Gabrielle

by Lucy Kevin

  “Jesus. He’s three for three.”

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “My grandmother wants me to have him over for tea.”

  “Tea, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. “Wow, so she actually is encouraging this whole courtesan thing.”

  “I don’t know.” But I did.

  She was.

  Missy, of course, immediately called me on it. “What do you mean, you don’t know? She wanted you to go the party and then when you met a hot, rich guy, she’s sealing the deal with tea.

  What more could she do to make this happen?”

  I shook my head. “I just can’t believe that she’d sell me out like this. She’s my grandmother. She loves me. She always raised me to believe I could do anything. And now, she wants me to sign up to be some guy’s mistress?”

  “Look, you know I don’t think the courtesan thing is necessarily all bad. Still, the thing I can’t figure out,” Missy said after the waitress put our plates in front of us, “is why your grandmother is so hellbent on you joining up?”

  Here I’d been hoping to get away with not telling Missy about Bradley. Instead, I’d not only done that, but I was a breath away from telling her about the curse. No, no, no. I wasn’t going to say anything about it.

  “Let’s see, you’ve already told me that your grandmother was a courtesan and so was her mother and so on.” Missy tapped her fork on the side of her plate as if that would help her find the answer. “I’m assuming they must all have had good experiences?”

  “I think so,” I said carefully, trying to evade her all-seeing gaze.

  “Gabi, you are such a sandbagger,” she said, pointing her fork at me. “What did you leave out the other night when you were telling me about this? There’s got to be something else, some reason she’s riding you so hard with all this courtesan stuff.”

  “Could you try not saying that quite so loud?”

  She looked around us at the people shoving food in their faces—normal people who didn’t have an ancient legacy and curse waiting for their eighteenth birthday to strike—and made a face. “Trust me, I could stand up and yell My friend might become a courtesan! as loud as I can and none of them would believe me.”

  She was right. They’d just think she was trying to embarrass me—and nothing more.

  Because, really, who in their right mind would ever think a normal teenage girl like me would be heading straight toward a world of courtesans and protectors?

  I cut into a pancake and started to bring it to my lips, but I couldn’t do it. Just as I couldn’t keep something from the best friend I’d ever had. I put my fork down and muttered,

  “She says there’s a curse,” into my glass of orange juice.

  Missy’s eyes grew big. “Did you just say she thinks you’re cursed?”

  “No. She doesn’t think I’m cursed. She believes one hundred percent that I’m cursed.” I quickly told her the story my grandmother had told me.

  Missy was silent for a long time. Long enough that I said, “Say something soon, before I really freak out.”

  “I’m just fitting the puzzle pieces together in my mind,” she said softly, staring down at her plate as if the answers were somewhere in the mess of eggs and hash browns. “Basically, because of how things went with your mother, your grandmother thinks she can protect you by making you into a courtesan. So instead of pushing you away from becoming some guy’s mistress like you’d think she would, she’s doing the exact opposite.” She finally looked back up at me. “You know, it actually kind of makes sense.”

  “No,” I said, loudly enough that several people around us turned to see what my problem was. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Missy didn’t say anything, didn’t make one of her standard flippant responses. Instead, she was staring at me in a far too serious way. “What are you going to do?”

  I frowned at my best friend. “What do you mean, what am I going to do?” When she didn’t reply, I added, “Not become a courtesan, for one.”

  “But what about the curse?”

  “No. Not you, too.”

  “Look, I’m not saying there’s definitely a curse, but—”

  “Don’t you dare say it. My side, remember? You’re on my side.”

  “Of course I’m on your side,” she said. “All I’m saying is what if there is some sort of…”

  She mouthed the word curse. “I’d really hate for something to happen to you, Gabi.”

  And that was just the problem. The people who cared most about me in the world were so worried about a stupid, nonexistent curse that they actually wanted me to consider doing something awful and horrible and just plain wrong.

  “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m just like anyone else. I. Am. Not. Cursed.”

  After way too long a pause, Missy finally said, “Right. Not cursed. Definitely not cursed.”

  *

  On the way home from brunch, I called Dylan’s cell and asked him if he could meet me in the park.

  “Hey there.” He put his hands on my cheeks and held me there while his eyes scanned my face.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You sounded funny on the phone. I had to make sure you’re okay.”

  So sweet, but I couldn’t help but think about the family he’d grown up in. What would it do to a person to have a father who always hurt his mother?

  “I’m okay,” I said, before going up on my toes to kiss him gently on the lips. “How are you?”

  “Okay.”

  When he didn’t say anything more than that, I asked, “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No.”

  He hadn’t paused, hadn’t stopped to give it any thought, before answering. Instinctively, I felt hurt.

  Obviously seeing this, he stroked his thumb across my cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to people knowing anything about me.” He lowered his voice. “Knowing what happened.”

