Never Too Late

by A. Destiny

  I followed behind her, both relieved and frustrated that I’d escaped her scrutiny for now.

  Things were getting far too complicated.

  Chapter Eight

  My violin sang in the theater.

  From my chair on the stage, I slipped the bow across the strings, eyes glancing over the sheet music. I’d played this piece enough now that I practically knew it by heart, but better to be safe than sorry. It was an upbeat song, with lots of staccato sixteenth notes. My toe tapped merrily along.

  Each note resonated in the theater, punctuating the silence. It was a concert for one, playing music for myself.

  My fingers flew across the strings as I neared the frantic, emotional ending of the piece. The music swelled, crested, reaching the top rafters as I let myself play the way I always wanted to—boldly, without fear.

  I swiped my bow for the final note then stopped, letting the moment sink deeply into me.

  A small clap came from the back corner.

  Startled, I nearly dropped my violin. I turned away from the music stand and stood to stare into the seats. I’d turned on only the stage lights, not bothering to illuminate the rest of the large room.

  Who was here?

  Our play rehearsal wasn’t starting for another twenty minutes. I’d forgotten my violin in my locker today in my rush to get home, so I came back to school early to squeeze in a little practice time. No one was supposed to be around. I could train to my heart’s content.

  Jason swept forward from the dark corner of the farthest wall, padding down the side aisle and hopping onstage. His face was animated in a way I’d never seen before, eyes alight with interest. “That was amazing,” he said. “I had no idea you could play like that. How long have you been playing violin?”

  There was genuine excitement in his words, enough that I found myself warming up to him in return. I put the violin and bow on my chair. “I started in fourth grade and fell in love with it.”

  “I play music too,” he said. “Bass guitar.” There was a slight edge of hesitation in his voice as he spoke, and if I hadn’t grown attuned to his speech patterns I probably would have missed it. “But I only started last year.” He glanced at my violin then at me, giving a shrug that was far too casual and didn’t match the tone of his voice.

  Was he nervous?

  Something inside me cracked and softened at the realization of his vulnerability right now. I’d seen him arrogant, authoritative, even educational, but not like this. Perhaps music was as important to him as it was to me.

  “What made you choose bass?” I asked. The unspoken question was, why not lead guitar, or singer? I would have thought he’d crave the attention that came with being the front man.

  He dropped to sit on the edge of the stage and I joined him. I could smell fresh soap on his skin, see the damp curls of hair around his forehead. He’d showered before play practice. “It seemed like fun. I’ve always enjoyed music but never tried it before. But a friend told me I should give it a chance.” He paused, slid a glance over at me. “I still have a long way to go.”

  This strange show of humility once more was messing with my head. He sounded genuine. “Why were you out of school today?” I asked, then wished I could take the words back. It was far too nosy. It showed I was paying attention to him.

  The grin that creased his face, dimpled his cheeks, said he picked up on my concerns. “Why, did you miss me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You wish.”

  He simply looked at me in response. My heart thudded hard.

  Maybe a stupid, strange part of me had missed him. Could he tell? I swallowed, licked my suddenly dry lips.

  His gaze glanced to my mouth then back up to my eyes. “We have to kiss,” he whispered.

  My lungs clenched into two painfully small fists. I pressed my fluttering hands against my thighs, wiping the sudden burst of sweat that broke out on my palms.

  Jason wanted to kiss me.

  I found my lips parting on their own, unable to stop myself from leaning forward just a little bit.

  His eyes were locked on mine, dark and swirling with emotion. He parted his lips as well, moving toward me until he was only a few inches away. His breath came in small, soft puffs on my mouth. “I . . . well, I’d meant in the play . . .”

  Idiot! I chastised myself, a painful burst of heat crawling across my cheeks. What was I thinking?

  I closed my eyes and backed away, wishing I could sink beneath the stage. Hide until this horrible embarrassment faded away. Which should only take, oh, another fifty years or so. What made me think he meant right now, when there was obviously nothing between us?

