My jaw is hinged open. Didn’t he hear anything I said? Seth shouldn’t have even been there. And a guy I hang out with every so often beat him up! How does that make him lucky?
“If you say so.” It’s easier just to agree.
I feel like some parts of my life are just imploding. Grades, friendships, work. Doing anything on time. If Dad really knew about all of that, he’d be so disappointed. The thought brings fresh tears to my eyes.
The worst of it all is what happened to Seth, one of the few people in my life who doesn’t just want things from me. But look what hanging out with me did to him.
There’s a reason I keep busy and my friendships are situational. I’m just not cut out for all the complications that go along with deeper relationships. I like my emotions level, and it’s simpler to get along with everyone that way. It’s easier being busy, Carefree Kate.
And it seems to be better for everyone else if that’s the way it stays.
The following week passes by in one big hazy blur. Mom drove me straight to the ER the second we left Kate’s house. We were there for hours, and Shelby actually slept the whole time. Of course, when we got home, she started wailing, making Mom stay up for another few hours to take care of her. I felt like absolute crap about it.
Dad came home early from his business trip to make sure I was all right. It was just a bruised noggin—nothing to worry about, according to the doc—but being the genius he is, I think he wanted to make sure things were working in the cerebral department. Sunday night, after assuring both of them for about an hour that I was fine and I wanted to go back to school—one week off is enough to set me back a letter grade, I’m sure of it—he drilled me with quadratic equations and scientific theories. I passed with flying colors, so Monday morning I’m ready to crawl back into the real world.
“Take it easy today, Seth,” Mom says through a yawn as I’m walking out the door at six. I’m hoping to get some cello practice in before the day starts… Maybe find Kate and ask her if she has my phone. Three days into my parental-enforced bed rest, I realized it’d gone missing.
I nod, kiss Mom and Shelby on the forehead, and trudge out to the car, swinging myself into the driver’s seat.
Fruit punch. That’s all I smell.
Well, and plastic.
My eyebrows scrunch together as I flip around and study my backseat. Lined across the fabric are three cases of Gatorade—blue, red, and purple—with my phone and a note settled on top of the case in the middle.
A smile quirks the corner of my mouth, and I reach back with shaking fingers to the piece of paper.
Seth,
I realized after the fiftieth time I called, you left your cell at my house! And I had my shifts at Jamba (which SUCKED without you), a basketball practice, and…yeah, you don’t want to hear any of my excuses. Anyway, I wanted to come see you, make sure you were okay, but I just didn’t have the time. :(
Well, I hope you’re going to school today, and your brain has flopped back to its original genius self. I’ve heard Gatorade is a good way to replenish after traumatizing experiences. Got you my favorite flavors, so you know, if you want to share… (wink, wink)
Kate
I’m laughing as I fold the note back up and click my phone on. She wasn’t lying. I have over fifty missed calls, most from either her cell, the Jamba Juice number, or what I’m assuming is her house number. Clicking the voicemail button, I set the phone on the dash and listen on speakerphone as I drive to school.
Maybe getting knocked in the head was worth it. The first few messages are just to make sure I was okay, then they go into yelling at me for not answering my phone, then she starts singing the Oklahoma! score.
I listen to the last message right as I walk in the school doors. Kate says, “Okay, so I’m a dummy and just noticed your phone sitting here on my countertop, on silent. Seth, how in the world do you live with your phone on silent? I’m going to drop it off tomorrow morning before school, and you just forget I left any of those messages.”
I press nine to save, just like I’ve done with the other ones because…well, I don’t know why. I have an eidetic memory, and I won’t forget, but I don’t want to risk it.
Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I adjust my jacket and backpack and make my way to the main office, then off to first period. I’m still a little early, but the hallways are a lot noisier than I’m used to. Way noisier. It sounds like people heading to last period instead of first with the buzz through the air. I move my eyes from the floor in front of my feet to the surrounding people, and when my gaze catches theirs, the buzz stops momentarily.
