In the Heart of a Mustang

“Hey, it’s Pachelbel,” shouted Julius from across the room. Julius then told everyone present about his talented, violin-playing cabin mate, not intending to ridicule but to praise. Hunter blushed and kept his head down as he walked toward the buffet table to grab a bowl of Betsy’s chili.

As he was buttering a piece of cornbread, a small boy came up beside him. “Is that true? Do you really play the violin?”

Hunter looked down. The boy looking up at him with beseeching eyes was not more than twelve years old. He had blond hair and vibrant blue eyes. He looked like he should be a child model for a kid’s clothing line, not living here at a ranch for troubled teens. But Hunter could tell by his timid demeanor that he was the type of boy who preferred to hide in the background. Approaching Hunter had obviously been hard for him. Hunter smiled to himself, thinking back on the old Hunter, the BT Hunter who had always been a front row kind of guy, a “Hermione Granger” student whose hand was always the first one up. Just the opposite of what he saw in this boy.

“Well, yeah. I try.”

“Julius said you’re really good.”

“I used to work hard at it, but not anymore,” answered Hunter as he grabbed two apples and started to walk away.

“I’ve always wanted to play the violin. Do you think you could teach me?”

Something about the obvious sincerity in the boy’s voice made Hunter stop and turn his head. “You really want to learn?”

“Yeah, I really do.”