  A week ago I might not have understood just how hard it was for him to share his feelings, his demons with me. But today at brunch with Missy, hadn’t I been on the verge of keeping secrets from my best friend in the whole world? She and I had been through absolutely everything together, and still, I was afraid to trust her with something that felt too dark.

  “I understand if you don’t always want to tell me things,” I said softly, “but I’m here if you ever do.”

  “Sweet Gabi,” he whispered against my lips.

  His whispered words turned into a kiss that would have shocked me if I’d been walking in the park and seen two teenagers going at it in broad daylight. When he finally pulled back, I was practically panting.

  “Good thing we’re in public.”

  I couldn’t quite get my brain to process his words. “It is?”

  “I don’t want to just sleep with you, Gabi.”

  Still trying to get my brain on board, I said, “You don’t?”

  “You’re not like anyone else. You’re special. Sex—” He shook his head, threaded a hand through mine, and started walking. “It’s good and everything, but sometimes it messes everything up.”

  I didn’t know what to say, not when I’d never talked about sex with anyone other than Missy. And, it suddenly occurred to me—kinda, sorta—with Bradley the previous night.

  “My mother got knocked up.” He didn’t have to say by whom. “That’s why she ended up marrying him.” He didn’t look at me, but I could hear how bleak his words were. “He was already hitting her. Even when she was pregnant.”

  I wanted to say something, anything to make him feel better, but before I could even try, he was saying, “So how was your thing with your grandmother last night? It was some kind of party, right?”

  Boy, that was about as abrupt a change of subject as it got. But considering how hard it was for me to talk to Missy about the whole courtesan thing, I knew how hard it must be for Dylan to talk to me about his mom being abused.

  “It was fine,” I said in a care
ful voice. “Actually, I was telling her about you and she’d really like to meet you, maybe for tea some afternoon this week?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She won’t like me.”

  “Of course she will.”

  He shook his head, pulling his hand from mine. “She won’t.”

  “My grandmother is awesome,” I told him in a confident voice, even though I was worried that he was right. “She’s not the kind of person who judges people before getting to know them.” He hadn’t forgotten that she used to be a courtesan, had he? No, my grandmother definitely wasn’t going to judge anyone.

  Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I guess I can come over on Wednesday.”

  “It will be fun,” I promised.

  *

  I waited until Dylan was out of sight before I called Bradley.

  Clearly happy to hear from me, he said, “A formal invite to meet your grandmother, huh?”

  I thought he was teasing, but wanted to make sure. “I told her we were just friends.”

  “You know I’m kidding, Gabrielle.”

  Most people called me Gabi, especially people my own age. Gabrielle usually sounded so formal and out of place. But not when Bradley said it.

  From him, Gabrielle sounded just right. I honestly couldn’t ever picture him calling me Gabi, not even once we’d known each other a long time.

  I could still taste Dylan’s kiss. I should only be thinking about him.

  “Gabrielle? Are you still there?”

  I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes.” My voice sounded squeaky. “Sorry, I’m in the park and I think our connection got a little funny for a second.” Which was true, our connection was totally weird, at least for me. We’d connected from the first minute and even when I hadn’t wanted to like him, I had.

  I did.

  “I’d love to come over and spend some time with your grandmother, Gabrielle.”

  Irritated that his reaction was the polar opposite of Dylan’s, I said in a sharp voice he didn’t deserve, “Will Thursday afternoon work?”

  “Sure.”

  I told him my address, then said, “I’ve got to go,” and hung up on him.

  *

  I went straight to the electric piano in my bedroom when I got home. In the hardest times of my life, music had always been there for me. Comforting me. Soothing me. Healing me.

  People had called me a childhood prodigy because I could play the piano and the guitar so well at the age of six.

  I wasn’t a prodigy. Not even close.

  Every time I wanted my mother, I played whichever was closest. My grandmother used to stand in the doorway as I played for hours on end, watching me. She was concerned, and even at six and seven years old, I knew that.

  But she let me play. Because she knew I had to.

  And now, here I was again at the keyboard, empty and hollow as I laid my fingers down over the D minor chord.

  The guys from Spinal Tap weren’t kidding. It really was the saddest of chords.

  Before I realized the words were coming, I was singing.

  Life for a life, that’s what I’ve heard.

  Blood spills blood and without a word

  You’re gone.

  Eye to eye, this time I’ll fight

  Creeping in silence, the matches ignite

  In my hands.

  I sat there in shock at the piano, realizing the questions and fears and worries screaming inside my head—inside my heart, too—had just spilled out.

  I pushed the bench back to get up, to walk away from the piano, to try and push away the darkness that had taken root inside me…and my music.

  But I couldn’t leave. Not when it suddenly felt like my music was all I had left. The only thing that I could even believe in anymore.

  If I always gave up so easily, I was never going to see any of my dreams come true.

