Chapter 3
By the time Friday morning came, Bran's attention had proven to be a curse in more ways than one. I still could not figure out whether I liked or loathed the guy. Every time he came near me, I could not help myself. The gnawing desire would start in my chest and I would only want to sate it. I would notice his biceps, his smile, his accent, his charm, his broad shoulders, the way the back of his neck curved into those shoulders. Everything downright sexy about him screamed at me. I was as pathetic as those I loathed.
When he was away from me, I could not stop thinking about how much I never wanted to see him again. His interest was inexplicable and strange. My emotional whiplash was made all the harder to deal with by the fact that I had lost my wallflower status.
Bran was hot. That was just plain fact. Unfortunately, this also meant he was too attractive to be relegated to the depths of obscurity as I had worked so hard to be. He was the continual topic of gossip. He was not just attractive but an enigma to the student body. He spoke to very few but was incredibly charming when he did. He was proving to be adept at every subject, achieving a 105% on the history test of his first day. And the boys who had gym with him insisted he had tattoos. Yes, Bran was too interesting not to be the topic of conversation but due to his frequent insistence to speak to me, now so was I.
I had just retrieved my English books from my locker when I heard Bethany whining to Samantha. She couldn't figure out why Bran liked me so much. There was nothing special about me. In fact, I was plain, too skinny, flat-chested, a loser, etc. She in particular had become vocal about her dislike of the situation, which I could only take to mean she had swung and missed with him. I might have won the bet if Bran would bother to pay attention to the other girls. That was another reason to be sour about him.
I hadn't seen him all morning—he had been missing from physics—so my dislike of him was in full, unhindered swing.
"I don't get your problem," Michael had said as we waited for the bell to ring at the end of third period.
It was creative writing day and Michael and I had finished early. The cloud cover of the past day had finally lost its battle with the sun. The warm light fell through the windows making the classroom seem happier but I could not indulge. I was too addicted to my moping, especially now that Michael had chosen sides; against me. With each class we shared with Bran, Michael welcomed him more, seemingly losing his prior hesitation entirely. They greeted each other warmly and exchanged fluff comments about our latest assignments. Bran was always pleasant, never once giving even a hint of insult.
I tapped my ring finger on the desk three times then switched to my index. Beethoven seemed appropriate. "Wasn't it you who admitted there's something off about him?" I asked, referencing our first physics class with him.
Michael shrugged. "Mysterious would be a better word but that could mean anything. I'm still willing to give him a chance. Given how all the other girls throw themselves at him, aren't you the least bit flattered by the attention?"
I attacked the cover of my notebook with my pencil, digging an angry spiral into the paper. "He's everywhere! He 'just happens' to run into me near my locker between every period even though I'm pretty sure his locker isn't even on the same floor. Every time we have class, he smiles at me and tries to talk. I want him to leave me alone."
"No you don't," he said. His tone was unconcerned with my obvious frustration. His repeated trivialization of my concerns made me want to scream only more. He continued as if I were not staring at him with overt murderous intent, "I see the look in your eyes when he's talking to you; you want to throw yourself at him." He leaned in to add in a whisper, "Any kilted, Scottish warrior dreams lately?" His eyes were twinkling. His mirth was undiminished when I glared at him.
"It's how I feel about him when he isn't around that worries me," I confessed. "It's like he has a spell on me and when he's gone, the spell wears off."
Michael had looked confused. I hadn't shared that particular problem before but if it meant he would finally see my side of the matter, it was a worthy sacrifice. "Like an incubus or something?" He asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, some demon from hell, sure. Get real. But I'm trusting my instincts on this one."
"You know, you could always give him a chance before you blow him off completely."
I glared. "Why do you care so much?"
He shrugged. "Because, if you don't get a boyfriend soon, I'll never be free to pick up chicks."
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe if you actually found your inner feminist and stopped talking about women like a pack of animals, you'd have better luck."
The bell rang and we got up from our seats, only half-listening as Mr. Jones assigned five more chapters for over the weekend.
"A group of chicks isn't a pack," he explained as if he had taken me literally. "And you underestimate the repelling power of having a girl as your best friend."
I slammed my books into my bag. "Well, maybe I won't be your friend any longer and solve your problem." I had never admitted it to him but I took his talk of getting rid of me very personally. Didn't he want to spend time with me? Wasn't I more than just a place holder?
I held my bag close to my chest as I tried to keep my head down in the hall. Michael didn't want to lug his books around during lunch so we agreed to part ways briefly to drop our things off at our lockers. I hadn't stopped him from going but still wished he hadn't. The eyes on me were so much harder to take when he wasn't with me.
