by J. L. White
I don’t miss that anger.
I try not to think about whether or not I miss him.
Meanwhile, I’m trying to focus on my life as it is now: classes, friends, and practicing the hell out of my competition piece.
In spite of my best efforts, I was right about one thing. It’s been far easier to forgive Erik than it was to outplay him. I did my best, but at the end of the school rounds, my heart sinks when they call my name for second place.
I put a gracious smile on my face anyway, and kind of shrug at my group of cheerleaders in the audience: Sam, Jack, and even Chloe and Grayson, who drove up from Swan Pointe just for the occasion. They’re smiling back at me and clapping enthusiastically.
I keep my smile in place while they announce the winner and I watch him walk up to the stage. I console myself that at least I get to move on to regionals. The competition isn’t over yet.
In theory, anyway.
As he comes up next to me, I feel a confusing mix of resentment and pride.
His piece was truly magnificent. I wish someone would have recorded it and put it on iTunes as if we were American Idol contestants, then I could buy it and listen to him play over and over again.
Just like I used to do.
As we leave the stage and go into the wings, I give him a sincere, “Congratulations.”
“You too,” he says, though he’s giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
I sigh. God. He understands what’s going on here as well as I do. But what else is new? Erik’s always been better than me. “Why are you sorry?” I ask. He really shouldn’t have to be sorry about placing first in a competition.
He sighs. “I’m sorry for a lot of things.”
I nod and look away. “I know you are. It’s okay.”
And just like someone flipped a switch in me, I’ve done all I can handle. I’m not mad, I just need a breath.
“I’ll see you around,” I say, giving him a small wave and heading for my bag.
He lets me go and this time, I’m glad. But I feel better, like I’ve taken a step toward something, though I’m not sure what.
Chapter 14
In lieu of our traditional post-performance tradition of Volcano fries at Delsa’s Diner, I opt for Rounders, the bar on 8th Street. I’m actually surprised at how well I’m dealing with this latest blow to my ego, but a drink sure isn’t going to hurt anything.
The five of us are sitting around a table far enough away from the DJ and the dance floor that we’re able to talk. Chloe’s on her phone, texting Isabella in Boston. We’ve all been trying to reschedule our upcoming group trip to the Rivers Paradise Resort in Swan Pointe, this one including the guys, since the next round of competition interferes with our original plans.
Finding new dates that work for everyone has been a challenge. Chloe and Grayson have been the hardest ones to work around, since they travel so much for the website they launched together several months ago. It’s called “A Guy and A Girl Take on the World” and uses both their website and their YouTube channel to cover travel, adventure, and food. They’re pretty entertaining together, actually, and have already amassed quite the following.
It’s been easier, since most of us are all here together, to look at the calendar and find a weekend that we hope works for the trip. Chloe’s just checking to see if Isabella’s available. Grayson’s sitting next to her, his arm draped on the back of her chair. He’s absently playing with a lock of Chloe’s auburn hair.
Meanwhile, Sam has returned to the topic of this evening’s competition. “I gotta say,” she says, “You didn’t mention how cute Erik is. I mean, he’s a fucking hottie, isn’t he?”
“You said it,” Chloe agrees, still typing in the message on her phone.
“Hey!” Grayson says, pretending to be offended.
Chloe looks at him and smiles. “But not as hot as you, baby.”
I’m not sure I agree with Chloe’s assessment of who’s hotter, but I don’t say so. It’s irrelevant anyway.
Chloe gives him a kiss and he settles back in his chair, satisfied. I smile. I think he was just fishing for a kiss to start with. “Okay, those dates work for her,” Chloe says putting down her phone. “We’re all set.”
“Perfect,” Sam says. She nudges Jack with her elbow. “Now we just have to find dates.” The talent these two have for plucking dates out of thin air astonishes me.
“Thanks for changing things,” I say again.
“Of course,” Sam says, waving her hand. “You can’t miss your chance to hand Erik’s ass to him.”
“Right,” I say nodding and trying to look confident. It’s partially for my own benefit and partially to keep Sam satisfied. If she thinks I’m doubting myself, she’ll harp on it and I’d rather just move on to another topic of conversation.
The DJ starts to play “Thinking Out Loud” and Chloe and Grayson immediately look at one another, smiling. “That’s our song!” Chloe says.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, and leads her to the dance floor.
“They’re so freaking cute together,” Sam says easily, taking a drink. I’m proud of how little it bothers her to see Chloe and Grayson as a couple, considering how she’d once been caught up in the crossfires of that relationship.
Jack brings his glass up to his mouth, but before he takes a sip, he casually says to Sam, “There’s a guy checking you out at nine o’clock.”
Sam smiles at this bit of intelligence from her favorite wingman and subtly glances over. She and the intended target make eye contact, and she gives him a subtle smile intended to lure him over.
I can already see it’s going to work, and sure enough, he slides off his bar stool and heads over.
“Good work, Jack,” Sam says, grinning.
