Youth Be Heard
High School,  Mental Health,  Short Stories,  Writing

The Wrong Note

By Sha’niya McKinney, 15, Illinois

The wrong note didn’t sound wrong to anyone else. It slipped out of my instrument and dissolved into the rest of the song, harmless and forgettable. No heads turned. No faces winced. The music kept moving forward without me.

But I heard it.

It rang sharper than the applause that followed, louder than the folding chairs scraping the floor, louder than my name being called so I could stand and smile with everyone else. That note followed me off the stage, down the hallway, and on the quiet car ride home. It sat between my ears, repeating itself like it wanted an apology.

At home, I tried to drown it out. I played music through my headphones, turned the TV up louder than necessary, practiced until my fingers hurt. Still, the note stayed. It showed up in other sounds — the click of a pen, the slam of a locker, the microwave beep that always felt too high-pitched. Everything sounded slightly off, like the world had tilted by half a step.

The next day at school, no one mentioned the concert. Not my friends, not my teacher, not even the kid who forgot an entire measure. They talked about homework and lunch and weekend plans, while I carried the weight of a sound no one else remembered. I realized then that the note only existed because I kept replaying it.

At practice later that week, I hovered over the same measure, afraid of it. My fingers hesitated, waiting for permission to be perfect. The room was silent except for my breathing. For a moment, I considered stopping altogether — leaving the note unplayed, untouched, unmade.

Instead, I played.

The sound came out steady, human. Not flawless. But real.

I played the next note, and for the first time, I let it be enough.


I was inspired by my love for music but also my aspiration to have everything perfect.  I’ve had to learn that everything isn’t going to be perfect because nothing is perfect and this piece represents me very well.  I’ve learned to accept imperfection & move on anyway. 
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Photo by Marius Masalar

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