I sunk my head further into my neck. I really needed to invest in those turtlenecks I kept fantasizing about, or at least learn how to change myself into a turtle. I was halfway there with my personality as it was.
When he met up with me again at the cafeteria doors, he looked haunted.
"Found out Doctor Who was cancelled?" I asked as I pushed the door open.
He glared at me. "It was not!"
I patted his shoulder. "No, but you look out of it. You alright?"
"Confused."
I raised a brow. We joined the line and I looked expectantly at him for an explanation. His voice was a breathy whisper. I had trouble hearing him above the din of the other students. "Maria Wallace just asked me if I could tutor her in math."
I snorted. "She could use the help but what's so hard to understand about that? You're the natural choice for a tutor. You didn't look this surprised when Bran asked."
"Bran isn't five foot four of curvaceous Latina." He was still in a daze and his voice still a whisper. "She talked to me. To me."
I grabbed a tray and handed it to him before taking one for myself. If I could have ignored lunch entirely, I would have. We were too exposed where we were but Michael would never have allowed me to skip it. Images of a force-feeding tube flashed through my mind.
"Maybe it's because Bran asked you," I reasoned. "You're tutoring the most sought after boy in school so you're not persona non grata anymore."
He scratched his chin before grabbing a chocolate milk and setting it on his tray. "Maybe but she insisted it had to be Saturday night."
I gave him my most murderous glare, which, admittedly, was likely not intimidating in the slightest but it was still my way of lodging a formal complaint. "You better not blow off our Downton marathon. I will never forgive you."
He put far too much focus into choosing a ham sandwich. "She begged me! She even started crying."
"You didn't!" I was exasperated. "What if I start crying now? Will you take it back?"
"Will it make you move faster in line?" Samantha jeered over my shoulder.
I felt my cheeks redden. Michael glanced her way before pushing his tray several feet down the counter. My heart was now banging in my throat and strangling me. I tried to ignore her as I followed Michael but every muscle in my body remained tense.
She looked over her shoulder to Amanda. "Thinks she's too good for the rest of us now that Bran likes her. Too bad that hasn't changed her wardrobe. Bran must be into the frumpy type."
/> I left the lunch line, leaving my tray behind. Michael hesitated before following. The unwanted but familiar rush of anger and embarrassment scalded my insides as it rushed to my scalp. Samantha had just peed into the social pool of the cafeteria, turning the water into liquid hostility. I was wading through it, trying to get to the door which was much too far away and too difficult to reach.
"Don't listen to them," Michael said. "You know they're just pissed that Bran ignores them."
I rounded on him. "And I see you didn't go out of your way to stand up for me but you'll throw me under the bus to help Maria Wallace. You wouldn't change plans with me for a guy but a drop dead gorgeous popular girl is so much more important. Well, fine, Sir Math Tutor, be the white knight to the girl who's never given you a first glance let alone a second. See if I care."
I ran from the cafeteria. I didn't care if I had hurt him. He would have Maria Wallace to console him. He had blown off Bran for us, but Maria Wallace was too good to pass up. Maria Wallace was too good. Maria Wallace wasn't me.
I ignored my growling stomach. Food was not worth the heartache, even if it meant Michael would tattle to my mother about it later. I tried to reason it would only make me feel sick anyway. My heartburn had been a permanent fixture all week and no overdose of antacids could touch it. Michael would be a total jerk if he ratted me out today. Everyone was allowed to have a bad day, even me.
I headed straight for the library to hide with the books in a secluded corner. As I sat alone, I contemplated feigning sick and just going home. Math was after lunch and there I would see not only Michael but also St. Wallace. I grabbed a random book off the nearest shelf and stared at the first page.
I was still on that page when the bell rang. With stomach consuming dread, I packed up and walked to Math. I ignored the rest of the classroom and headed straight to the first desk at the front of the room. I face forward, opened my book, and started doing exercises that hadn't been assigned just to keep my mind busy.
I could feel Michael watching me. I refused to cooperate. I had my things gathered before the end of class and was out the door the second the bell rang. For the first time in my life, I was looking forward to gym.
I hated gym.
I lacked the coordination or endurance to be any good at pretty much anything they had us do. I was thrust into a gymnasium with the worst of the gossips, who I had to endure without Michael to save me from reality.
Today, I was glad to be rid of him, even when I dribbled the basketball so hard it bounced up and hit me in the nose. Amidst giggles and points, I had to sit out the rest of the class with an ice pack on my face. Samantha kept miming my awkward accident to the others when Ms. Williams wasn't looking, which renewed the malicious giggles.
January had been such a nice month, back when I had been ignored. The desire to run home and hide under my blankets was supressed only by guilt. I could never tell my mother I was sick if it weren't true.
