Nocturne

by Andrea Randall

  “Yes. Savannah …” He dropped his arms and met me at the door, his eyes pleading.

  I shook my head. “Don’t say anything, Nathan. Please. We’ve both said enough. Let’s just get through the end of the semester in one piece, okay?”

  He nodded, swallowing hard as he looked to the floor.

  Without another word, I zipped my coat and left Nathan’s apartment. When I reached the front steps, I was grateful for the rain. Closing my eyes and tilting my face to the sky, I let the cold, grey water wash over me.

  It was only a few blocks down Huntington Ave back to the conservatory and my room. I set off through the rain, trying to clear my mind. Nathan. Gregory. It was all just … too much. And as much as I loved walking in the rain under normal circumstances, even that was becoming too much. The rain was coming down in sheets, and it was getting cold.

  Ahead of me, turning onto the block and walking quickly, I saw a man in a black overcoat with a black umbrella and matching hair. From behind it almost looked like ... it was.

  I ran, my feet splashing up dirty rainwater, and ducked under the umbrella.

  Gregory came to a shocked stop, and I heard the rain pounding against the fabric of the umbrella.

  “What are you doing?” He had to shout to be heard.

  “Trying to get out of the rain!”

  A gust of wind blew the rain at us, almost horizontal, and the umbrella nearly collapsed. Gregory looked around and then grabbed my upper arm in his right hand. “Come!” he shouted, then pulled me toward the next building an underneath an awning.

  By the time we got under the awning, his umbrella was in shreds, the fabric completely torn from the wire spokes. He looked at it in frustration for a second, shaking it, as if giving it a stern look or a strong lecture might force it back into shape.

  Finally he tossed it aside. I wrapped my arms across my chest, my teeth chattering. My coat had soaked through.

  The rain was coming down harder now. Hard enough I could hear it rattle off the awning and the nearest cars, a roar of a sound. Behind us, the walls and windows were covered with signs reading Boston Shawarma: Lamb, Kebab, Hummus, We Deliver! To both sides and our front, a wall of rain, almost completely blocking the view of the street.

  Right in front of me … his face. Rain still dripped from his hair, past his sapphire eyes. Eyes that were fixed on me. I couldn’t hear my heartbeat over the pounding of the rain. But I could feel it, rushing in my ears. Because he brought his hands up, cupping my face. As he did I reflexively raised my hands, placing them flat on his chest, as if to hold him back.

  “Why didn’t you have an umbrella?” he asked.

  I swallowed. I didn’t know how to answer that. So I told the truth. “I don’t like having to prepare for rain.”

  He shook his head, just slightly, and his mouth quirked up into a grin, one eyebrow raised. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a loud, hearty belly laugh. Without thinking, I shifted my hands to both sides of his face. And I stretched up and kissed him, hard, on the lips.

  Gregory froze. For maybe a quarter second. Then his arms instantly wrapped around me, one hand slipping through my soaked hair and gripping the back of my head. Our lips and mouths were open, working together, his tongue touching mine, and I let out a low whimper.

  I heard a bell ring as the door to the Shawarma place opened toward us, and I pushed, hard, shoving back away from him.

  Three girls … students from the conservatory … stepped out of the door. One of them groaned, looking out into the rain. “We’ll never make it without getting soaked,” she said.

  In between the girls and me, Gregory just stood there. Staring at me with those eyes that grabbed my heart and twisted it in knots.

  I shook my head just slightly then backed out from under the awning and into the rain.

  I turned and ran.

  Savannah

  I don’t know how the rumors started, but they made quick work of spreading. Somehow, someone heard my shouting match with Gregory the week after spring break. God, I shouted at a teacher. What was that about? Marcia came back to the room one day and joked that she was checking to see if I was still alive after going a few rounds with the insufferable cellist. From there, things only got more speculative when Nathan and I stopped talking. A few girls in class whispered to me things like, Is it true? Are you dating a teacher? All I could do was thank God no one had seen that kiss.

