His fingers slid across the ivory keys making a symphony of sound in a singular motion. He could feel the rhythm in the touch of the keys. “Trevor, Trevor, Trevor!” His mom called from the bottom of the stairs. It was his first day of senior year, at a new school. He slid on a pair of sweats and a plain black tee-shirt that was covered in dog hair. He shrugged at his appearance and sprinted downstairs to get breakfast. His family was very punctual, very proper. They believed in coming on time, dressing perfectly for any occasion, but most of all they believed in career and the importance of what they qualified as “a good one.” 

Ever since Trevor was little, he felt he never quite fit the mold of his family and that often led to disappointment. The first time he noticed was when he was five and he stumbled upon his first piano. The only phrase he could describe the interaction as is, “love at first sight”. He ran to the piano, his tiny legs dangling off the bench as his small chubby fingers reached towards the keys. From that day on he has played the piano. However, his parents felt that the piano was a waste of time, and more importantly their money, not that they needed it. The Richardson’s were always looking for ways to earn more money and still not spend it. This never made sense to Trevor, or most other people, but his parents always described it as being overprepared. They had always wished Trevor had gotten a job like his brother Noah, or partook in business or medical clubs like his older sister Katherine; instead, their son wanted to be some sort of Beethoven. The ceaseless comparisons were made on the daily; he felt as though his parents believed if they kept making them, maybe one day he would just give it up. Trevor knew he never would though, the piano was part of who he was.

 It was warm for a September morning. Trevor’s coffee cup was perspiring on the table leaving a small ring surrounding it. He raced to the table determined to clean up the condensation mess before his mother saw it. Quickly after,  he ran to catch the bus. Trevor’s parents never understood why he wanted to take the bus, they had always offered to drive him. However, for Trevor, this bus was always a way to escape his parents' judgment in the morning. The best part of the bus was that he could get to school early enough to practice piano. 

Upon arriving at the school, Trevor noticed that there were all types of people attending the school. In the past, Trevor's parents had only allowed him at private schools, where every student was a spitting image of another. Trevor never really quite fit in, not that he cared. All he cared about now, and for as long as he could remember, was Juilliard. There all his dreams could come true. He wanted to be a musician. Not a businessman, not a doctor, not anything his parents have wanted for him. He wanted what he wanted for himself. His first class was keyboarding. He had met the teacher over the summer, paying for the lessons with money he made working at his dad’s company. “One day this will be your son”, his father would beam as they walked into his office with the letters CEO printed on the door. Trevor always felt bad about his dreams and kept them mostly suppressed in fear of letting down his family, and especially his father. He had watched his father’s heartbreak twice already as both of his siblings followed a different career path. Though his father was a large man at 6’3 300 pounds, the large majority of that was his heart. Trevor truly believed there was never a man so kind in this world.

 “Hey, Mrs. Baker! Trevor exclaimed walking into the class 15 min early, thanks to the school bus. Mrs. Baker was a petite woman; she was around 65, maybe older, Trevor couldn't quite tell as her soul was as young as he was. 

Soon it was November and time for college applications. Trevor was doing well in school, He found he fit into this school the best of all of them. It was mostly due to the art program that was provided there. The art program was the main reason Trevor convinced his parents to let him attend there, although he told them it was for the connection they had in providing him with college credits for business classes. As the winter months carried on, it was time for college applications. He applied to where his parents wanted, schools like the University of Pennsylvania and Cornell. Trevor was a bright boy with a 4.0 GPA and a 1600 SAT. He was destined for greatness, according to anyone who knew him.  However, the only thing Trevor cared about was his audition with Julliard. Mrs.Baker and he had been working on his audition number all year.

 Mrs. Baker loved Trevor like her own child and knew that he needed someone like her to support his musical career. So, She became that person for him. She offered to stay before and after school for him. She taught him new music, helped him apply to Julliard, and set up his audition. As the days encroached on, Trevor became nervous. Unlike his sister and brother, he had never been uptight ore or nervous about anything, he had always been the laid-back one, but to him this was everything. He needed and wanted this, it was what he had been dreaming of since the first time his finger brushed across those ivory keys. The only thing left to do was an audition, well that, and tell his parents he applied in the first place. On January 6th,  it was a chilly Sunday morning, Mrs.Baker and he had woken up at the crack of dawn to drive to New York for his audition. Trevor had woken up extra early to do his hair and put on an, as his parents would call it, “acceptable outfit”.  “This is your moment kiddo,” Mrs. Baker winked, handing him a warm cup of coffee. He drank the warm liquid as it burned the back of his throat. He and Mrs. Baker had a long 3-hour drive ahead of him, luckily, Mrs. Baker with her heart of a teenager played fun music and brought snacks and games for the road. 

