not saying you’re a kid, I’m saying you’re cute and adorable and the purest soul in this wicked world. You make people want to protect you from all the evils out there.’ She hugged me to prove her point.

‘But if I’m the kind of person that others want to protect, it means I’m weak. I’ll never be the ICO’s Leader if that’s how they see me too.’

‘You’re not weak! You’re the best thing that has ever happened to our orchestra!’ She tightened her hug. It felt suffocating rather than comforting, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop when she was so determined to cheer me up.

‘But the ICO won’t know that. They’ll see me at the stage tomorrow, younger than everybody else, with a baby-face that can’t even grow a beard and a voice that jumps three octaves in the same word!’ My voice did just that. ‘See? What will they think if I do this kind of thing tomorrow?’

Fríða gave a sympathetic squeeze to my shoulders. ‘They’ll think you’re even more amazing for having so much talent at such a young age.’

‘I don’t want them thinking of me as a child. I know I shouldn’t expect to get the job on my first audition, but I’ll be playing for the people who are the reason my dream is what it is. This is going to be their first impression of me, and I don’t want to be just a kid with talent to them. I’ll never be their equal if they think that.’

‘Then let your music do the talking. How about we play something after dinner to calm your nerves and prove once and for all that you know all the stuff backwards?’

Fríða’s suggestion worked. I hurried to finish my food, and spent the next hour playing through all the pieces and excerpts the ICO requested for the audition. Fríða joined me for some of them to prove that the two weeks spent honing every note to perfection were worth the effort. The fact that I could breeze through the same endless demisemiquavers that made Fríða’s violin cringe lifted my spirits enough to keep me from panicking when she turned my bedroom upside down to “help me pack” later that night.

I shouldn’t have told Fríða that I needed help choosing what to take on the trip. The first thing she did was dive into my underwear drawer, pick my most embarrassing briefs (one she gave me for Valentine’s Day when we were dating: pink with a hand-drawn unicorn head on the front and glittery laces on the back. She made it herself, so I couldn’t throw all that effort away, no matter how much it made me blush every time I looked at it), and insist I wear it for the audition. She grabbed another one “in case my bladder or intestines react to my emotional state”, and threw some random socks in for good measure. She rummaged through my shirts, messing up my neat piles to pull out a few that she thought I could wear in the streets of Reykjavík without looking like a small-town boy. Finally, she picked my dark purple dress shirt with frills on the front for the audition.

‘You’ll look like a dashing young man on this. Rawr!’ She ran her nails down the middle of my chest and winked playfully at me. I chuckled, but couldn’t help the familiar burning feeling spreading over my whole face. ‘And don’t forget your condoms. If you play your cards right, I’m sure Siggi will find a use for them!’

The burning feeling spread to the rest of my body. ‘That’s not what I’m going there for!’

‘I know, but if you can make two of your dreams come true in the same trip, why not go for it?’ I knew Fríða didn’t mean to, but her smile looked terrifying. She was making light fun of the fact that I was the only one in our group of friends who hadn’t had any kind of sexual experience. She wasn’t trying to make me uncomfortable. I only felt that way because I was being ridiculous and overthinking a situation that was supposed to be fun.

So I laughed with her, despite my feelings.

Fríða went as far as dropping the whole of my nightstand’s drawer on the bed before she realised that the only condoms I had at home were the ones she gave me when we started dating as clueless fourteen year-olds. They were out of date.

‘You never used them? Not even to make water balloons?’

‘I forgot they were there.’

Fríða sighed and dropped her weight on the bed. The scattered contents of my drawer jumped in the air, and some fell on the floor. She motioned for me to sit next to her and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Do you ever think of fucking Siggi’s brains out? Or have him fuck your brains out?’

I wanted to look away, but Fríða’s gaze told me to stay still. She wasn’t fooling around anymore. ‘Not really. Do you think I should?’

‘You’re a sixteen year-old boy with a crush. You should be photoshopping Siggi’s face all over your five gigabytes of porn and getting off on it at least three times a day.’ Maybe she was still fooling around. Why was it so hard to tell when sex was involved?

‘I feel nothing like that.’ My crush on Siggi had never been sexual. I didn’t even like him for his looks. My interest in him sprung from him being the youngest musician to be hired by a professional orchestra in Iceland. I fell in love with him the first time I saw him playing. Siggi was one of those people who poured all of his feelings into the music. He bared his heart for all to see at the concert hall. I felt connected to him, like he was revealing himself to me with every note he played, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

‘What do you feel, then?’

‘I feel like I want to be with him, hear him talk about his life and the things he likes to do. He’s always smiling during the applause. Have you seen his smile? It’s so beautiful! I want to look at that smile every day.’

Fríða chuckled and shook her head. ‘I’m sure you do. Your crush must be really strong for you to find anything beautiful about Siggi, so by all means, go for it!’

I wanted to argue that Siggi wasn’t that ugly, but it wouldn’t make a difference for her. Siggi looked like he had never had a decent meal in his life, and he wasn’t the most graceful person moving about with his oversized limbs. But he had charming aspects too, like the ponytail that reached his waist, and his long, thin fingers that moved hypnotically along the cello’s fingerboard.

‘Gunni, close your mouth. The drool is coming out.’

Fríða kept teasing me about Siggi until we were ready to sleep. I blushed and felt like the most ridiculous teenager on Earth, but at least I wasn’t thinking about the audition and how badly I could screw up. Only later, when Fríða was snoring on the air mattress next to my bed, did those thoughts return to me.

I had to remember that this audition wasn’t my only chance of getting in the ICO. I shouldn’t think of tomorrow as the day that would change my life forever. The fewer expectations I had, the less I would suffer if they chose someone else.

But this didn’t change the fact that tomorrow my dream would be at my hand’s reach. I had to believe I had a chance, or I would be giving up without a fight. Arnar wouldn’t like that. Neither would Siggi, or the rest of the orchestra. If I wanted to be their Leader, I had to act like one.