  In spite of myself, my eyes wandered to Gregory Fitzgerald every four minutes or so throughout our final exam in his music theory class. I’d taken enough practice tests and studied what I knew he expected out of us, and planned to get through the exam with little to no argument from him. Analyzing the notes in front of me wasn’t the challenge. It was, as Gregory drilled into us all semester, fairly straightforward on a face-value level. The challenge was ignoring the holes Nathan was staring into the back of my head. Him and the others.

  I was horrified. Not only did I have more respect for myself than to date a professor, I certainly wanted no part in messing with his career—since that was all that tethered him to the land of the living.

  Or was.

  The way he’d kissed me back under that awning showed me something … more. There was life in those eyes. Sensation in those lips. Lust in his tongue.

  He kissed me back.

  Jesus, what now? I thought to myself as I scribbled answers inside a blue book.

  Nothing. Semester over, problem solved. Pretend it never happened.

  Chewing on my pen cap as I neared the end of the exam, with loads of time to spare, I glanced across the room at Nathan. As if sensing my eyes on him, he looked up from his paper and toward me. He’d texted me wanting to know if I was okay. I wasn’t, and I hated that I couldn’t talk to him about it because, for one thing, I’d lied to him. I’d known for weeks that what I’d been feeling for Gregory was nothing short of a crush but it was so, so much more. I hadn’t told him about the kiss, either, because I was afraid. Or ashamed.

  I really wished, in that moment, that I had old friendship back on solid ground but … this seemed like something I’d have to deal with on my own for a while. But, I wanted Nathan and I to really be okay. We’d been friends for too long to let miscommunication screw us up now. So, I smiled at him. As I did, I watched his shoulders relax as he smiled back. Nathan was graduating in two weeks, and I knew he’d been auditioning for a few symphonies, and, well, I was going to miss him.

  I gathered my things and took another look at my paper, scrawling one last thing on it before heading to Gregory’s desk, where he sat looking at pages of music I couldn’t readily identify.

  “Here you go, Mr. Fitzgerald.” I couldn’t even fake a smile as I shakily placed the paper in front of him. I didn’t know if he had heard about the rumors involving the two of us. Probably not. If he had heard them, however, I found myself hoping he wasn’t furious with me for kissing him in the first place.

  Even though he’d kissed me back.

  “Thank you, Miss Marshall,” he muttered without looking up from his papers. That made my stomach turn. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. Couldn’t, maybe. If he’d had any respect for me at all through the semester I’d made quick work of erasing it with a single kiss.

  “You’re welcome,” I whispered, turning slowly from his desk, fighting tears all of a sudden.

  “Savannah,” he called softly. Of course, a few heads in the front row popped up, undoubtedly studying our interaction.

  I cleared my throat and turned back toward him, where I found his piercing blue eyes scanning my face. “Yes?”

  He squared his shoulders a bit and I watched him swallow before he said, “Good luck.”

  I nodded and left the classroom quickly, without saying thank you. I’d intended to wait for Nathan, but I was too big of a mess. I sprinted back to my dorm, tears streaming down my face.

  Bursting through my door, I was relieved Marcia was still in her exam and I had the room to myself. I
tossed my backpack on the floor and collapsed, facedown on my bed, sobbing into my pillow. The rumors didn’t bother me. The school year was over and before anyone realized it, something else would happen to get people talking. I’d survived a class with the notorious Gregory Fitzgerald and was pretty sure I’d end up with a decent grade.

  If he could even objectively grade my exam at this point.

  I gripped my comforter as the tears came harder, at the realization of their purpose in the first place. I was going to miss him. I was going to miss Gregory. Not his broody, insufferable, uptight exterior, but what I knew was inside of that. His passion, his musicianship. It was the music. It was him. They were one and the same, even if he couldn’t see it. I was going to miss the times he brought his cello to class to illustrate his lectures with music. Those moments where I felt like there was no one else in the room, because as soon as his bow slid across the strings I felt like it was just me, and him, and the music. God, the music.