I trudged to final period music class, glad that the day was almost over but depressed that it wasn't yet over. One more hour to go and then I could spend my weekend hiding under my blankets.
At least I still wouldn't have to deal with Michael, or Samantha and Amanda, or Bran. Michael was completely and utterly tone deaf so he had opted to take shop instead. He was great at fixing things. I sighed. Except us.
Music was actually more of a practice for the school chamber orchestra. I had taken several years of piano, which made me good enough to take part. I wasn't great but I could get through the music, the main prerequisite for our orchestra. The other students in the class were about the same and so had to concentrate too much on their own playing to be concerned with me. I could blend in with the cacophony.
Our music teacher, Mrs. Montgomery, refused to host any practices outside of class time. If anyone had dared suggest otherwise, she would launch into a tirade about dismal teacher pay and not giving up her personal life for people who didn't appreciate her. As a result, we sucked and almost never played for the public.
I warmed up my fingers with some scales as I waited for class to start. I scowled as a new drawback to the class walked in with a cello case in hand, bringing the gnawing hunger back to my chest. Bran sauntered over to the cello section and started setting up. He looked up from his case and flashed me his knee-weakening smile. Despite myself, I smiled back before forcing myself to look away and pretend he didn't exist.
"Lucina, would you play an A for me?" Bran said over my shoulder. He had grabbed one of the violin seats nearest me and was holding his bow at the ready.
I flushed and muttered an incoherent affirmative as I pressed down one of the piano keys.
"That's a G," he whispered kindly.
"What?" I looked at my finger and retreated into my neck. I must have been completely out of it. I quickly pressed the right key.
"Thanks, dove." He smiled before tuning his cello.
I felt like a complete idiot, melting every time he called me that. It pulled my heart straight to him every time. I would do anything for him if he would just call me 'dove' again.
I needed to get a grip on myself! I tried to think of him like any other student. My guts churned and my heartburn was getting out of control. Ok, so that hadn't worked. I tried to think of him like Michael, a harmless friend.
"Since when are you in his class?" I asked. I had not meant the accusatory tone, but there it was, and now I knew I was blushing.
He lowered his bow and looked back at me. "Transferred. Home Ec isn't really my thing."
I was a complete idiot. I would have been better off thinking of him like the other students, then I wouldn't have actively encouraged him to talk to me. I lowered my eyes, wishing I could hide again. There was a trickle of blood coming out from under the cuff of his shirt.
I gripped the piano bench with my hands. "Why weren't you in physics and math today?" I asked.
"Had a doctor's appointment," he replied without hesitation.
I pointed at the blood. "Got a shot?"
He looked down and blinked before smirking to himself. "He's gotten better," he muttered as he wiped the blood away.
"Who?"
He shook his head as he looked back at me. "It's nothing. The gauze must have come loose." He finished tuning his cello and began playing excerpts of Bach from memory. His nimble fingers dashed up and down the finger board. He was amazing. Of course. Bran Sheehy wasn't real. He was good looking, charming, and talented; everything a girl could want. There was no way he was human. What had Michael suggested? An incubus? Yes, that would explain everything. Bran Sheehy was a demon of seduction. I wasn't insane. I was just going to be his victim.
"Sound ok to you, dove?" He asked.
And I was willing. I nodded. He smiled and returned to his seat.
Mrs. Montgomery entered the class biting her nails. She paced the room a few times, sat down at her desk, got up and paced the room again. When the bell rang and everyone was situated, she stopped and took a deep breath.
She was a thin woman with reddish-brown hair that was normally in a neat bun. Now, a few locks had fallen loose. Her blouse had come untucked on one side of her grey skirt. I thought she had been about to speak but she paced the room once more before facing us again and taking yet another deep breath.
"Unfortunately," she announced, her voice shaking. "We've had some complaints about the level of practice you are receiving in my classes. Some people seem to think you aren't learning anything unless you're flaunting your work before the world. Even more unfortunately, these same people also seem to think that money can solve any problem, though I notice they were not interested in increasing teachers' salaries even if they are demanding more work."
A few students exchanged raised eyebrows. Mrs. Montgomery was known for her tirades but this time she was obviously building to something. Her words were coming in increasingly short spurts as her breathing quickened. She was on the verge of hyperventilating.
With a gasping brea
th, she continued, "I have been informed by the principal that we will be required to give a performance in late March." She then paced and muttered something that included words like 'ridiculous,' 'blackmail donations,' and then 'Fletchers.'
Emilia Wilton dropped her violin bow at the name. Several murmurs erupted around the room. The Fletchers were the most wealthy and influential family in the region. Oil tended to do that.
