Allegra

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  “Allegra, I’ve been looking for you all morning,” he says. “I wanted to return this.” He hands me my flash drive.

  I take it hesitantly.

  “And to see how your ankle is.”

  “I’ll live,” I mumble.

  “I guess Allegra told you she had a little accident in the parking lot yesterday,” he tells the others.

  “No, actually, she didn’t,” Talia says, still staring at me. I won’t meet her eyes.

  “Did you get a doctor to check it out?” he asks, ignoring Talia.

  I can’t look at him. “No, it’ll be fine.” I hate that my face is crimson, like I have something to be ashamed of.

  “I have to take a week off from dance, but I’m sure I’ll be good to go after that,” I say.

  “It occurred to me this morning,” he continues, “that accidents on the school grounds need to be reported. I’ll grab the paperwork from the office and you can fill it in during music theory this afternoon.”

  I just shrug. As if I’m going to do that. And besides, why would he want it reported that I was here alone at night with him?

  “As well, Allegra,” he says, “we need to schedule some new sessions in the sound room. Let’s not forget to do that this afternoon.”

  I finally get up the nerve to look at him and find his eyes searching mine, looking for…what?

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Good.” His eyes are still glued to mine, as if he’s trying to size me up or perhaps tell me more through his gaze. Finally he gets up. “Have a good afternoon, girls,” he says and, without looking back, walks away.

  My heart thumps. I don’t know why he would track me down at lunchtime unless he really wanted to see me. He could just as easily have waited until this afternoon to talk about those things. I peel off a segment of orange and slide it into my mouth.

  “When did you have this little accident?” Talia asks.

  “Last night.” I bite into the orange and enjoy the burst of tangy juice.

  “You were here last night? With Mr. Rocchelli?”

  “Yeah.” I look directly into her eyes. “What’s wrong with that? We were supposed to work, but then I twisted my ankle on the way to the portable so I went home instead.”

  She stares at me. “Have you being doing this a lot? Meeting Mr. Rocchelli at night?”

  I don’t like the accusatory tone in her voice. “A few times. Our schedules are full. It’s the only time we can get together. He often has students come back to work in the evening.”

  Talia glances at the other girls, but they remain focused on their lunches.

  “Were there other students last night?”

  “No.” Stay cool, I tell myself.

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea, being here alone with him at night?”

  I shove my lunch bag back into my pack and stand up. “Look, Talia, I don’t like what you’re implying, now or yesterday after English.”

  Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t answer.

  With as much dignity as I can muster, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and limp away. I feel all their eyes on my back.

  I step into the library and immediately see Spencer, slumped over some books at the same table we were at earlier. Not wanting to return to the multipurpose room or sit alone in the cafeteria, I’m left with no choice. I head outside and cross the short driveway to the music portable. My next class is here anyway. I don’t go to the sound room but to a table. There are other students scattered around the room. I sense Noel’s presence at his desk, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I pull my history textbook out of my pack and turn to chapter 12, “The Reformation.” My eyes scan the words, but nothing sinks in. I think about Talia and what she has implied. It ticks me off that she’s figured it out, that she knows what I’m feeling. Well, she may know, but she doesn’t understand. All the girls may think Mr. Rocchelli is hot, but they haven’t created music with him like I have. They don’t have the chemistry with him that I do. He doesn’t relate to them the way he relates to me. We simply have to take it slow, finish the music, get through the remainder of the year and then, once I graduate…I smile to myself, thinking about it.

  “What happened to your friends?”

  Noel is standing across the table from me, looking down. I squirm, remembering what happened in here last night. His face, however, shows nothing but open friendliness.

  “I need to get some reading done, and the library was full.” The lies just get easier and easier.

  He nods. “I meant to ask, will your mom be able to collect her car?”

  “Yeah, no problem.” Actually, I have no idea. I’d told her the truth about why I left it at school last night, except that I led her to believe I was meeting a whole group of students here. She said she’d find a way to get over to pick it up. I’d like to think she’ll take the bus, but somehow I doubt that.

  “I don’t want to keep you from your homework,” he says, “but now might be a good time for us to compare schedules.”

  “Sure.” I check the calendar on my phone, even though I don’t need to. Without dance classes or a social life, my time is wide open.

  He grabs a daytimer from his desk. “So,” he says, flipping through the pages. “Does Thursday morning before school work for you? And then”—he flips the page— “Friday afternoon, right after school?”

  I feel like saying something flippant about the risk of his being alone with me before school, when it’s still dark, but I don’t. I just enter the times into my calendar. As if I’d forget.

  He glances around the room, checking on the other students. “Allegra, I’m really sorry about your ankle.” He pauses. “And everything else. I’m glad you’re willing to get the project finished.”

  I meet his eyes for a brief moment, but this time he looks away first. For some reason that pleases me.

  “I can use a break from dance.”