Three hours later, Mrs. Baker pulled into a parking garage, they had made it. They grabbed his sheet music, although he had it all memorized already, and raced into the theater where the audition was being held. He glanced around him, and in spite of all the nerves,  he had never felt more at home. His whole life he was surrounded by his parents and siblings, who though they loved him, never truly understood his passion for music. To them, music was a silly pastime that kids must grow out of to become adults. To Trevor and everyone in that theater, it was their life,  their past, present, and future. “Trevor Richardson, piano” the announcer called his name over the loudspeaker. “Make me proud kiddo,” Mrs. Baker winked at him again, but this time he swears he saw the gleam of a proud tear in her eyes. Trevor listened as his feet clicked across the stage floor. He took his seat behind the piano. He placed his fingers on the keys. He played as if his heart and soul depended on it, which to him it did. He played every note perfectly without even needing his sheet music. He created a story using just the stroke of his fingers. Just like that, it was over. Mrs. Baker, a woman of little emotions, was beaming and jumping up and down with tears running down her eyes. “I hope you don't mind but I snuck in and pressed my ear up against the door. You sounded wonderful,” Mrs. Baker was truly proud. To her, her students were her children, and Trevor was one of them. But with all the excitement also came the nervous anticipation.

 As students began receiving word from their colleges, Trevor began hoping for his. By March he had gotten into all 8 of the colleges his father had picked for him, but he was still waiting on Julliard, the one acceptance that mattered to him. His parents noticed how little he was excited by the acceptances and began to notice his odd anxious behavior. One day when Trevor was at a piano lesson with Mrs. Baker, the letter came. His parents were the ones who spotted the letter in the mail. “Julliard?” Mr. Richardson questioned, “This can not be for our son.” Mr. Richardson sat silently. She wondered how unsupportive they must have been for Trevor to not even tell them. She had never really noticed how focused he was on the piano but as she sat and wondered she began to see. He spent all his free time playing or talking about playing. He was truly wonderful at it. Mrs. Richardson was proud, she was proud of her son. He was passionate and he was bright. She believed in him and she knew he needed to know it. “Jack, it’s our fault” Mrs. Richardson began to tear up. She and Mr. Richardson had a long talk that night waiting for Trevor to come home. Mr. Richardson’s heart broke at the fact that he would not take over his role as CEO, but it broke even more knowing his son was scared to follow his passions in fear of disappointment. At 9 pm. Trevor walked through the door. “Trevor, we have something we want to talk to you about,” Mrs. Richardson said, holding up the thick envelope containing the answer he had been waiting for. Trevor had never been so nervous in his life, his palms were sweaty and his stomach was in knots. He didn't know if it was because of the letter or the fact his parents had found it. “Come sit down Trev, We want to talk to you for a second.” 

The snow began to melt and spring came. It was graduation day. “Trevor hurry up” Mrs. Richardson yelled anxiously, she hated being late. They hopped in the car and made it just one time. Mr. and Mrs. Richardson located their seat next to Mrs. Baker and Trevor located his seat between Anne Rice and Richard Roberts. After what seemed like an eternity, it was finally Trevor's turn to walk across the stage. “Trevor Richardson, attending The Juilliard School” Mrs. Richardson and Mrs. Baker began sobbing they had never been more proud. But they were not nearly as proud as Mr. Richardson he had never been more proud of his son for following his dreams and working towards them. He always knew his son was destined for greatness. There he goes, that's my son, even Mr. Richardson could not hold his tears in anymore. Trevor glanced up at his parents. He couldn't believe a few months ago he couldn't even tell them he applied to Juilliard, and now he couldn't get them to shut up about it. “Our son, the Juilliard student,” Mrs. Richardson had been saying to everyone since he opened the letter in front of them a few months ago. Trevor was ready to start his life, for the first time on his own, but he had never felt more supported.