"Believe me," she continued as if she had taken this gossiping for disgruntled protest, "I told them that a quality performance upon such short notice would be impossible but no one seems to think it's important to listen to me. I guess new instruments and funding for the music department have been guaranteed for the next ten years if we do the performance. Given the degree of the gift involved, some people think it acceptable to make unreasonable demands of our overworked students." Her pacing increased speed as she ranted. "Of course, if any students could manage it, I know it would be mine but this means that you will all be required to practice at home regularly, which is quite obvious does not currently happen."
My heart sank. I was definitely one such student but it was not my fault. There was unfortunately no way I could get around that aside from getting keys to the school to practice at night.
She went on. "This also means we will now be having practice three days a week: Wednesday and Thursday nights and Saturday mornings."
There were some groans from the others.
She lifted a hand to quell the noise. "There is no point in begging me to change it. I have done my best to convince the administration that this is a disruptive idea but they are determined that driving you like little slaves is the right thing to do."
None of us were convinced she had any concerns about how hard the students were worked.
She leaned over her desk to grab a stack of papers. "These are the pieces we will be performing," she announced as she lifted the thick stack into her arms. She looked down her nose at the top sheet. "I can't say I am familiar with this one. It appears to be a modern work by a group that sounds like a rock band. Probably some nepotism for this one," she muttered. "It too was a demand made by our loan shark." She sighed. To my horror, she turned to look at me. "Lucina, this one has a prominent piano portion, you will have to work extra hard on it. You'll be centre stage and must make the school proud."
My shock made me resentful. She just didn't want to get fired. I hoped I wasn't glaring but inside I felt like she deserved a nasty look. I didn't want to be centre stage, especially when making the school proud would be impossible under the circumstances.
"The next will be quite a challenge as well," she continued to the rest of the class. "And the last one of the demands would be challenging even for a full orchestra. Apparently, reality has escaped everyone except those in this room. We were at least given the freedom to fill out the remainder of the program with whatever we have already been working on, so while I will hand out the new music so you have a chance to look it over, we will forgo working on it today. We will return to our work with Saint-Saens and add it to the repertoire. I expect you all to put in a full effort this time, given the circumstances."
She handed out the sheets saying, "I have also included a consent form for your parents to sign to prove you may stay for rehearsals. You must have it back to me by Monday."
The moment she handed out the last paper, she turned to conduct. Spencer White had yet to finish tuning his violin but we were off in a discordant frenzy as we strove to improve to mediocrity. I tried to focus on my playing but the bile was threatening to make a resurgence. I knew music would now be a torturous way to finish off my days.
To make matters worse, throughout our practice, everyone kept stealing glances at Bran. Not because of the usual curiosity about him but because his cello playing was the only playing in key and on time the entire duration of the class. The only time Mrs. Montgomery's fear waned was when she lauded him for his skill, saying she was glad there was at least one good surprise in her day. Her calm was short-lived as she returned to scolding the rest of us within seconds.
When the bell signalled our freedom, Mrs. Montgomery yelled over the din that the first rehearsal would be the following Wednesday after we had gotten consent from our parents. She also stressed her hope that we would all have improved significantly. Several cases were banged shut with mutinous violence.
I took my time slipping my music into my backpack. I needed to wait for the others to leave so I could speak to Mrs. Montgomery. It was my only option.
Bran was taking a long time packing up his cello. I stayed where I was, trying to outwait him. When the length of time he was spending zipping up his case became indecent, he gave up. He finished the rest of his packing quickly and left.
Mrs. Montgomery was sitting with her head resting on the desk. I didn't want to disturb her but I had little choice.
"Mrs. Montgomery?" I asked quietly.
Despite my effort not to scare her, she bolted upright in her seat. Her eyes were crazed for a moment before she focused on me. "Yes, Lucina, what do you need?"
"I don't have a piano at home, would it be possible for me to use the music room after school?"
She crossed her arms, stared up at the ceiling, and sighed. "I guess we have little choice. I'll need a letter of consent from your mother so that she knows your responsibility." She closed her eyes. "That explains a lot. I wondered why you haven't improved."
I had no idea what to say. It wasn't the shock of the information—I knew I had been struggling and why—but of the fact she so easily laid it out without any effort to soften the blow. Perhaps my shock was obvious, for she added, "It's not just you. I don't think anyone in this class ever practices. You'd think after all these months they would had learned something about playing together." She sighed. "Maybe that new boy will help. He could be a professional."
I rolled my eyes. Apparently it wasn't just the students who had fallen under his spell. I couldn't blame her. Bran was perfect; too freaking perfect.
Coveted Page 3
