The Mystery of the Third LucretiaRescuing Seneca Crane

RESCUING SENECA CRANE

CHAPTER 1
 Prelude

The first time I saw Seneca Crane she came onstage at a Minnesota Orchestra concert, sat down at the piano, and played a Mozart concerto. She got a standing ovation.

She was thirteen then, just a year older than I was. She was wearing a short, shimmery silver dress, and her hair was in cornrows and long braids.

I was sitting near the front with my mom and my best friend, Lucas (who's a girl), so we could see Seneca up close. She was pretty, with smooth skin a little darker than coffee ice cream, a cute little pointed chin, a small nose, and a long, graceful neck.

But when she came out and made that little bow musicians make before they play, what I mostly noticed were her eyes. They were big and dark and sparkly, the kind of eyes that show everything the person behind them is feeling. And just then, even though she was smiling, her eyes looked terrified. 

While she played, those big eyes had a different expression: total concentration. She'd look at the keyboard, then at the conductor, who also would look at her to make sure she and the orchestra were perfectly together. For a while the two of them looked straight at each other, as if they were playing a duet or something. There was nothing scared about her now. She was in a whole different world, and you could tell she belonged there.
When she finished playing and everybody stood up and clapped, her eyes changed again. They lit up.  In fact, her whole face lit up, as if to say, "I did it!" And her smile was nothing like the shaky one we'd seen before.  This one showed bright, white teeth and big dimples. She looked incredibly cute. The audience loved her.

I remember at that time thinking I'd like to meet her, even though she was so pretty and so talented and I usually don't like people who are too perfect. But because of her eyes and how scared she looked before she played and how happy she was that she'd done a good job, I didn't envy her like I sometimes do with somebody like that. 

In fact for some reason I felt a little bit sorry for her. Even then, before I knew anything else about her, I had the feeling she needed a friend.

Last fall, when she was fifteen and I was fourteen, I got to be her friend, and so did Lucas. We were in Scotland together, where she was scheduled to perform a bunch of concerts with an orchestra, and the three of us became really close. 

And then something terrible happened to Seneca, and it was up to Lucas and me to help her.

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