“You’re welcome,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. Within three minutes, Sam’s been lured away and Jack and I are left to our own devices.
“What about you?” I ask. “Any prospects out there?”
“Eh,” he says, shrugging. “I haven’t really scoped the place out yet.”
“Good,” I say lightly. “You have to stay and make me feel like a desirable woman.”
He frowns at me. “You are a desirable woman,” he says. I was just teasing, so I’m a little surprised by his serious reaction.
I pat his knee reassuringly. “Thanks, babe.”
Jack gets a thoughtful look on his face.
“I was just kidding,” I say, wondering what it was that got him so concerned. I’m not prepared for the next thing he says.
“Do you think my relationship with you girls is weird?”
“Weird?” I tilt my head at him. “Why would it be weird?”
“I don’t know. Because of the way I am with you. All of you.”
“You mean like our wild, screaming orgies?”
“Ashley!”
I laugh. I don’t shock Jack too often, but when I do I get a special kind of pleasure from it.
“Damn, girl,” he says, laughing himself and leaning back in his chair. “Here I am trying to ask you a serious question.”
He’s joking, but not. I can see it in his eyes. I rub his arm.
“Sorry. I guess I know what you mean.” For plutonic relationships, I realize we have a higher-than-normal level of physical contact with Jack. But it’s just always been that way. I don’t even remember how it started. Things have changed a bit in recent years though. “I notice you’re different with Chloe and Isabella now.”
“Isabella’s married and Chloe may as well be,” Jack says simply. “Grayson’s not going anywhere.”
I nod. There’s no question about that.
His face is growing more and more serious though. Something about this is weighing on him. “Why are you asking, Jack?”
He only shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “No reason, I guess.”
I scoot a little closer and lean my chin on my hand. “Uh-huh.”
He eyes me and sighs. He comes in closer
, too. “Well, if I wanted to be in a relationship with a girl, would she think it’s weird?”
I tilt my head at him. He seems genuinely concerned. “Do you have a girl in mind?”
“No. But it’s bound to happen eventually, right?”
Yeah, it probably is. Now that I think about it, even though Jack isn’t any more serious about girls than Sam is about boys, there’ve been far fewer of them than there used to be. Maybe our Jack is finally starting to grow up.
“Any girl who dates you should accept you for who you are,” I say. “That includes how you are with your friends.”
He nods, but still seems a little bothered.
“What’s this really about, Jack?”
He shrugs again. “I don’t know. I guess....” he pauses. “I guess I’ve been feeling a little unsettled lately. I see what Isabella and Chloe have and think maybe that’d be nice, but...”
“But what?”
He glances around a bit, stalling. Finally he says, “I don’t know if I’m really boyfriend material, you know?”
“Ah Jack, are you kidding? You’d be an awesome boyfriend.”
He looks at me a little desperately, like he really needs the reassurance. “I would?”
“Of course! You’re one of the sweetest guys I know.”
“Sweet?” He makes a face, like I’ve just insulted him, but I can tell he’s not too bothered.
I laugh. “Yes, sweet. And fun and smart and so loyal. You’d do anything for your friends, right?”
“Well, yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“I can only imagine how you’d treat a girlfriend. You’re so good to us, Jack. Any girl would be lucky to have you. Don’t worry, the right girl for you is going to love you for who you are. I don’t see you pairing up with the jealous type anyway. Any woman you fall for is going to be a strong woman, and a strong woman won’t be threatened by your friends.”
He gives me a smile. “Yeah, okay. Besides, how many guys know how to braid hair?” he says, giving the tail of my braid a little flick. “That’s a plus in my corner, right?”
“You do it better than Chloe does,” I say smiling. It’s true, too.
He gives me a broad grin. “Damn right. I give killer back rubs, too.”
“Yes, you do,” I say, turning my back to him and bringing my braid in front.
“Is that a hint?” he asks laughing.
I would tell him he still owes me my post-performance shoulder rub, but he’s already squeezing my shoulders and making me melt right where I’m sitting.
We don’t say any more, but it’s not long before Jack’s desire for a more meaningful relationship has me thinking.
About Erik.
By the time I see Professor Reinecht on Monday, I’ve recovered from the disappointment of the first round and am possessed with fresh determination to win the competition. After all, winners get to play at fucking Lincoln Center. I’ve been practicing my next piece like crazy all weekend, so I’m knocked a little off kilter when Professor Reinecht changes it.
“Are you sure?” I say, looking over the sheet music he’s placed in front of me. “The other one is more demanding.”
“Only by an inch,” he says. “The mechanics of your playing is not the issue. Something in you flows when you play this one. That’s what we want the judges to hear.”
I don’t argue over that. I know he’s right.
We run through the piece once, and I ask him to go over it with me again before I’m left on my own for a couple of days. I want to make sure I’m practicing it the way he wants it.
I skip lunch and go straight to the practice rooms, while his instructions to me are still fresh.
The next day, I head to the Gizmo after my morning class. This time when I spy Erik sipping his coffee at a back table by the window, I’m glad he’s there.