  And even worse, why had I wanted him to kiss me?

  “I knew what you meant.” My words stung as I spoke, falling sharper than a razor’s edge. I wiped my palms on my thighs again and stood to break down my music stand and pop my violin and bow back into my case. With every ounce of dignity in me, I kept my spine straight and ignored Jason’s eyes, which I could feel on my back. No way did I want to look at him and possibly see laughter.

  Or even worse, pity.

  My hands stayed mostly steady, only shaking once or twice. I could almost be proud of my coolness, if I hadn’t let myself get weak in the first place.

  “Abbey,” he started, a slight hitch in his voice. I heard him stand up, take a step toward me. “Um, I—”

  The door flung open, and Mr. Ferrell loudly proclaimed, “Great! Both of my leads are here. I hope you’re ready to pack some emotion into today’s practice! We have a lot of ground to make up.”

  Keeping my attention on Mr. Ferrell and not looking at Jason at all, I nodded and gave a huge smile, as genuine as I could muster. “Of course!” I said. “I’ve been practicing at home. I’m ready.”

  I hopped off the stage and busied myself with putting my case and music on a nearby seat, still not ready to look at Jason. Willing my face to stop burning. I could have kicked myself for being so stupid.

  More of our fellow actors started flitting in, their conversations filling the awkward gaps. I looked attentive as they spoke to me, making myself smile and nod in the right places, though in reality, I barely understood a word.

  All I could think about was Jason’s soft lips, so close to mine.

  A kiss that never happened.

  I grabbed my script, put on my best face, and got back onstage, walking to the spot where Mr. Ferrell pointed. It was better this way. I needed to stay focused on what really mattered instead of letting anything distract me.

  Somehow, I managed to fake my way through rehearsal. The whole time, my eyes never quite met Jason’s, nor did his meet mine. The awkwardness beat at me relentlessly, forcing me to be even more aware of him than usual. Every movement of his body, the cadence of his voice.

  It was maddening, but at least Mr. Ferrell didn’t seem to pick up on it. I guess we were both doing a great job of acting. Jason, pretending as the male lead that he had genuine feelings for me.

  And me, pretending nothing Jason did mattered to my ego or my heart.

  The weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

  I spent much of Saturday puttering around my room. I cleaned my closet and hung my clothes according to color. Rearranged my bookshelves alphabetically, first based on author then on title. My dresser drawers were spotless, every outfit folded neatly and tucked inside.

  I even vacuumed and swept and dusted. When my mom had seen me reaching for the dust cloth, she’d blinked in surprise.

  All of it was a desperate, futile attempt to shake off anything to do with the play. Since that awkward rehearsal and the not-kiss, I’d been doing anything and everything possible to avoid thinking about Jason. Friday night I’d realized that maybe I just needed a break.

  All work and no play, as they said. So I closed my script and turned my attention elsewhere.

  At least I had tonight to look forward to. Saturday nights were my hangout times with Olivia. She came over for dinner, endured my stepda
d’s goofy teasing and asking how many hearts she’d broken that week, then we stayed up way too late in the family room, eating popcorn and snacks and watching a bunch of romantic comedies.

  Our weekly ritual. One I especially needed tonight.

  There was a knock on my door, then my mom peeked her head in. “Hey, you okay? I’ve never seen you clean like this before.”

  I smiled. “It was long overdue.” I straightened the papers on my desk as she slipped inside, closing my bedroom door behind her.

  “Honey, everything okay?” she asked, perching on the edge of my bed. Worry lines creased her brow.

  “Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” I nodded hard, but even I could hear the fakeness in my voice, the strain to pretend everything was fine.

  She pursed her lips, scrutinizing me for a moment. “Is this about the play practice? Is it too much for you to handle? Because if it is—”

  “No, no, that’s fine,” I blurted out in a rush. If she thought I was having a hard time balancing everything, she’d make me bow out of the play. Then Liana would get the lead, and I would be stuck doing something far less satisfying for the Renaissance faire. “Just . . . having a bit of a rough week, that’s all. You know how that goes.”