  His lips.

  I’d only tasted his lips once, and the thought of never again curled me into the fetal position. I needed another way. Another way for this end, other than goodbye.

  There was none. This was it.

  Sitting up after several minutes, I forced myself to take a few deep breaths as I dried my tears. It was for the best that the year was over. I still had another year left at the conservatory and was bound to run into him at one time or another. I needed to learn to behave in a professional manner if I was ever going to get into a symphony when I left here—if that’s even what I wanted.

  My phone rang, interrupting my spiraling train of thought. I smiled, seeing it was Madeline White. I couldn’t wait until fall, when I could resume instruction with her.

  “Hello?”

  “Savannah, dear, how are you? You sound like you’ve been crying.” She sounded genuinely concerned.

  “Oh, you know,” I tried to sound nonchalant, “just finished my music theory final.” I laughed a little.

  “That would do it to me, too.” She echoed my laugh. “Anyway, I’ve been waiting for you to finish up the last of your finals so I could talk to you about something.”

  I sat up a little straighter as her tone brightened. “Yes?”

  “As you know, I instruct at the Tanglewood Institute every summer.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I nodded, and started pacing around my room, clearing all the Gregory clutter from my brain.

  That’s where I first met Madeline, when I was a freshman in high school. The Institute is open to students entering ninth grade through those entering their sophomore year of college. I’d attended every year I was eligible to, and, frankly, missed it greatly last summer.

  “Well, this is very unusual, and I had to make lots of noise and jump through several hoops to make this happen, but … I want you to shadow me there this summer, Savannah. I’d like you to work with me and instruct with me at the Institute.”

  “What?” My pulse raced as I tried to piece her words together in an order that made sense. “Is that … how did you?” Words fell rapidly from my brain and landed on the floor around me.

  She laughed sweetly. “You’re incredibly talented, Savannah. No one can deny that. I wouldn’t normally share this information with any student of mine, but you’re the best flutist at the conservatory right now. And, frankly, the best we’ve seen in years. This will provide you an opportunity you simply wouldn’t get anywhere else. I hope you’ll consider—”

  “Yes!” I squealed before she could finish her sentence.

  “Oh fantastic! Stop by my office sometime today and I’ll go over the details with you. I’m thrilled, Savannah, really. I think this will be a fabulous opportunity for you.”

  Happy tears washed over the old ones. “Thank you, Madeline. See you this afternoon.”

  I tossed my phone on the bed and stretched my arms over my head, grateful that my summer would be filled with nothing but music and sunshine.

  Grateful for something to distract me from the love I felt for Gregory that I knew he wouldn’t return.

  Gregory

  As my theory class went through their final, I went through the music I’d given Robert to study this week. Somehow, despite my objections, I’d been drawn into guiding his curriculum, even if one of my former students was handling the lessons. For only two months of practice, he was coming along surprisingly well.

  I heard Savannah sigh. The room was otherwise silent as the rest of the class was finishing their final exam. Some had already finished and left, and I knew Savannah wouldn’t be far behind. Over the last several weeks, she’d shown incredible command over the material in both her assignments and exams.

  Something had changed.

  It had changed in me, too, the moment I felt her mouth on mine. The moment I licked rainwater off of her lips before she opened her mouth to me.

  Savannah seemed to still be in rocky territory with Nathan, and she’d stopped coloring outside the lines in her assignments. While she’d been the one to initiate our kiss, I did exactly nothing to stop it. I tangled my hands through her rain-soaked hair and pulled her closer. I’d dreamt of feeling the silkiness of her hair against my fingers for far too long to let the opportunity get away. The sound she made as I pressed my mouth harder into hers nearly brought me to my knees.