“Hey, Seth!” a voice shouts from my left. Sophie Draper, a girl who plays first-chair viola, waves me over. I know she said my name, but it doesn’t stop me from looking over my shoulder to make sure she’s waving at me.
She chuckles and wiggles her fingers again. I gulp and take the few steps I need to get to her.
“Hey,” she says, leaning against her locker and sliding closer to me.
“Uh, hey.” Is that all she wanted? Because she already shouted that to me.
Her eyes flick up to mine, and she slides closer still. I take a step back and smack into Brett Johnson, who shifts out of the way.
“So,” she starts, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “The orchestra starts practicing with you guys this week.”
Oh right, the play. I nod.
“It’s too bad you won’t be in the pit with us. We could use someone decent on the cello.”
She giggles and laughs, and I let out an awkward snort because I have no idea what’s happening. Sophie has only said two words to me in the past, and they were, “you’re flat.” And at the time I wasn’t sure if she was talking about my instrument or my personality.
“Anyway, just wanted to see if you’re okay. I heard about the fight.”
Bingo. There it is.
“I’m fine,” I mumble as I wave my hair over the now-small bump on my forehead. “Th-Thanks.”
“Want to walk me to class?”
“Uh…”
“Thanks!” she squeaks, then shuts her locker and tucks her arm through mine. I stare at it like a moron before I start walking her to…wherever her first period is.
“So…are you doing anything Friday night?” she asks.
“Working.”
“What about Saturday?”
“Uh…”
“You can’t be working all day, right?” She blinks rapidly at me a few times, and I look at her with probably the same expression I give Dylan when he substitutes ketchup for chocolate syrup on ice cream.
“Um…no… I’m not working all day.”
“Well, a couple of us from orchestra were going to catch a movie. You want in?”
“Uh…”
“Great!” She stops in front of the interior design room and pulls out her phone. “What’s your number?”
My brain is on a massive delay. I mutter off my cell number at her before I realize what’s happening. I’m pretty sure this is a date. Yeah?
She grins and gives a tiny shrug before waving goodbye. I stand and stare at the classroom doorway for so long, it’s the one-minute warning bell that finally moves me.
I get stopped four more times on my way to first period, even though we’re all trying to get to class on time. Most people flip their gazes to my forehead, and I think I smooth my hair so many times it’ll come out if I do it again. When I plop down in my seat in calculus right as the final bell rings, my only thought is, how does Kate do this?
“Hello, Cello,” I say with a sigh, closing the band room door behind me. Dropping my backpack on the floor and opening the case, I let all the muscles in my body relax.
One party appearance. One. And suddenly I’m the guy who got too drunk and got in a fight with a senior. Only a handful of people actually know the truth about how there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in my body, and how it wasn’t really a fight.
I just hope the hype passes qui
ckly, and I can go back to avoiding awkward conversations.
I take my seat and rosin my bow. After hearing Oklahoma! from Kate via voicemail, my fingers are itching to play some of the numbers.
Shoot—in my haste to get out of those halls, I left the sheet music in the main orchestra room.
I pluck the strings on the cello at random. Huh…maybe I don’t need it. I’ve been listening to it on repeat for a while now. I just need the melody. A pitch.
Peering over my shoulder to make sure the soundproof door is closed, I hum out the first note of Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’.
B flat.
I run the bow over the strings. Yeah, that sounds right.
Next note…
A flat.
I play the two together. Yeah, that’s right.
Resting the bow on the music stand, I close my eyes and sing the first verse, mentally calculating which notes are which as they come out of my mouth.
After a few runs, I’m pretty sure I have the notes stocked in my brain. I take my bow back in my hand and play what I sang. Perfect.
Now the chorus. I close my eyes again and begin to sing the first lines. And then—
“I got a beautiful feeeeelin’!”
