Lead Me Home by Stacy Hawkins Adams Page A

junior or senior year to get focused, I won’t be adequately prepared.”
    Shiloh was impressed again by this soft-spoken girl, and by her tenacity. Monica was right. The professional musician world was competitive, and it required a lot of focus and sacrifice. She sat back and folded her arms.
    “I see you have your flute,” she said to Monica. “Would you play something for me?”
    “Sure.”
    Monica opened the flute case and quickly assembled the instrument. After a few puffs to tune it, she closed her eyes and launched into a fast-paced version of an R&B jazzy classic, “Just the Two of Us.”
    Shiloh’s eyes widened. This girl had to be kidding. She waited until Monica reached the end of the piece and was preparing to play something else, before stopping her.
    “Where did you learn that?”
    Monica gave her a shy smile. “I taught myself. Actually, Phaedra and I both did. We play this song together at different events people invite us to. It’s great to combine my flute with her saxophone on this number.”
    Shiloh was floored, but Monica seemed to be just warming up. “The next piece I’ll play is something Mrs. Helmsley gave the class to learn.”
    Monica launched into “November Song,” and her delivery was flawless. Shiloh shook her head. This girl had “it.” Beneath the big hair and tiny frame resided a gift.
    “Wow, young lady. I don’t know what to say.”
    “Do you think I could play professionally?”
    Before Shiloh could enumerate to herself all the reasons to be cautious in encouraging the girl, she blurted a response—the kind she had longed to receive years ago, when she felt just like Monica—passionate about music and eager to make it her career.
    “Absolutely. You have the talent. But making it a career is going to take a lot of drive and hard work. Hours of practice. More private lessons. That’s what you have to ask if you’re ready for. I’m not an expert since I’ve never played professionally, but I’ll do what I can to guide you in the right direction.”
    Monica’s eyes lit up and a grin spread across her face. “Thank you, Mrs. Griffin. I’m so glad you came this year. I’m so happy right now.”
    Shiloh held up a finger. “Remember what I just told you; it’s going to take a lot of effort to get where you say you want to go. It’s not all glamorous and fun. Keep that in mind, okay? Why don’t you continue to research careers for a professional flutist, and also review all of the pros and cons? You’re wise to start looking at colleges offering what you want to study so you can apply early. I’ve got a few good ones in mind to share with you, but I will explore a little more before giving you my recommendations.”
    Shiloh couldn’t believe Sherman Park’s guidance counselor had not given the girl more help. But maybe it was because Monica was still a sophomore, with quite a few seniors in need of assistance first.
    “Where did you attend college?” Monica asked.
    Shiloh hesitated, not because she was ashamed of having studied at Birmingham-Southern; to the contrary. It was noted as one of the best liberal arts colleges in the nation. But mentioning the university triggered a lot of regret, and a flood of memories she still yearned to forget.
    Right now, she wanted to stay in this moment with young Monica, and steer this girl down a path on which her musical talentcould shine. She told Monica about Birmingham-Southern, while simultaneously praying that the girl would consider Alabama too far from Milwaukee to put on her list of options. The college wasn’t the problem, nor were the people. It was a personal symbol of pain for Shiloh, and admittedly, she couldn’t separate her reality—or someone else’s—from that fact.
    “If you start working on your applications and preparing audition pieces with your private teacher, you should be okay. You plan on taking the SAT or ACT, right?”
    Monica nodded. “I’ll take the SAT this fall, just to see how I