Chapter 15

Patty collected the typical cafeteria fare of mystery meat, mashed potatoes, roll and a veggie, and scanned the lunchroom for her seat. It was the first night of music camp, and it seemed everyone was milling around the big room, trying to figure out where they were supposed to be.

The camp was held in a convention center / resort, several hours drive up into the mountains. It had been an annual summer pilgrimage for Patty for many years.

The music camp had been the brainchild of a music professor at the University of South Carolina. It accomplished several objectives for the school's music department. It gave many members of the music faculty something close to a paid vacation. It provided two weeks of college level instruction to aspiring young musicians from all over the state. And it gave the faculty the opportunity to identify any local musical prodigies for the school to woo for enrollment at USC.

Patty had no illusions about her chances of garnering a college scholarship solely for her piano playing skills. But she knew that USC had "tracks" for conductors and composers, which built on students' overall musical and artistic knowledge. And in those generalist categories, she was close to being the kind of prodigy the school looked for.

The winners in the marketplace for composing orchestral music have mostly been dead for hundreds of years. Given that today's composers find it difficult to dislodge Mozart and Beethoven, the skill most valued (for people not dead) is the ability to interpret the masters' works, and bring them to life.

Patty could already mentally picture and understand music in full orchestral arrangements. But more importantly, she could articulate it to others. To her it was similar to combining elements in a painting, to render a blended vision to an audience.

The instructors were impressed enough with her last year to have already begun pitching their school to her. She was too young for promises of scholarships to be made, but they made it clear that if she continued her development, there likely would be in the future.

She intended to spend the majority of her time during the camp working with conductors and music arrangers, expanding her understanding of the complexities of working with musical parts to make a better whole.

She hoped to be so engrossed in her studies at the camp that she wouldn't think about Bobby being away on vacation too - with Julie. She'd learned of it from Collette, who knew because her brother was going with them.

She'd already determined that the trombone player she'd hooked up with for oral sex at a prior year's camp was not in attendance this year. She had mixed feelings about that, as she did about most things in her love life these days.

Patty doubted Bobby's virginity would survive a week at the beach with Julie. Since the trombone player had been from another city, the chance to also get laid with no lasting entanglements had some appeal. But as he wasn't there, she gave a mental shrug and planned to focus on her studies, rather than other students.

Morton Blakely briefly scanned the lunchroom with eyes that looked big through his thick glasses, and headed towards his assigned area. His bus had a flat tire on the way, so he was among the last to arrive.

His registration packet had included a map of the cafeteria, which designated tables for the students in different programs. He'd given it a quick scan, and then thrown it away. Morton had a photographic memory for facts and data, and an impossibly high IQ.

It looked like there was only one seat left at the back of his section. When he circled around to it, he saw that the girl sitting next to it had parked her backpack on it.
She looked vaguely familiar.

"Excuse me," he said politely. "It looks like this is the last seat in the building. May I join you?"

Patty looked up. His dark hair was slicked back over his head; he'd been caught in the rain squall that was still drumming on the roof. His clothing looked too big for him, like hand-me-downs from an older brother. For some reason she noticed his fingers. They were long and slender and very smooth.

She followed his gesture to her backpack on the empty spot. "Oh! I'm sorry. Let me get that out of your way."

"Thanks." When he'd settled in with his food tray, he extended his hand. "I'm Morton Blakeley," he offered, "and you look familiar."