The Ghost Sonata by JENNIFER ALLISON

craned their necks to catch a glimpse of Jenny Pickles, and were both disappointed when a perfectly normal-looking red-haired girl walked briskly to the front of the room, her long curls bouncing. She was actually quite pretty. She also looked distinctly familiar.
    â€œHey, she was on the plane with us,” said Wendy. “And I think that’s her mom over there.” Wendy pointed to a plump woman whose carrot-colored hair exactly matched her daughter’s. With a flash of annoyance, Wendy remembered how the two of them had stared at her as they waited for their flight.
    â€œThere’s no way that girl can win the competition,” Gilda whispered. “Can you imagine how the concert announcements would look? ‘Come see the London Symphony Orchestra—featuring Jenny Pickles!’”
    â€œThank you very much indeed,” said Professor Heslop, after the last numbers had been drawn. “Please don’t forget to check the performance time for your number, which is posted in the lobby here in the Music Faculty Building. Remember—please arrive early at the Holywell Music Room for your performance tomorrow. Finally, very best of luck to all of you in the first round of the competition!”
    As the musicians mingled and gathered their belongings, Ming Fong bounded toward Gilda and Wendy.
    â€œWhat number did you get, Wendy?”
    Wendy showed her the number nine.
    â€œHey, I have number eight !”
    Gilda and Wendy both wondered the same thing: was the close proximity of Ming Fong’s and Wendy’s numbers an eerie omen, or was this simply a meaningless coincidence?
    â€œGary drew seven, and I told him I want to follow him. So funny I get the number I want! We get to wait backstage together!”
    â€œGreat.” Wendy didn’t attempt to feign enthusiasm.
    â€œ So glad I didn’t draw number ten, Wendy. Then I would play after you, and that would be bad because you are always so perfect.” Ming Fong fixed Wendy with an intense stare. “I know you will be the best player tomorrow.”
    â€œI’m not perfect,” said Wendy, once again feeling that she had somehow been jinxed even though Ming Fong’s words had been a compliment.

10

    The Apparition
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    I can switch rooms with you, if you want.” Gilda and Wendy sat on Wendy’s bed, watching a singing contest for couples who performed amateur duet versions of rock and pop songs.
    â€œWhy? What’s wrong with your room?”
    â€œNothing. I just thought you might feel safer if you weren’t staying in room number nine.”
    Wendy sighed as she picked up the remote and clicked off the television. “I can’t let these superstitions get to me, Gilda. I’m supposed to be a rational person.”
    â€œJust because you have a gut feeling you can’t easily explain doesn’t mean you aren’t a rational person, Wendy.”
    â€œIt just bugs me that I have no idea what this feeling means .” Wendy clutched her knees to her chest and chewed on a lock of hair. “Maybe it’s all just performance anxiety or culture shock or something.”
    â€œThat’s possible. I mean, your parents are from China, but you’ve never been out of the States.”
    â€œNeither have you.”
    â€œI went to Canada with my dad once, so I was more prepared for this experience.”
    â€œCanada doesn’t count. You can drive there in your car from Detroit.”
    â€œThat’s such a stereotypical American attitude. You don’t even recognize Canada as a separate foreign country.”
    â€œYou know what I mean,” said Wendy, twisting another lock of her hair and pausing to gnaw on it as if she were a small animal attempting to chew through a rope. “Going to Canada isn’t like going overseas.”
    â€œStop chewing your hair, Wendy. Didn’t you ever hear about the girl who died from doing that?”
    â€œHere