  Mom gave me a gentle smile. “Okay. If you need to talk, you know where to find me.” She patted my shoulder and stood. “I’m making spaghetti and meatballs tonight for dinner, by the way.”

  I gave Mom a genuine grin in thanks. “Olivia’s favorite. She’ll be thrilled.” She and I usually were at each other’s houses so often that our parents knew what each other’s favorite foods were. Sometimes, Olivia’s mom would make barbecue chicken pizza for me. I always ate way too much of it.

  “Well, I’d better go back downstairs.” With one last sweeping look at me, Mom left and closed my door behind her.

  Still wearing a smile, I dropped down on my bed, grabbed my phone off the nightstand, and sent Olivia a text. Spag and meatballs for din. Yum! :-)

  My phone buzzed a couple of minutes later. Can’t make dinner, sorry. Too much homework.

  I swallowed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. Olivia had never brushed off our Saturday plans to do homework. She either brought it with her or crammed quickly beforehand so she could be free. Everything okay? I texted back.

  It was another couple of minutes before she responded. Just busy. Will talk to you later.

  The emotion in my gut roiled, turned to an edge of irritation. That was definitely a brush-off. Great. I didn’t even bother to reply, just crammed my cell in my jeans pocket and huffed out an exasperated sigh.

  What was her problem, anyway? I didn’t do anything to her. Everything had seemed fine after school on Friday, though she was a little quieter than usual. But she’d blamed it on having a headache.

  Did this have to do with Jason?

  It had to. Nothing else in our lives was causing such conflict as him. I pinched my lips, fighting the urge to call her and demand she tell me what’s wrong. Olivia was a horrible liar; I could see right through her text plain as day.

  I’d give it until tomorrow and then call to see what’s going on. Obviously she needed some time to herself. A swell of hurt feelings made my heart ping. Tonight wouldn’t be the same without her.

  I shuffled downstairs and made my way to the kitchen. Mom was at the counter, buttering bread and sprinkling garlic salt on it.

  “What time will she be here?” she asked.

  “She’s not coming.”

  Something in my voice must have alerted her to my volatile feelings because for once, she didn’t pry. Instead, she gave me an apologetic smile. “Okay, can you help set the table for me?”

  Grateful for a distraction, I did as she asked, grabbing napkins and silverware and glasses.

  “Hey, dork,” Caroline said, patting me on the shoulder. She took some of the silverware and helped me set the rest of the table.

  “Don’t set a fifth spot,” I said. “Olivia’s not coming.”

  “How come?”

  Obviously she wasn’t as sensitive to my tone as Mom was. “Because she’s busy doing homework tonight.”

  Caroline raised one blond brow, a perfect look of skepticism on her face. “Homework? On a Saturday?”

  My answering shrug was tight.

  She skipped over the seat where Olivia would have sat, placing a fork and knife at Don’s place. “All righty, then.”

  Dinner was quiet. I could tell they were trying hard not to press me about Olivia’s absence. All I could think about was her shortness in her text.

  And about Jason. The more I got to know him, the more complicated he seemed. At times unbearable, and at other times compelling. Why was he messing up my life so much? Why was I giving him that power?

  That almost-kiss still haunted me. When we actually did have to kiss for the play . . . what would it be like? Would his mouth be as soft as it seemed? Would he like it?

  Would I?

  “Stop playing with your food, Abbey,” Mom admonished.

  I glanced up to see her staring at me.

  “You’ve been pushing that meatball around for five minutes.” Her voice got gentler. “How about you clear your plate and give someone a call? Like Lauretta? I bet she’d come over to hang out with you. Or you two could go to the mall or something.”

  Maybe Mom was right. Lauretta was fun. She wouldn’t avoid me because of guy issues.