I get my order, then walk up to him and wait until he looks up at me. His face registers surprise and maybe a little trepidation.
“You haven’t offered to buy me coffee again,” I say.
Erik makes to get up almost instantly, but freezes when he notices the cup I’m holding. “You already have coffee,” he says.
“I don’t have a place to sit.”
Giving a hesitant smile, he gestures to the chair opposite him. “Please.”
I sit down and hang my bag on the back of the chair. He’s giving me a questioning look. I smile and shrug. “I figured there’s no reason we can’t be friends and talk from time to time.”
He smiles more broadly then. “I’m glad, Ashley.”
It feels good to hear him say my name. I take a sip of my caramel macchiato.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asks, still smiling.
“Well, I figure we have plenty of other stuff to catch up on. I haven’t heard anything about your experience at Juilliard.”
“You want to hear about that?”
“God yes,” I say, and he laughs. “You know, I actually went to New York this summer with some friends and we saw Juilliard.”
“You did? Did you go inside?”
“No. I just gazed at it from the back of Illumination Lawn.”
He laughs. Something deep inside me I didn’t know was still tense starts to uncoil. It’s nice to talk to him and have it feel easy.
“So are you going to give me the dirt, or what?” I ask.
And that’s how it began. He told me about Juilliard and how intense the competition is there. Things can get competitive here at Hartman, too, but he makes Juilliard sound like a whole different world. There’s something underneath the way he talks about it that makes me wonder if he was happy there. From what he’s saying, it sounds like he did well. Before I can ask more about it though, he insists I do some of the talking.
I steer away from the heavy stuff and tell him a bit about my experience with the program here.
“I’m so impressed with the way you’re playing now,” he interrupts to say.
I know I’ve improved, but sitting across from the man who could probably outplay me in his sleep makes my own accomplishments feel a little different. I change the subject and start telling him about my Firework Girls, and Jack.
“Jack sounds like a Firework Girl himself,” Erik says, smiling.
“He’s sort of the Firework Girl of Honor,” I say.
Erik checks his phone, which has been lying on the table. He told me about fifteen minutes ago he has a class soon. I get the feeling he’s been pushing it, not wanting to leave.
I’m not quite ready for this to be over either, but I still ask, “When does class start?”
“I have one whole minute,” he says, giving me a regretful look.
“You’d better get going,” I say smiling.
“Yeah.”
He sits there another few seconds though, and we just look at each other in silence, our eyes soft with understanding.
“This has been nice,” he says quietly.
I nod, smiling softly.
He stands reluctantly and puts his phone in his pocket. “We’ll have to do it again,” he says. “I still owe you a coffee.”
He doesn’t really, but I only shrug and stand.
“See you around?” he asks.
“Something like that,” I say, smiling.
After that, I take to going to the Gizmo at the same time on purpose. He bought me coffee the first time, but after that I’ve purchased my own. It felt too much like dating otherwise, and even though I’ve wondered if we could ever get to that point again, the thought of it is a little terrifying. For now I’d rather just be friends.
It’s been a few weeks of this, and he’s starting to feel part of my routine again. We continue to talk about safe subjects. Friends, classes, our practicing routines. I tell him I like to head to the practice rooms late at night because fewer people are there and I’m more likely to get my favorite spot.
I don’t mention the other reason I like being there at that time.
&nb
sp; As I said, I’m keeping things safe.
One night I’m in my favorite practice room at the far end of the hall. I’ve wrapped up my official practicing routine, the one I tell Professor Reinecht about, and have started with the messing around part. The only time I do this is when it’s late—it’s nearing midnight now—because I don’t want anyone to think I’m not serious about what I’m doing. I don’t know why I don’t want anyone to hear these songs I carry around in my head, I just don’t. I’m only playing around anyway.
Though, this sort of playing is a different kind of magic. It consumes me in a way I’m almost powerless to control. Sometimes, I feel positively eaten by it.
I finish the song and rub the ache out of the back of my neck, rolling my head. A soft rap at the door causes me to jump. There, through the little window, I see Erik peeking in at me.
My heart starts pumping. I almost feel caught. As I slide off the bench and go to open the door, he gives me a sheepish look through the window.
“Sorry to bother you,” he says.
I step back to invite him in. He closes the door behind him. “That’s what I get for telling you my schedule,” I say, teasing him lightly. “Stalker.”
He grins a bit and shrugs.
He’s already told me he has a piano at his condo. Naturally. I know without him saying so that he came to the practice rooms specifically to see me. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I can’t deny I’m glad to see him.
“What were you playing?” he asks. “It was really phenomenal.”
I press my lips together. How much did he hear? He has that look on his face like he wants to start going on about it. It’s the same look Sam had when she caught me playing my own song once, way back in our junior year. I’m not even sure why I think of it like that—like I’ve been caught doing something bad. But when I play like that, it’s so different from what everyone else here is doing. That can’t be good. All it’s going to do is show I’m a self-taught poser when what I’m trying to do is be serious about this.
