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Dad wheeled back to his computer and ran his fingers along his Braille reader to pull the song up.

A.J. was glad his dad couldn’t see the look on his face when the music started. He knew the piece was a mess, but that didn’t mean the feelings he’d poured into the notes were going to escape his dad’s notice.

Dad’s expression remained unchanged as the song played itself out, though when it finished, he tilted his head like he was only now contemplating what he’d heard.

“Alright. Want to tell me what you’re trying to say here?”

A series of disjointed images faded across the forefront of A.J.’s mind. More the shape of his feelings and the sound of countless moments than anything as static as a single thought.

“Uh, a bunch of stuff, I guess.” He closed his eyes and tried to sift through the swirls of nonsense that waited on the other side. “Just, like, how everything can change so fast, and how so many things that we think are one thing are actually, like, a dozen little things in the shape of one and—” The light that shone behind Bren’s eyes whenever he called him Arlo lit up the shadows and sent a familiar ache through his heart. “How things can make you want to laugh and cry and run away but also want to hold someone all at once.”

His eyes flung open as his brain caught up with the words he’d rambled off to his dad like they’d been discussing the weather.

“I guess that’s probably too many things to say at once, right?”

“Not if you lean into that idea.”

He scrolled around the song, listening to ten second bursts here and there, his face scrunched up with professional curiosity now.

“Some of your phrasing repeats itself a couple of times and then just drops off into these weird chord progressions.” He looked up with a familiar glint in his eyes. “They’re good ideas, son. You just need to stay with them a bit longer.”

His dad pulled up the key change A.J. had gone back and forth on for about an hour last night.

“Hey, uh, this isn’t, like, cheating, is it?” A.J. asked, like he’d somehow forgotten what his dad did for a living.

“Collaborating with another composer when you’re stuck? If it is, a lot of us are in big trouble.”

Another composer.

The title sat heavy in his head as he tried to reconcile the idea of it being applied to him. A composer was something adults were, like astronauts or doctors. But he was standing at the threshold of college after all, and wasn’t that the point of the place? To take kids and turn them into adults worthy of holding on to such important titles?

“So, one composer to another,” A.J. said, trying not to smack his use of the title out of the air. “Do you think I could actually, I dunno, do this?”

“Well, as a dad who knows his son can do anything he puts his mind to, I say go for it. But if you want my professional opinion . . .”

He scrolled along the entire piece this time, brow furrowed in a way that A.J. only saw when staves were involved. Then his face brightened.

“Yup, that’s music.”

“Dad!”

He laughed and ran his hand along his head with a smile fixed on his face.

“I’m not going to lie, I don’t think you’re the next Stravinsky, but you love music and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand against the score like he was playing it out. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little jealous at how much better this is than anything I’d written at your age.”

“You said you didn’t start composing until your second year at U of R.”

“Exactly!” Dad said, slapping his hand on his knee so Rudy’s ears twitched. “You’ve got a headstart on me, and I don’t like to brag, but a lot of the things in this house were paid for by songs that came out of your old man’s head.”

He paused like he was waiting for A.J. to say something and, when he didn’t, went on. “You can do this, son. Without being a starving artist, which if I know my son is something you’re worrying about already.”

A.J. sighed despite the smile that crept onto his face. It was good to be known at least, even if his dad had a higher estimation of his abilities than he did.

“OK, so about the audition?” A.J. asked, trying not to let the spark his dad had ignited show in his voice.

“Right!”

He gave Rudy a final, deep head pat then spun his chair to face his computer.