Cornelia Nixon’s story, The Women Come and Go, was published in NER 16.2 (1994):
One quarter of h
er waking life had gone to practicing the violin, but when her teacher entered her in a national audition, Margy was surprised to make it to the finals, and didn’t bother checking the results. The teacher had to track her down at home to tell her that she’d won. Margy knew it was a fluke, but within a month she was invited everywhere to play (to Tanglewood, to Aspen, with the Boston Symphony), and at her school in the Back Bay, where she’d always had to practice straight through lunch, ignored by everyone, suddenly she had so much cachet that the most sought-after girls were seeking her. Ann was generally acknowledged the most beautiful girl in school, and beautiful in a way that made other girls feel awe: she was perfect in the natural state, like Grace Kelly before she met the prince, only better, since she’d never bleached her hair or worn lipstick. She had a nunlike aura, and wore expensive modest clothes, the kind that most girls’ mothers picked for them and they refused to wear. Even the Huntington uniform looked good on her. Calluses did not grow on her toes. Whatever she said was considered wise. She liked to quote from Herman Hesse, Kahlil Gibran, and other sources of deathless wisdom.