  I cleaned up quickly, eager to push all thoughts of Olivia and Jason from my mind. “Thanks, Mom. I think I will.”

  Chapter Nine

  What happened this weekend?” I whispered to Olivia as we stood in the school parking lot on Monday morning. I’d tried to call her yesterday, but she didn’t answer her phone. “You never called me back. Why?”

  This was the first time I’d talked to her in two days. We’d never gone that long without talking.

  Ever.

  Olivia had the grace to bashfully look at me, a tinge of regret in her eyes. “Sorry. I . . . I had some personal turmoil going on.” She paused, leaned closer so the other World History students around us wouldn’t hear. “I had some thinking to do about this stuff with . . . you know who. Just had some things to sort out in my head, and I wasn’t ready to talk to you about it yet.”

  I knew exactly who she meant. I couldn’t help my glance going over to look at Jason, who stood talking with a couple of his guy friends. He had on a navy-blue shirt and jeans that looked like they were made just for him. The breeze ruffled the top of his hair, and he squinted against the early-morning sun.

  We were all waiting for the school bus to take us to the Cleveland art museum, our end-of-year field trip for World History, where we would spend time in the medieval section, looking at tapestries, art, and armor. A nice way to kill a school day, and something I’d completely forgotten about (thanks to all this drama with Olivia and Jason) until Mom reminded me this morning.

  I sighed. “I don’t like that a guy can come between us like this.”

  “I know.” She elbowed me lightly in the side, giving a small half smile. “Yesterday evening I felt dumb about being upset over this, but I didn’t know how to call you and tell you. It was stupid for me to react that way. I realize that now. After all, it’s not like you like him, right? I mean, we’re not competing for him or anything.”

  With everything in me, I fought the heat threatening to erupt across my face. How could I possibly explain my conflicted emotions about Jason? “No, not at all,” I answered passionately, pressing my notebook against my chest.

  After all, I didn’t like Jason in that way. He made me utterly crazy, and I didn’t need more drama in my life right now, other than the school play.

  She released a sigh and seemed to relax; her face glowed with her easy smile. “Sorry, I should never have doubted you.” She squeezed me quickly then squealed when the bus showed up. “Oh, it’s time to go! I’m so excited.”

  It was hard for me to scrape up much enthusiasm about
the trip. I was still awkward with Olivia, and squeezing in next to her on the seat near the back of the bus didn’t make anything more comfortable. All it did was make me realize that Olivia was a lot more head over heels for him than I’d originally suspected. I would have to walk on eggshells with her and not bring him up at all.

  Frustrating. Disappointing.

  Could a guy really come between us? I never would have imagined it, never would have thought our friendship could be so unstable.

  Guess I was wrong.

  Mrs. Gregory swept up and down the center aisle, counting heads with her mouth moving. “Okay . . . looks like everyone is here.” She beamed. “Wonderful! I’m looking forward to this. Now, stay seated, and don’t act up.” With one final warning glare at the guys, she moved up to the front row and sat down in an aisle seat.

  The bus rumbled awake and pulled out of school. Voices chattered around us; Olivia and I stayed quiet for several minutes.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice barely discernable above the roar of the road below us and the crowd around us. “I really am. I should have talked to you instead of shutting you out.”

  I gave her the best smile I could muster and laid the notebook on my lap. “Okay.” I couldn’t shake off my uneasy feeling, though.

  From my place in the aisle, I scanned the faces around me. My eyes connected with Jason’s, who was doing the same from his seat a couple of rows ahead. I swallowed and looked away, pushing back the strange thud in my chest that came when I saw his deep eyes fixed on me.

  “So,” I said to Olivia, “What do you want to see at the museum today?”

  “Hmm.” She rubbed her chin. “I love the armor room, of course. But I also like the paintings. All those beautiful colors and smiling women. The rolling fields and grasses.” She sighed happily. “It’s heaven. What about you?”