  Instead, I would just be swept along by the tide in whatever direction it took me.

  Never more than now did I need to be in charge of my own life. Or at least feel that I was.

  Suddenly, I knew what I wanted to say in the next part of the song. What I needed to say.

  If darkness is power, then so is light

  And I’ll find my way out of this place

  With nothing to lose, I’ll stop holding

  So tight

  I will just keep going, I will

  I will just keep learning, I will

  I will keep on singing, I will

  But even as I sang those words, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d found out about my mother, about the strain between me and my grandmother, about how hard Dylan’s life had been and how our relationship wasn’t even close to simple.

  Who was I kidding?

  The darkness was still there.

  Hand to hand, I’m learning the rules

  You leave me with nothing and here I’m a fool

  Again

  Head to head, I’ll get it right

  I’ll get out of this and my wings will take flight

  Away

  I’d never mined any of my pain from losing my mother before. Until now. Until this song.

  It scared me so much that swinging back into the chorus was a lifeline I was desperate to catch hold of.

  If darkness is power, then so is light

  I’ll find my way out of this place

  With nothing to lose, I’ll stop holding

  So tight

  I will just keep going, I will

  I will just keep learning, I will

  I will keep on singing, I will

  All of my fear disappears

  I knew I was swinging way too far between dark and light, and yet, in that moment, as I sat at the piano with my hands actually shaking over the keys, I had to believe that at some point my fear really would disappear.

  And that, one day, everything would be normal again.

  I will just keep going, I will

  I will just keep learning, I will

  I will keep on singing, I will

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tM1a574zJIM

  http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/i-will/id427761572

  I WILL by Gabrielle LeGrande / Lucy Kevin, © 2011

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  On Monday and Tuesday, Dylan seemed distant and distracted. That is, he seemed distant when I saw him. Which was pretty much never.

  As far as I could tell, he missed half his classes and wasn’t banging on my practice room door either night. He certainly didn’t answer his cell phone the couple of times I let myself call him. I couldn’t stand the thought of being one of those girls who called her boyfriend a dozen times a night to try and keep track of him.

  On Wednesday I found him in the music room, sitting behind a drum set. He wasn’t playing, didn’t even have sticks in his hands.

  He looked lost. And terribly alone.

  Even though I’d told him more than once that I was there for him.

  “Look, you don’t have to come to my house,” I finally told him after the final bell had rung. I would be terribly disappointed, but I hated to think I was forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

  “You’re the first good girl I’ve dated,” he finally said.

  “Still hung up on that, are you?” I tried to joke.

  “It’s just that no one has ever asked me to come over and meet her family before. It was always just sex.”

  “Nice to know I’m more than just a piece of ass to you,” I whispered in his ear.

  I could tell by the look he gave me that I’d shocked him. Frankly, I’d shocked myself a little bit, too.

  His phone rang and when he saw who was calling he said, “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.”

  He moved away and said, “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  “I’ve got to go,” he told me as he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  “Where? Who was that?”

  “The police think they’ve got a lead on my dad.
That he’s getting too close again. They need me and my mom to come in and talk about options.”

  “Options?”

  He ran a hand over his face, looking way older than seventeen. “I can’t really talk about it right now. I’ve got to go.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Please call me later to let me know you’re okay.” He was halfway out the door when he remembered. “Oh, shit. Your grandmother. Now she’s really going to hate me.

  Maybe we could do it tomorrow instead?”

  I was nodding when I realized Bradley was coming over Thursday afternoon. “She’s busy then,” I said quickly. “Could you come Friday?”

  “Friday works. Hopefully.”

  He came back and kissed me hard, like he was filling up his well of strength before he hit the police station, and then a second later he was gone, leaving me standing in the empty hallway with a spinning head.

  *

  My grandmother didn’t say anything when I told her we needed to reschedule our tea with Dylan for Friday. She simply poured tea for the two of us.

  “No sense letting all of this go to waste,” she said in her softly accented voice.

  But I knew it was a strike against Dylan.

  And given her belief in the curse, it was a strike he really didn’t need.

  *

  Dylan wasn’t at school on Thursday, so I never got a chance to find out what happened.

  And he never called me, either, to let me know he was okay.

  I was so worried about him—about his dad coming back into the picture and harming him or his mom—that I entirely forgot about Bradley coming over until the moment Missy and I stepped out of the front doors of my school after the final bell.

  And found him standing on the steps.

  He looked from me to Missy and said, “Hi. I’m Bradley.”

  Missy shook his hand and gave him a sparkling smile. “So nice to meet you.” She shot me a look that clearly said, You did not even begin to do this guy justice.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Walking you home. To have tea with your grandmother.”

  Didn’t he get it? What if Dylan had been with me? How could I have explained things?

  Oh, I know this totally gorgeous guy is coming over to my grandmother’s for tea—just like you!