Spring returns to Broadway, bringing birdsong and the layered noise of sidewalk chatter, lawn tools, and outdoor music. University students rehearse and play in courtyards, and Theo—listening to the odd blend—imagines a modern composition like a “Duet for French Horn and Leaf Blower,” noticing how recital season takes over the neighborhood.

The narration lingers on the college’s recital culture, where months of solitary practice culminate in a single, hour-long performance. Student recitals are staged in Bettye Hall, a small but lavish venue whose elegance lends importance to even an obligatory audience’s attendance.

Bettye Hall’s defining feature is its Opus 60 LeTourneau organ, suspended above the stage like a “guardian angel,” reinforcing a sense of grandeur and order. The hall’s intimate seating, balcony, high ceiling, and pine-cone lamps create an atmosphere designed for both sound and silence.

On Tuesday night, Simone is set to perform there with his cello to fulfill requirements for a Master’s Level Artist Diploma. He spends the day doing a final run-through, walking briefly with Professor Gobelli, eating lightly, and changing into concert clothes backstage.

Simone feels mostly energized rather than afraid, trusting his preparation and wanting to honor his chosen composers. His main unease comes from knowing Broadway friends like Theo, Tony, and Shep will attend, and from the recital being filmed and livestreamed for family and friends in Seattle—meaning any mistake would be permanently recorded. With those stakes in mind, recital hour finally arrives.