Awakening Foster Kelly

by Cara Rosalie Olsen

  He straightened to his full, quite remarkable height, at least six inches above my own. Eyes rooted to the ground, he asked, “Are you trying to hurt me?”

  Something in his voice made me flinch. For a second, I thought my heart might have grown claws; I felt mauled. When he raised his eyes, however, the feral glare had cooled to a condescending scrutiny. “Because,” he shrugged, offering the most disingenuous of smiles, “if you like, I can let you punch me in the face if it will move things along.”

  My head shook so rapidly my vision began to blur. “No. No, of course not. I didn’t see—”

  He didn’t wait for me to finish. In three quick strides he was behind me and gone, leaving me breathless and sputtering. I waited until I heard the doors open and close, and then I collapsed on the steps.

  Sense begged for me to find it. I started at the very beginning, until disappointed and dejected, I was all too soon at the end, more confused than when I had begun. The wind picked up, making me shiver in my sweat-dampened shirt. A foggy awareness reminded me how late I must be. I rose to my feet, lightheaded and shaky, giving myself very simple instructions to follow. I bent to pick up my scattered belongings, and then stood, waiting for the next command. Peering into the parking lot, I went to find my car, ending up on the wrong side. Threading through the aisles, I used the cars for balance. I propelled my feet to keep moving forward, unable to do anything but replay the scene in my head. Each time I arrived at nowhere with impeccable speed. All I had were questions, the most basic being: What just happened and what do I do now? With enough time I might be able to forget this ever happened. Forget his face, forget he hated me for reasons I couldn’t understand. It was possible. Shorecliffs offered an ideal environment. I hardly saw Jake or Emily before lunch, and not even Maddie—enrolled in quite a few AP courses—was in a class with me. And if I didn’t lift my head during passing period, then I wouldn’t ever see him. Make myself blind; I could do that.

  When I arrived at the other end of the parking lot, having missed Hattie somewhere along the way, I forced myself to concentrate before I took another step. Finally, I found her, pinioned between a shiny red convertible and black pick-up truck. My hands shook as I fumbled with the keys. I couldn’t keep still long enough to slide the serrated edges into the lock.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely, drilling the key into Hattie’s scarred veneer over and over again. Are you trying to hurt me? His words were fast and effective. My throat locked and tears began to push at the bottoms of my eyelids. What could he possibly mean by that? I pushed a finger into the corner of each eye, willing myself not to cry. Not here. I still had one more class to get through. After that, if I still needed to, I could go home and succumb to the emotional tidal wave I would bottle for the time being.

  Inhaling deeply and using both hands, I gently pushed the key through the slit, exhaling at the sound of the door unlocking. I leaned in, grabbing my binder—the culprit in this whole mess—lying exactly where I left it on my passenger seat. About to close the door, my hand lingered on the handle. I found myself seriously contemplating something that had never, before this day, crossed my mind. Ditching school. Of course there were times I’d wanted to skip out, but never for reasons such as these. I made a noise that was half laugh and half sob. Reasons such as these hadn’t existed before today. Everything was fine before today. Shutting the door firmly—if it didn’t latch the first time and I had to open it back up, I wasn’t entirely sure I would be able to resist getting inside, sticking the key in the ignition and driving until Shorecliffs was nothing more than a speck in my rearview—I pressed my binder to my chest and took the first step that would take me to the second scariest thing I would endure today.

  Standing in the silent hallway, I gulped down mouthfuls of air, hungry for the one that would give me enough strength to open the door to Music class. This was a vain attempt. Not even a forest full of trees would be able to dispense enough oxygen for me to catch my breath. When I realized I was hyperventilating, I allowed myself a moment. One more added to a growing amount wouldn’t hurt. Pilar had promised to cover for me, and I trusted she’d kept her word. Hunched over, I caught sight of the dark blood drying over the raspberry I suffered when taking the fall. After cleaning up my leg with the anti-bacterial kit I kept in my backpack, there was nothing left to do but go inside. I straightened my shirt and skirt, took another empty breath and pulled open the heavy door.

