Note-Illiterate, Yet A Superstar

"Darlene Bennett, next!"

My hands were shaking.

In the audition hall of Nashville Music Academy, over three hundred pairs of eyes were fixed on me. The audience below was packed with music students and their parents, while five stern-faced judges sat on stage. The one in the center was the legendary Samuel Jenkins—America's youngest Grammy-winning producer.

"Hurry up! Don't waste everyone's time!" came an impatient shout from the audience.

I knew this was a trap. Yesterday Colleen had suddenly "kindly" signed me up for this public audition, claiming it was "giving me a chance to prove myself." I should have refused, but she threatened to cut off Mom's medical expenses...

"Please perform your prepared piece," Samuel's voice was calm and professional.

Standing under the spotlight, I clutched the sheet music tightly. The densely packed notes writhed madly before my eyes like a swarm of sinister black tadpoles mocking me.

Damn dyslexia.

"I... I need a moment..." my voice trembled.

Whispers rippled through the audience. Colleen, sitting in the front row, covered her mouth and snickered. She had dressed up especially today just to watch me humiliate myself.

"A moment?" A judge frowned. "This is Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata,' First Movement—required repertoire for second-year music students. You can't even recognize the score?"

My blood turned to ice.

"No... that's not it, I just..."

"Oh my goodness!" Colleen suddenly stood up, deliberately raising her voice. "Judges, I think I should clarify something!"

No! What was she doing?

"My stepsister might... well... have some gaps in her musical foundation." Colleen's smile was sickeningly sweet. "She usually just works at a coffee shop, so she might not be familiar with formal music education."

Laughter erupted from the audience.

"A coffee shop waitress?"

"She actually dared to audition at a music academy?"

"Can't even read sheet music and wants to study music?"

Shame washed over me like a tidal wave, and I felt my cheeks burning. Samuel frowned, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes.

"Since you cannot complete basic score performance, this audition will..."

"Wait!" I suddenly called out, my voice echoing through the audition hall. "I can perform, but without sheet music!"

The entire hall fell silent.

With trembling hands, I pulled out my battered silver harmonica from my bag. The audience immediately erupted in even more piercing laughter.

"A harmonica?"

"Does she think this is a street performance?"

"A five-dollar toy? She dares bring that to a music academy?"

Colleen's laughter was the shrillest: "Everyone, my stepsister's 'professional instrument' is this! She probably thinks music is just blowing air!"

The judges exchanged disdainful glances. Samuel checked his watch, clearly wanting to end this farce.

"Miss, this is a serious musical institution, not a place for street performances..."

I brought the harmonica to my lips and closed my eyes.

Fine, let them laugh. At least in this final moment, I would play for myself.

The first note rang out.

Albinoni's Adagio—that melody that brought tears to countless people—began flowing slowly from my harmonica. But this wasn't a simple solo.

I started using circular breathing to create bass harmonies, those rich organ tones resonating throughout the audition hall. Then, using tongue techniques, I simulated the tremolo of string instruments, creating incredibly rich layers.

Then came the part that shocked even me—I simultaneously played the main melody and triple harmonies, transforming a single harmonica into an entire symphony orchestra.

The audition hall went dead silent.

Over three hundred people held their breath as only my music soared through the air. I saw people wiping away tears, saw judges with their mouths agape, saw even Colleen frozen in disbelief.

The last note faded into the air, and the entire audition hall fell into an eerie quiet.

Then Samuel stood up.

His face was pale, his eyes flickering with a light I had never seen before—shock, disbelief, and... awe?

"This is impossible." His voice was trembling. "How can one person perform a complete symphonic arrangement on a harmonica?"

The other judges also stood up, whispering urgently among themselves. The mocking laughter from the audience had completely disappeared, replaced by reverent silence.

"You... which academy are you from?" Samuel approached me, his eyes full of urgency.

I was doomed. My heart was racing. They would definitely ask about my musical background, ask who my teachers were, ask where I learned these techniques.

But I had nothing. I was just a coffee shop waitress who couldn't read sheet music.

In my panic, a lie escaped my lips:

"I studied at Berklee College of Music, but had to drop out due to family financial problems."

Berklee! How dare I fabricate such a lie!

But Samuel's expression immediately became understanding and sympathetic: "No wonder! I knew techniques like that couldn't come from nowhere! Berklee's harmonica program is indeed world-class!"

I screamed internally: I never attended any music college! I can't even write do-re-mi!

"Financial hardship forcing you to drop out..." Samuel frowned, his face full of regret. "This is a tremendous loss for the music world!"

He turned excitedly to the other judges: "Everyone, we cannot let such talent be buried!"

"Samuel, are you suggesting..."

"I want to personally mentor her!" Samuel's eyes blazed with fervor. "This kind of talent comes once in a millennium! I want to make her a world-class musician!"

What? My mind went blank.

Thunderous applause erupted from the audience, and Colleen's face turned ashen. She never imagined that her carefully planned humiliation trap would become my stage for fame.

"Wonderful!" Another judge said excitedly. "Samuel, take her as your student!"

"No, not a student." Samuel approached me, his gaze so intense I couldn't meet his eyes. "I want to sign her! I want to produce her album!"

Sign me? An album? This was all too insane!

I opened my mouth to say something, but Samuel had already grabbed my hand: "Starting tomorrow, we'll begin professional training! I'll design a complete curriculum—music theory foundation reinforcement, advanced composition techniques, production hands-on training!"

Music theory? Composition? I couldn't even recognize the simplest notes!

"I'll make the whole world know your name!" Samuel continued, completely absorbed in his excitement. "Darlene Bennett—this name will resonate throughout the global music industry!"

Applause thundered, cameras flashed, and reporters swarmed the stage. I was surrounded by crowds, everyone congratulating me, everyone praising my talent.

But in what should have been the happiest moment, I felt unprecedented terror.

Because I knew I had just woven an enormous lie.

And tomorrow, that lie would be exposed.

I looked toward the audience, where Colleen was glaring at me with gritted teeth, her eyes full of malicious hatred. She definitely wouldn't let me off the hook—she would definitely find ways to expose my true identity.

I gripped the harmonica in my hand. This five-dollar "toy" had just won me the world.

But it had also pushed me toward an abyss.

Because starting tomorrow, I would have to pretend to be a Berklee College of Music honor student, work with world-class producers, and undergo the most professional musical training.

And I couldn't recognize a single note.

How was I going to maintain this lie?