by Lily Kay
I shouldn’t have been shocked. He was a grad student in composition, right? My heart raced, and the clammy-level of my hands increased exponentially.
Since the dreaded lunch incident, I successfully avoided him, and only caught glimpses of him in the halls.
I turned the phone to vibrate, chucked it in my backpack, wiped my palms on my shorts, and fidgeted with my pencil.
Regrettably, I hadn’t tempered overthinking, which left me sitting paralyzed as I pondered the pros and cons of apologizing for my horrid behavior. My mind voted for apologize now but my mouth vetoed for later.
Instead, I stammered. “Um, hey.”
Gavin dropped his backpack on the floor by the bench of the piano and scrutinized me.
“Hey.” His curt voice sounded unimpressed. “You do know this room is being used for a tutoring session?” He dug out some dry erase markers and a pencil from his backpack.
My throat faltered, and I swallowed instead of using speech. Up close, his presence intimidated. His navy T-shirt transformed his eyes to appear more green than hazel. His coiffed-wavy hair resembled a model’s, despite his barely woken-up tossed look.
“Yep,” I finally uttered. “I suck at theory and am even worse at sight-singing. Yay for you. You get to rip your eyeballs out in agony every Wednesday for the entire semester because I can’t hear intervals or transcribe something from ear. Should be oodles of fun, don’t you think?”
Gavin curled up the left side of his mouth. No laughter. Not even an amused grunt. No doubt he hated me now, which was a major bummer, because I so enjoyed looking at him. Bonus he’d potentially help me with my classes.
To make matters worse, every time I glimpsed his five o’clock shadow gracing his carved jawline, my insides squirmed.
Grimacing, I covered my face and planted both elbows on the desk. Imagining him in clown outfits became imperative to survive these tutoring sessions without either A) hyperventilating, B) drooling, or C) emitting my nervous giggle followed by constant babble. While all three were pathetic, option C held the most annoyance, not to mention embarrassment.
He retrieved his water bottle from his backpack and took a swig. “I’m surprised to see anyone here at all, actually. When they gave me the assistantship, they stressed it would be mostly Levels I, II and III,” he responded.
The bony edge of my elbow dug into the desk as my chin nestled in the palm of my hand. Fidgeting, I wove the pencil between all ten fingers. “They must have forgotten about me. Me in Haven’s class. Not a good combo.”
“Ah, the infamous Haven. Okay, well, I guess let’s start?”
What I wanted to say was okay, but instead my mouth shifted. “Hey, Gavin?”
Head tilted to the side, he rested his right elbow against the top of the black upright Yamaha piano. And I swore, I intended to apologize, but I hung my mouth open without any sound. I shut it and quickly shook my head.
“Um, it’s nothing.” Call me a coward. I just couldn’t say anything.
Did he have to go and be my TA? Haven promised to check in with him about my progress. Fabulous. Now, I couldn’t apologize without it seeming like I was sucking up.
“If you want to tell me, I’ll make sure we cover it. This is a tutoring session for you, not me.”
Shit. Now I had to think of something. “We have a plunk and flunk due next Thursday, and I suck at them.”
Plunk and Flunk? Why couldn’t I think of something else? Although, I did suck at play and sings, as they were officially called. My left hand refused to play something totally different than the vocal part.
Singing. Double shit. Singing in front of Perfecto-Man? Total clusterfuck. And forget conducting a time signature with my right hand. Not happening. I wasn’t kidding when I said pretty much every freshman failed it their first time around. Hence: Plunk and Flunk. Most people got the hang of it by their junior year.
Except me.
Each time I got a new one, pressure built in my chest, certain of an imminent mini-anxiety attack.
“The dreaded play and sings. Yeah, sure. We can go over them. I’ve got a few tips I can share.” And I finally viewed a snippet of humor because he actually smiled at me. Well, partial smile and yes, that counted.
I leaned back in my chair and released my breath. “Okay. Thanks.”
Gavin lifted his brows as his head tilted toward the piano.
I stared back at him. “Yes?”