  I’d thought of kissing her too many times during the semester. None of them included being right before finals in front of a piss-poor excuse for a Greek restaurant. In spite of my intentions to help foster her abilities and career, I’d done some damage. That much was clear given her emotional response to me and those around her. She likely thought I was a pig, a professor abusing his authority by preying on young and dumb students.

  She was neither of those things, and I hoped to God she didn’t think those things of me.

  Not that it mattered if she did.

  Those few seconds were all we’d ever have.

  Jesus. I closed my eyes for a moment and let myself feel her against me one more time. Her lips, cold and shivering but making me feel like I was on fire …

  Stop.

  I’d spent months discussing keeping lines between personal and professional. And now I’d harmed her ability to do just that. I’d watched her play at her flute ensemble concert, and I could pick her sound out of the group of six flutists in a second—her tone was breathtaking. But, her face looked empty and her vibrato was a little off. While that was only a small performance, if she continued to let her emotions spill into her music like that it could prove disastrous in the future.

  Looking up, I found her smiling at Nathan for a moment before returning to her paper. Maybe things had smoothed out between them. I knew she cared about him. But the thought made my stomach clench all the same.

  After a few minutes, Savannah stood, wrote one last thing at the bottom of her paper, and gracefully made her way to my desk.

  “Here you go, Mr. Fitzgerald.” Her exam shook slightly in her hand as she placed it on my desk.

  Keeping my eyes trained on the sheet music in front of me, I mumbled, “Thank you, Miss Marshall,” effectively excusing her from my desk.

  “You’re welcome,” she responded. Her voice was soft and distant, causing me to look up. She was turning slowly away, her head lowered slightly. It made me want to reach out to her, inexplicably, and ask her what was wrong.

  “Savannah,” I called after her as quietly as possible, before I could stop myself. A couple of students in the front row looked up for a second, before I raised my eyebrow and narrowed my eyes at them.

  They quickly found more interesting things to look at. Such as their exams.

  As she raised her head and turned back to my desk, she cleared her throat slightly. “Yes?” she replied, her brown eyes still dark and slightly glassed over.

  Realizing I hadn’t thought through what I was going to say after calling her name, I straightened my shoulders and swallowed before saying, “Good luck.”

  Her eyebrows came to
gether for a second as she nodded and hastily left the classroom. Glancing down at her exam, I found a note written on the bottom right hand corner. Mr. Fitzgerald, she wrote, I know we disagreed about the material, and I’m sorry for all the trouble I gave you. But, I loved it—the music.

  All the trouble? Knowing that Savannah would contest nearly every other word I said in class this semester made coming to class something to look forward to, despite the fact that I’d dreaded taking on the class in the first place. Regardless of the fact that I found her opinions ridiculous much of the time, it was her passion that I admired. While I maintained my stance that she needed to be appropriately trained in order to reach her maximum potential, I found myself hoping she didn’t lose her desire to break the rules.

  It put life in her eyes. Life that drowned out the sound of a pounding rainstorm in the middle of a crowded city.

  Shaking my head as I placed Savannah’s exam on the bottom of the pile, my eyes scanned the class, where I found Nathan Connors staring at me with an indignant expression on his face. He shook his head, and I saw him clench his jaw slightly before he turned back to his exam.

  That boy was a nuisance. It didn’t really surprise me that he and Savannah were friends, or whatever they were. She, however, could get much further than he ever would, given his volatile behavior at school. I wouldn’t put it past him to one day genuinely lose his temper in a professional environment.

  An hour later, after the last of the students shuffled out of my classroom, I made my way back to my office. Exhausted at the prospect of having to sort through the exams and tally final grades, I stopped when I saw Madeline White’s office door propped open.

  “Come in,” she chirped when I knocked.

  Madeline was my age, though I admit she looked much younger than I did. Her olive skin and long black hair made her look like a student and garnered her much male student attention on campus, from what I heard through droll pre-classroom discussions. She took it all in stride, though. Which I suppose was easier to do given she only had two male students to instruct.