My eyes pop open and I knock the music stand over as I fumble for my bow. I swing my head around to find Kate leaning against the doorframe. She pulls the doorknob, clicking it in place behind her, then waves her hand in circles. The door was closed. I swear it on my life.
“Come on, Seth. Finish it.”
Not going to happen. No one hears me sing. No one.
She smiles as I shake my head off its hinges. “Come on…”
I play it on my cello instead, making it sound majorly vibrato because my hands won’t stop shaking.
Her arms cross, and she points a finger at me. “It’s one line, and I’m not going to leave you alone till you sing it.”
Heart beating so hard I can feel it in my ears, I let out the last part of the chorus, surprised my voice doesn’t shake as much as my hands do.
The last note hangs in the air, and I hold my breath while I wait for her reaction. The bow slips from my sweaty hand.
“I just don’t get it,” she says, her eyes flicking to her feet as she shakes her head.
“I-I never claimed to be a singer,” I mumble.
She laughs, dropping her bag on the floor. “I know. That’s what I don’t get.” She moves across the small room, fluffs my backpack like a pillow, and plops down on the floor, letting out a big sigh and closing her eyes. “You should be on stage.”
Shaky laughter escapes my lips. “Yeah, right. Because being in the spotlight in any situation is what I’m dying to experience.”
“I mean it,” she says, draping her arm over her eyes, leaving me to stare at where her shirt just rose up her stomach. “You can dance, sing, and act. You’re freaking talented, Seth.”
“I think I’m better suited for the AV room.”
Her arm moves behind her head so she can look at me. “Wasn’t it you who said ‘how many chances are we going to get after high school?’”
I roll my eyes. No one likes having their own advice thrown back at them.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not real good in front of people,” I say with a laugh.
“That’s what’s so great about the theater.” She waves her hand dramatically through the air. “You aren’t you on that stage. You’re someone else!”
“In front of people,” I counter, and we both laugh.
“Fine. Be stubborn like that.” She fake-pouts. “But I’m making you try out with me next year.”
I tilt my head back and forth. Good luck with that one, Kate.
That’s when it hits me—my cheeks hurt. The smile won’t disappear from my face. I can’t help it. She thinks we’ll still be friends next year. That’s what she’s saying, right? So, the whole just at-work friends…did she mean that?
Or is it because it’s theater, so we’ll be just work buds till theater rolls around again? I don’t know, but my smile is fading.
“So…” she says after a minute of silence. “Next week.”
I nod, knowing what she’s talking about. The play begins in a week, with performances all weekend. Tickets went on sale last Monday, and Friday night’s already sold out. I assume that’s because most people are coming to see Kate.
“No more rehearsals.” She sighs.
My eyes move over her body. She’s talking to the ceiling, snapping the hairband on her wrist, her stomach still peeking from under her shirt. She says I have abs. Dang…she’s got them, too. Wish I was as confident as she is and I could go up and poke them a few times, tease her about it.
“Basketball ends too, doesn’t it?” I ask as I try not to stare at her bare skin. “So, your schedule should be opening up a bit, huh?”
I’m trying to sound lighthearted and blasé, but really I’m hoping for some confirmation that she won’t be so busy. At least not too busy to…I don’t know…spend time with me?
She laughs. “No. Once something ends, something else starts back up. Basketball turns into soccer almost right away.”
“Oh.”
The pit of my stomach fills with rocks. It’ll be fine, I know it will. We’re both busy, it’s not just her. We both have lives outside of each other. We did before the play, we will after. Nothing will change, really.
Then why does it feel like it’s already changing?
She bolts upright. I jump back and almost fall out of my chair.
“I was gonna ask you…I think I may need some help in trig.”
I straighten up, adjusting my cello. “Yeah?”
A strained smile spreads across her lips. “It’s not like a huge deal, but I was hoping I’d get the chance to maybe pick your brain?”
“Will you have time for that?” I ask, smirking.