  I was wrong about my earlier statement. This wasn’t the second scariest thing I would face today. It was the first—by a landslide. Necks craned, unfriendly eyes combed me over attentively, and I knew my face must be glowing hotter than the sun. But none of that made my insides shrivel into that of a raisin. The boy—the one I was to forget about and never see ever again—was seated directly next to my desk.

  No, no, no, no. You can’t be here. I forgot about everything and everyone else for a moment, stunned into absorption.

  Three rows over from where I stood, his was the only head not turned in my direction. I was certain he was aware of my presence. Beneath the snug shirt, his chest heaved up and down at an unnatural pace, belying the still apathy he exuded. I blinked, trying to clear the haze filming over my wide eyes to no avail. Only when I saw him jolt did I realize it was not my eyes that were the problem. Feeling weak and nauseous amongst other things, I assumed it was warped vision causing everything to wobble, but it was actually his body that was blurring. He shook so violently, yet so infinitesimally, that his giant mass shuddered with the exertion. The movement was familiar to me; I’d seen it many times when looking into the inside of my piano while the pedal held a note in a constant tremble. I searched for the point of attribution, feeling queasy when I found it. He gripped the sides of his desk so hard his knuckles were snow white, and the fragile bones in his hands protruded at gruesome angles.

  “Foster,” Mr. Balfy said in a cheerful voice, “You’re just in time!”

  I tore my eyes away him, finding Mr. Balfy sitting on his stool at the front of the room in navy corduroys and an open flannel in complimenting blue tones. Dazedly, I watched as he swiped a hand threw his silky golden locks, loose and curling at the ends near his shoulder.

  “In time?” I replied, sounding out of breath.

  “I just shared the good news with everyone—” Groans of disapproval erupted in chorus. “Come on, guys.” Mr. Balfy opened his arms as if he to hug the class. “It’s not a bad thing. I know we tossed around the idea of you working with friends, but the whole point of this project is to challenge you, to grow you, and get you to look at music from a different perspective,” he said with feeling. “And I personally don’t know of a better way of doing that, than by pairing you up with people you don’t know.” More disparaging noises and comments ensued.

  “Suck,” said Mateo from beneath the ever-present black hoodie.

  “Worst idea ever,” Vanya moaned.

  “Mr. B,” Gina chimed in, drumming softly as she talked. “You’re like everyone’s favorite teacher. Some might even say you’re legendary.” Mr. Balfy pretended to tip his hat. “You really want to go and blow your whole reputation with this crappy ‘I have a vision’ speech?”

  Mr. Balfy pressed his arms to his sides and did a wiggly dance through the aisle to where Gina sat in the back row. He held out his hands for her drumsticks and hammered out an impossibly complicated rhythm on her desk. “First, and most importantly,” he began, holding the beat steady, “it’s ‘I have a dream.’ Visions are for prophets and clairvoyants. And that speech you’re talking about just so happens to be one of the most moving and inspirational speeches of all time, given by one of the most courageous men this country’s ever known. Google it. You won’t be disappointed. And second,” he tossed both sticks in the air, caught them without looking and was back in the cadence right on the eighth note, “it’ll be great, I promise,” he concluded laconically, gripping the tips of sticks and returning them to Gina.

  Still at
the doorway, I had yet to move since entering. Mr. Balfy seemed to notice this, and came forward. “Foster? You haven’t taken your seat.”

  “My seat?” I couldn’t stop repeating everything he said to me. It was as if my brain was shutting down.

  Mr. Balfy’s kind gray eyes looked me over carefully. “You feeling okay, Foster?”

  I started to echo, “I’m feeling okay, F—” and stopped in time. “Fine. I’m feeling fine, thank you.”

  “Good. Because I was just getting to the best part,” he said. I lifted the cinder blocks that were my legs and began an arduous walk toward my desk. “You already know you’ll be matched up with a vocalist or instrumentalist, but does anyone want to take a guess at how I decided on pairings?”

  “Boy, girl?” said Connor with a hopeful glance at Vanya.

  “By height?” asked Lauren Daily.

  “Sopranos with strings and keys, and altos with percussion and reed instruments?”

  “Extra chromosomes?”