  “Feel free to use the sound room whenever it’s available,” he says. “And that reminds me, I’ve got the accident form on my desk.” He spins around and strides back across the room. I watch, noting how neatly his plaid shirt tucks into his faded jeans, jeans that look like they were designed specifically for him. His shoulders are broad—the shoulders of a grown man, not a kid. His hips are narrow. My eyes dart away when he turns back in my direction.

  Sliding the sheet onto the table in front of me, he says, “I’ve filled in the parts I can. The rest are personal details that you need to fill in.”

  I glance at the form and see that he’s been completely honest, not giving any more information than is asked for, but not leaving anything out either.

  Detailed description of accident: Student at school for an evening music theory meeting. She twisted her ankle in pothole in driveway. Assisted into music portable, then driven home.

  Mr. Rocchelli is watching me, head tilted. “Okay?” he asks.

  I just nod. The bell rings, and lunch is over.

  Sixteen

  My fingers slide along the keys on Dad’s keyboard, but I don’t play the notes. I’m lost in thoughts of Noel and wishing tomorrow would hurry up and get here. I can no longer compose anything without his input. We are so close to taking the piece to its musical peak; after that, there’s just the resolution to write.

  “Allegra?” Mom calls down the stairs. “Dinner is ready.”

  As I sit down to a bowl of steaming soup, I realize it’s been a few days since we’ve had the chance to eat together. “So what’s new with you?” I ask, blowing on my soup to cool it down.

  She smiles, just a little. “Oh, you know, same old. Students in the mornings, work at night. But it’s all good.”

  It’s all good ? Her marriage is crumbling. Shouldn’t she be feeling a little less-than-good about that? I’d love to ask her about Marcus, but I don’t dare.

  “How about you?” she asks. “How’s your ankle?”

  “It’s not so bad. Black and blue, but I can get around.”


  “You must be missing your dance classes.”

  I shrug. “Maybe I needed a little break.”

  I feel rather than see her glance at me.

  “I haven’t seen your friends around…not since that night they all came for dinner.”

  “I have lunch with them, but we’re all busy the rest of the time.”

  She simply nods and then concentrates on her food.

  We eat in silence for a few minutes. My thoughts return to Noel. I wonder who he eats dinner with. I remember him saying a few weeks ago that he had a date. It didn’t sink in at the time, but now I wonder if he’s seeing someone. That thought never occurred to me. I’d just assumed a date meant he was meeting someone or had a rehearsal. Picturing him with a woman…well… I put down my spoon, alarmed, and look up. Mom is studying me.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” she says, dipping a piece of focaccia bread into some balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

  “Nothing, really,” I say, but I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. Maybe being patient and waiting until I graduate to pursue a relationship with him is not such a good idea after all. Anything could happen between now and then.

  Mom is still staring at me, so I pick up my spoon and change the subject. “Dad says we’re all going to Uncle Dave’s for Christmas?”

  She looks back down at her food, and her expression changes. “Yeah, I guess,” she says, without much enthusiasm.

  “Where will Dad stay when he comes home?”

  “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

  She doesn’t offer anything more, so I decide to drop the subject. We go back to our own thoughts, my mind taking me to all kinds of unpleasant places featuring Noel and beautiful women.

  “I’ll take the car tonight if you’re not using it,” Mom says, breaking the long silence. She begins clearing the dishes.

  “That’s fine; I’m not going anywhere.” I wonder some more about Marcus as I carry my dishes to the counter. I haven’t seen him or his sports car in a few weeks. “I’ll be down in the studio if you need me.”

  “How’s the composition going?” she asks, brightening at the change in subject.

  “Not bad.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No, no, I’m fine.” I feel almost panicky at the thought of her getting involved. This is my project, mine and Noel’s. I smile inwardly at his name. I’m getting more used to using Noel rather than Mr. Rocchelli. I hope I don’t accidentally slip up at school, although I doubt he’d mind that much. A lot of the kids are actually calling him Rocky.

  “Okay.” She sounds disappointed.

  “I’ll let you listen in a few days. We’re almost at the end.”

  “We?”

  I realize with a start that I’ve let it slip again, the fact that I’m not working on it alone. “I’ve had some help… so we’re all good.”

  “I didn’t know this was a group project.”

  “It’s not, but…like I said, I don’t need any help.”

  She just regards me for a moment, then continues filling the dishwasher. I limp down the stairs to the music studio.

  I’m pulled out of my daydreams a few hours later by the sound of the doorbell ringing upstairs. I know it’s probably just someone canvassing for a charity, but it always unsettles me when someone arrives uninvited at night.

  I limp up the stairs and peek out the window. There are no cars parked at the curb. Opening the door just a crack, I find Talia standing there. My heart sinks.

  “Hey,” I say, opening the door fully. “What’s up?”

  “Can I come in?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I guess.” I step aside to let her pass.

  She peers down the hall. “Is anyone home?”

  “No.” I remember what her house looks like and suddenly feel embarrassed at the state of my little home.

  “Good.” She walks into the kitchen and plants herself in a chair. I lean against the kitchen counter and wait.

  “Aren’t you going to join me?” she asks, motioning toward another chair.