“The play and sing. You wanted help with one due next Thursday?”
“Uh huh.” I nodded, watching him rub his forehead as he stepped closer to the piano bench.
He sat down and faced me. “You do have the piece with you, right?”
“Oh, um. In my backpack.” To which I pointed.
“And do you want to get it out?”
“Oh, Right. Yes. Yes, I do.” If my eyeballs could fall out of my head, they would have, with the amount of internal eye-rolling.
Get a grip, Louie. I couldn’t even string a sentence together. How the hell were these tutoring sessions ever going to help me if I couldn’t even function like a normal human being? I’m certain he thought I was a mutant.
I clenched my teeth as I removed the sheet out of my sight-singing folder. “Found it.” I forced a close-lipped smile, waving the paper in the air.
He cocked his head to the side and rubbed his face. “Okaaay. Well, let’s start.”
My eyes expanded as I watched him pat the bench seat. “You do realize you’ll have to come over here and use the piano if you want me to help you.”
I gulped and noticed the weight of the air. Almost too heavy to swallow. To think. The pulse in my chest increased as I made my way out of my chair and approached him.
He slid on the bench toward the bass notes of the piano and I positioned myself next to him on the other side, while I tried very hard to make sure no part of my body had contact with his. Having zero body contact was a lot harder than it appeared when his shoulders were football-player wide and the bench not so much.
Yes, it felt very third grade of me, but the alternative included touching him and then possibly doing something much more embarrassing like swooning, or jumping him, or swooning mid jump.
I placed the sheet on the music rack of the piano, hoping Gavin didn’t notice my left hand shaking.
Apparently, he did because his right hand stilled mine. He touched my hand and it sent a tingle up my neck as a shock ripped through my chest down through my stomach. Interesting. I practically passed out when he leaned down toward my ear. “Hey, relax,” he whispered.
Easy for him to say. His grade didn’t hinge on the success of tutoring sessions where the tutor rendered him incapable of coherent thought. He appeared completely unaffected while I feared another similar move would cause me to melt off the bench into a pool of mucky innards under the piano.
“Let’s take a look.” He played the melody with his left hand and hummed the vocal part. And I couldn’t help it, I leaned over and took a whiff to identify the kind of soap he used. Because he smelled more than awesome. Unfortunately, he stopped playing and squinted in my direction.
My failed attempt to grab the pencil from the rack and act like I meant to analyze the sheet music doubled the awkward of the situation. Clearly, my future excluded ninja as a profession.
“Louie?” He leaned away from me.
“Hm?” Fuck, my head remained in sniff position. I immediately straightened my back.
He leaned against the edge of the piano. “Do I smell funny?”
I stared at his chest. “Why d’you ask?”
Nope, not making eye contact. Okay, maybe I sneaked a look. He propped his elbow on the piano, rubbing the creases out of his forehead.
He totally busted me. “It seems you were sniffing me.�
�
“Well, that would be weird of me.” All focus shifted to the pencil I twirled back and forth between my fingers.
“Yes, it would.”
“So, I’m going to say, other than normal breaths of air containing your scent? Definitely, probably, no?” Fo shizzle, mutants had nothing on me.
Gavin snagged the pencil from my fidgeting fingers. “You are an odd duck.”
And I had no response, because he was right.
His gaze lingered on mine for a moment more before he circled the time signature. He put the plunk and flunk together, attempting the piece twice before he had it down.
I groaned. “Okay, so wrong.”
“Hmm? I’m pretty sure I did it right.” His musical prowess, coupled with the fact I became slightly unhinged sitting this close to him created repetitions of shivers down my neck, and into every one of my fingers and toes.
I sighed, hoping to give myself a moment before I pieced together an intelligible sentence. “No, I mean, you didn’t even struggle. It’s nauseating. No one’s supposed to be good at these.”
“Magical powers.”
“Is there anything you can’t do well?” I asked.