  Mr. Balfy sent Gina what was meant to be a reproachful look. “Not appropriate or cool, Gina. My friends, this could not have worked out any better. I’ll be honest and tell you that this part of the year is always both exhilarating and stressful for me.” He looked around in earnest, his voice lowering solemnly as he began to pace the front row. “By now, I know just how talented you all are. I know what you’re capable of, what your strengths and weaknesses are, what needs to happen if you’re to grow. I don’t take this responsibility lightly. I want for each of you,” he paused to look at us one by one, “a partner who will compliment and encourage you, while stretching your abilities and expand the limits of your comfort zone. I cannot stress enough how important that balance is. Okay, guys? You will need to be both mentor and protégé. The partnership won’t be nearly as successful if you abuse one or the other. The beauty in this is that you are on equal ground.” He inhaled deeply, a warm proprietary smile replacing the serious expression. “And with that said, let me remind you of something.” He moved through the aisles, squeezing shoulders. I watched closely, plastered to the wall and wondering what would happen when Mr. Balfy touched one person in particular. I expected a flinch or a jerk of the shoulder. To my surprise, however, he gave no signs of having even felt it. “The eighteen of you are here for a reason,” Mr. Balfy said, continuing down the last row. “I love all my students equally, I believe in all of them, but . . . you are extraordinary. You were chosen to be in this class, because you are the best at what you do. One of my favorite quotes was said by a man named Stan Lee. He said, ‘With great power, there must also come great responsibility.’ I read—”

  “Wait,” interrupted Missy Adler, a look of confusion on her face. “I thought Peter Parker’s grandpa said that in Spiderman?”

  “It wasn’t his grandpa, it was his uncle,” corrected Mason Chang, shaking his head as he fiddled with the violin bow on his desk.

  Mr. Balfy laughed. “It’s possible,” he replied to Missy, “but he wouldn’t have been the first. Stan Lee isn’t the first either. The derivation traces all the way back to the book of Luke in the Bible, and later on the seventeen hundreds, French philosopher Voltaire put his spin on the aphorism. Obviously, though, the sentiment is important or it never would have survived the last couple thousand years.” He took a seat on Connor’s desk, peering out at the class and letting his bare feet dangle. People shifted in their seats to face him. For me to do so, I needed to look left, which wasn’t ideal at the moment. I made do with just Mr. Balfy’s voice.

  “What I was going to say,” he continued, “is that I read those words every day before coming here to teach you. It’s my reminder. Everything I can do, the way music has always come naturally to me, it’s a gift. But it was never meant to be mine. Do you guys understand?” His voice was emphatic and full of yearning. “Your gift isn’t just for you . . . it’s for everyone. But you have to be willing to share it. I’m not talking about performing on a big stage or concert hall, or recording an album in a tiny booth all by yourself. Those opportunities—and you will have them, I’m sure of it—won’t be as difficult as what I am asking you to do here. You won’t be sharing yourself from a safe distance or with a stadium full of strangers. There’s a reason why I chose partnerships instead of groups. Something incredible happens when it’s two; you have nowhere to hide in two. This is important, so hear me.”

  I glanced up as he leaned forward, brows furrowed in concentration, meeting the attentive gaze of the class.

  “You will have to listen to your partner, compromise when you don’t agree, be willing to discuss your feelings without being defensive or arrogant. There won’t be any room for egos, pride, or hesitancy—not if you’re going to make the kind of music I know you can. I think you all know me pretty well by now. I do my best to be honest with you, because I would like you to feel comfortable to do the same in return. I also think you know what I want from you. But before we do this, before this amazing journey begins, I want to clarify what I don’t want from you.” He looked down at Connor and smiled. “I don’t want you to be great.” Lifting his chin slightly, he stared into the eyes of the next person in the row. Vanya. “I don’t want you to dazzle me.” He moved to Gina next. “I don’t want you to make this about winning.” His amiable eyes landed on nearly every single person, along with a short sentence explaining what he didn’t want. To all of us, he said, “I already know that you can write a beautiful song. What I want to know now is . . .”

