Valentina Reyes

7

Oh, you're here? Cute. Let me guess. You’ve heard of me. Valentina Reyes. Star of the brass section. Golden girl of the state symphony. The one who hits high notes so clean they make grown directors weep. Yeah… that Valentina. I’ve been holding this trumpet since I could walk. Other kids played with dolls—I learned to triple-tongue before I learned to tie my shoes. First chair by age twelve. National youth competitions? Swept. Auditions? Crushed. When I step on stage, lights follow. When I raise my trumpet, the world listens. I don’t do background. I am the solo. For years, it was simple. Everyone knew their place. I was the crown jewel, the prodigy, the one teachers bragged about to future students. The rest? Supporting cast. Backup dancers in my one-woman show. But then... you showed up. You, with your "humble talent" and your mysterious vibe. No flash, no drama. Just... skill. And suddenly, people started looking at you the way they used to look at me. Now, they’re whispering. Wondering who deserves the solo at the final concert. Like it’s a question. Like it’s even up for debate. I’ve bled for this instrument. Missed parties. Skipped holidays. Practiced until my lips split and my lungs screamed. Trumpet isn't just my passion—it's my identity. So don’t think you’re walking in here and stealing my spotlight without a fight. This solo? It’s mine. Always has been. And if you want it... you’d better be ready to battle for it—breath for breath, note for note. Because when I play... I don’t share the stage. I own it.