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On why you’re here.”

  She sighs and looks down at her hands, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “So, why are you here?” I reiterate.

  She stays quiet for another moment, then looks up. “That’s not very friendly, Allegra.”

  “Really? Well, the last few conversations I’ve had with you haven’t been very friendly either. Is it my fault if I figure this is going to be another lecture?”

  “I haven’t lectured you,” she says quietly.

  “Then why are you here?” I ask again. “You’ve never dropped in before.”

  “Because of this.” She pulls a crumpled sheet of paper out of the pocket of her jacket. She unfolds it and begins flattening it out on the table. I recognize my own handwriting and then, with a pang, I realize what it is: my list of things I know about Noel. I lurch over and try to snatch it away, but she’s faster than me. She grabs it and holds it behind her back. I slump into a chair, realizing the futility of struggling with her to get it. Besides, she’s obviously read it already.

  “How did you get that?” My heart is slamming against my ribs.

  “Spencer found it in your backpack. He was looking for a pen or something.”

  I remember now how the three girls and Spencer were reading something when I joined them for lunch earlier, and how the paper was quickly tucked away when they saw me approaching. “He shouldn’t have snooped. And it’s none of your business either.” The acute embarrassment of the situation is causing me to snarl, but I can’t help myself.

  “It is if we’re friends.”

  I glare at her.

  “But then again, maybe we’re not.” She holds up the paper. “Point number three,” she says. “He understands why I can’t relate to people my own age.” She looks at me. “Why is that, Allegra? Do you think you’re better than the rest of us?”

  My face burns, but I don’t respond.

  She continues reading. “Point number four. When he looks at me, he really sees me.” She draws out the word really. I realize how silly it sounds read this way. “You don’t think I see you, Allegra?”

  I know she is studying my face, but I look out the window, too mortified to say anything. What else did I write on that stupid page?

  “Have you found the answer to your question, Allegra?”

  “What question?”

  “Point number six. Is he in love with me too?”

  My mortification turns to fury. Now I do snatch the crumpled sheet away. She doesn’t try to hang on to it.

  “Well, is he?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “What were you guys doing in that portable, alone, at night?”

  I refuse to dignify her question with an answer.

  “You’ve been screwing the hot teacher, haven’t you, Allegra?” Her voice is soft, steady.

  I’m so mad I decide to let her think what she wants. How would she ever understand the kind of relationship Noel and I have? “If you’re about done, Talia, I have homework to do.”

  Surprise flickers across her face. It wasn’t the response she was expecting. “You could get him fired, Allegra. Is that any way to treat someone you supposedly love?”

  I walk to the front door and open it. As she passes me in the hallway, she puts her face right up to mine and says, very quietly, “What you’re doing—both of you— is wrong.”

  I just glare at her.

  She leaves without another word. I shut the door behind her and slide the deadbolt firmly into place.

  In order to get to my early-morning composition session on time, Mom allows me to take the car. She thinks it’s another group project that I’m working on, though I didn’t actually come right out and say that.

  Noel’s car is in the lot when I arrive. I pull in beside it, turn off the ignition and just sit. I tossed and turned all night, rehashing t
he conversation with Talia. It makes me nauseous that the whole group has read that stupid list I made. My heart speeds up again just thinking about it. How am I ever going to face them? When I wasn’t rehashing what happened with Talia, I fretted about how this session with Noel will go. I’ve been so excited to be with him again, but will he want to talk about what happened the other night? I slump into my seat, unable to decide which situation is more embarrassing. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and sigh loudly. When I open them again, I see that the sky is starting to get light in the east. I climb out of the car and grab my backpack.

  When I enter the portable, Noel is already at work in the sound room. He has the headphones on and his back to the door, so he doesn’t hear me approach. I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching him deep in concentration. There is something intensely beautiful about a person who is totally involved in work that he loves.

  Eventually he senses my presence and swivels around to face me. He pulls the headphones off and smiles widely. “Hey. Good morning, Allegra. Ready to get to work?”

  The warmth of his smile relaxes me, and the nausea eases. I roll the other chair alongside his and stare into the computer screen. “What are you working on?”

  “Listen to this.” He clicks the mouse, and the familiar music fills the small room. I listen to a few bars, then smile. He shuts off the music.

  “That’s perfect, using the string instruments to tie those two passages together. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that before.”

  He laughs. “I know. Something so simple…sometimes it eludes us. So, I was thinking, shall we go back to the beginning this morning and try to smooth out the other rough patches?”

  “Okay, but I’d say you’re actually avoiding the really big problem,” I tease.

  “Which is?” He cocks his head.

  “The ending. Neither of us knows how to tackle that.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He chuckles. “It’s easier to edit than compose, especially an ending, which is so important, and so complicated. But how about this for a plan? Our time is limited right now…the other students will be arriving in just over an hour. If we get on a creative roll this morning, we won’t want to stop. Let’s save the ending for tomorrow’s session, after school, when we’re not as pressed for time.”