  For some reason, I chose that moment to look over at him. I flinched as Mr. Balfy settled his very direct gaze on me. “Can you be saved? And in return, save someone else?” I exhaled when he looked away, though the heat still clung to my cheeks. “This experience is going to change your life, my friends. But only if you let it.” So still and silent the room had become, it was hard to believe this was the same group of opinioned and heckling teenagers. “So,” he clapped his hands together, rousing the class from the stupor the way a hypnotist wakes his disbelieving volunteers. The long speech had enraptured everyone, including me. There was only one throughout the oratory whose eyes remained bolted to the wooded desktop.

  “Without further adieu,” he announced, sounding more like a Mr. Balfluer, than a Mr. Balfy, “your partners were decided alphabetically.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. After the longevity of the speech, the abrupt and succinct bulletin wasn’t something we were prepared for. It was silent for a full ten seconds as heads and bodies jerked around feverishly. Then it was chaos. Dissonant cries of celebration and grieving ensued. With such a small class, everyone was quick in deducing whom they would be working with during the next three months. I sank into my seat, edging as far right as I could and breathed the first sigh of relief I’d taken all day. Pilar’s premonition had been correct, a fact for which I couldn’t possibly have been more grateful. Luckily, she was to my right, a direction I felt safe looking. She smiled at me, her friendly face looking pleased about our musical alliance. Finally, something good had happened today.

  “Hey guys!” shouted Mr. Balfy over the din, “I take it most of you have figured out who you partners are. But if you’re still unsure, come up and talk to me now.” He looked right at the statue beside me and said, “Dominic, just give me one minute and I’ll get you introduced to your partner, cool?”

  As Mr. Balfy revealed his name, my heart thudded. He was no longer just a he. I couldn’t prevent myself from peeking over at him. Dominic. The name suited him, I thought. There was strength in it, capturing his confidence and masculinity. Equally, however, an elegance existed, aptly measuring up to his astonishing beauty. I felt my cheeks burn so hot, it was as if I had said the words aloud. I quickly averted my eyes. When it was clear no one noticed my strange and sudden reaction, I began to relax slightly. Still, my perceptions of him—so decided and without hesitancy—shocked me, so I balked. It was true; Dominic was in fact beautiful, but it was the first time I had ever thought so of someon
e. At least, in a way that wasn’t purely observational. In the moments I’d spent terrified, I hadn’t realized he made that impression on me. I strongly demurred against it, pushing the concurrent and unwelcome feelings away. It was just curiosity, I assured myself. I was wondering who he would be paired up with, and if he would resent them the way he obviously did me. Whatever I had done to upset him, I could only hope someone else didn’t make the same mistake. Casting a covert glance around the room, I realized that nearly half the class looked to be wondering the same thing as me. A fair amount of attention—female attention to be more precise—was aimed in Dominic’s direction. Heads were bent together; hands were conspicuously fanned over busy mouths. It was their eyes, however, that spoke plainly, revealing their desirous thoughts in soundless confession.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and get up from your desks,” Mr. Balfy instructed. “Exchange numbers, e-mail, Twitter accounts, Facebook; whatever’s the best way for you to be reached. Also”—he cupped his hands to be heard—“I want you all to rearrange so that you’re partners are next to you. This will make things less hectic when I give you class time to work together.”

  Just as I was about to motion to Pilar that I would come to her—as fast as my legs would carry me—I saw Mr. Balfy out of the corner of my eye walking down my row, eyes on me. He sank into the vacant desk in front of me with a cheerfully overwhelmed expression. “Thanks for waiting, Dominic, and for taking all this madness in. I assure you,” he said with a laugh, “partner day is the craziest day of the year. From what it sounds like, though, you’re used to handling a pretty busy schedule. Thank you for getting those recordings to me, by the way.”

  I couldn’t figure out why I was still sitting here. I felt like a planet, attracting the attention of nearby moons. As bodies swarmed, shuffling toward their new seats, eager ears were tuned in to the conversation between Mr. Balfy and Dominic. He didn’t appear to notice. From my peripheral, I saw that while he made reluctant eye contact with Mr. Balfy, he still gripped his desk as if it was the only thing keeping him from floating into outer space.