Her tongue sticks out and my mind goes to her lips. A thundering panic goes through my chest. I think I said something about those lips to her. I vaguely remember that conversation, but I’m hoping I was just confused after getting knocked out.
“Well, I’m not allowed to do anything if my grades slip. So, that’s my number-one priority. Can I hit you up on Saturday?”
“Oh…I think I have…a date…or something.”
Her eyes widen. “You think you have a date?”
“One of the girls in orchestra, well, she asked me to go with her to a movie.” I pause, shaking my head at the absurdity of it. “Well…her and a bunch of other people. Maybe you could come…”
As I watch her, something happens in Kate’s expression. I’m not the best at reading people, but it seems like she’s upset. Her eyes harden and the small dimple in the corner of her mouth disappears.
“Or I could cancel,” I blurt, wanting that expression to go away.
“No,” she says, then laughs at nothing. “Don’t worry about it. It does sound like a date. I don’t want to intrude.”
I want to tell her I’d rather that she did intrude. Then I might actually get through it without making a complete idiot of myself. My palms are getting clammy just thinking about it.
Her expression’s changed, and I’m pretty sure I recognize this one. When Kate’s sad or overwhelmed, it’s a very subtle tell, but her dimple twitches slightly. Like it’s being forced to smile when it really doesn’t want to.
I run a hand through my hair, wincing as I hit the bump. “Uh, break time? You, me, and a lot of trigonometry?”
She laughs, the sadness in her eyes somewhat softening. “A poet too. Is there any end to your talents?”
This time, I stick my tongue out.
Pulling out her phone, she lets out a sigh as she returns a text. “I gotta go. Supposed to be at a yearbook staff meeting that started twenty minutes ago.”
I nod, and get in ready position to play cello. No more Oklahoma! for me. I’ll stick with playing what I know without having to sing the notes first.
She eyes me, and
instead of getting her things, she lies back down on my jacket. “You mind if I just listen to you play for a few minutes?”
Normally, I’d freeze up and refuse to play a thing. But the way her voice sounds…tired—not just tired, but exhausted—and after what she did for me with the voicemails, the Gatorade, and pulling me from that party, I owe her a few minutes of the second-best sound in the world.
Without shaking, without even sweating, I pull the bow across the strings and watch her smile from the floor.
Oh man, he’s going to freak when I tell him.
I throw open the Jamba Juice door and stroll in with the visor around my wrist. As I flip it up onto my head, I catch Seth’s eye behind the counter. We both open our mouths to speak, but Jeremy steps in front of me, breaking our connection.
“Hey, Kate.”
I catch my smile before it falters. Jeremy is a nice guy, just not exactly who I want to talk to right now.
“Hi, Jeremy. How’s it going?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, showing off the muscles in his short-sleeved shirt even though it’s only March and kinda too cold for clothing like that.
“Things are going real good. Graduation is coming up. Can’t wait to get out of here, you know?”
That’s right, Jeremy’s a senior. It’s hard to keep track.
“Yeah, I guess I can see how some people would think that.” I’m not in a rush to go anywhere. I’m happy here, in high school. Hopefully college will be fun, too. Life is what you make of it. At least, that’s what I’ve always believed.
“You’re not itching to get out of here?” Jeremy cocks his head. “Maybe you’re just saying that because you know you still have a whole year to go?”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it.”
There’s a moment, or five, of awkward silence. I should clock in since, you know, I’m late. But in all fairness to me, if things would end on time I wouldn’t be late. But when one event runs late, I can’t possibly make it to the next one on time.
“So the musical is next weekend.” Jeremy nudges my shoulder. “You guys ready? I’ve got my ticket for Friday night.”
Funny he should mention that. I look over his shoulder at Seth, who’s got that sour face going as he stares at one of the blenders. No doubt saving this Jamba store another boatload of money with his mathematical genius. I laugh and Jeremy laughs too, even though he can’t have any idea what I’m laughing at.