“Sure, I’m not good at statistics.” And then he winked at me. Crap. Did he wink to tease about his lack of prowess with statistics? Or perhaps a flirt wink? All this confusion over a stupid wink confirmed why I dwelled in singlehood and should remain single for a very long ass time.
What was Dr. Liz thinking? If I truly were to try and date, it would only end in disaster. I shook my head and returned to our conversation.
“I’m not even going to ask why you were taking a statistics class.”
“I double majored in Business. Thought it would be good to understand the industry.” His shoulders lifted a notch.
“Makes sense.” Nick took business finance math type classes, too.
“I’m still not a fan of stats. But it takes practice, like these play and sings. To be fair, I do have a few more years of practice on you.” He pointed to the piano part. “The first thing to do is practice this to complete muscle memory. I want you rehearsing it to the point you’re dreaming about it.”
“Overkill, much?” Pop quizzes already frequented my nightmares. Too much practice only increased my anxiety. But Gavin insisted.
“Nope. Do you want to do well in sight-singing?”
“Duh, yeah.” And yes, I couldn’t help it, I rolled my eyes at him. And tried to make them wide enough to ensure my non-compliance with this method, requiring time I didn’t have.
“Okay, then do exactly as I say, and you’ll get an A.”
“Okay, Mr. Poet and you didn’t even know it.” Like anyone with a modicum of wit would be able to resist saying anything. Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Gavin turned toward me again and let out his second laugh of the day, which I started to think was a rarity for him. At least around me. He tilted his head back and stifled a groan.
“I’m not even going to counter it.”
With another shake of his head, he resumed. “Here’s your vocal melody. I’d recommend conducting the time signature here and singing. Do these together over and over and over. Try it now.”
“Uh, you want me to sing?”
“Yes.”
My throat closed, and a rush of prickles crossed my neck. “How about I promise you I’ll rehearse a whole lot in the privacy of my own practice room?”
“How about you sing and conduct, and I can figure out what’s tripping you up.” He leaned closer to me, the heat of his breath now adding to the chaos of sensations attacking my body.
“How about I’ll pay you to let me not sing today.” No way I’d embarrass myself even more and sing for the musical prodigy.
“Louie.”
“Gavin.”
And I began another stare down. Yep, I lost. Me: zero. Everyone else? Two.
I pleaded one more time. “How about I promise to play it in front of you next week.”
“You’ll only have one day to clean up any issues. I’m pretty sure it would be better for you if we practice it now and address any hiccups.” He scrunched his face in confusion at my reluctance.
Like my mom always said, sometimes honesty was the best policy. “About that, I’m not sure I’m ready to sing in front of you, yet.”
Gavin must have noticed my freak out because he stopped and nudged my shoulder with his, and the hairs on my neck stood at attention. I was only slightly annoyed the simplest touch reduced me to partial paralysis.
“Well, if you want help earlier than Wednesday, you can always shoot me an email. I’ll see what I can do. Deal?”
“Sure, sounds good.” Brain cells collided as I contemplated whether I should be offended he thought I’d need extra help beyond today, or elated he offered up another opportunity to see him. What a mindfuck.
Gavin glanced at his cell and checked the time. “Anything else you want to go over today?”
“I guess not.”
“It’s your time. I’m happy to stay and go over something else.”
“Nah, I’m good for now.” My lips remained sealed though I did muster a small grin.
“All right. Well, see you Friday.”
“Friday?” Tutoring sessions were only on Wednesdays.
“For composition studio? You have Mickelson, right?”
“Oh, right. Yep.” My lips smashed together in a tight line and I nodded. “See you Friday.”
I pointed at the play and sing sheet and reminded myself more than him. “I’m going to practice a little bit.”
Gavin stopped and observed me a moment longer, hands lounged in his pockets. “Okay, cool. Good luck. Follow my instructions and you’ll do great.”
I forced a smile and stayed seated on the piano bench, while he collected his things and exited the room.
All thoughts tunneled on when I’d see him again. Definitely Friday. Perhaps tomorrow in the halls?
I had a glimmer of hope he no longer thought me a bona fide bitch, but an odd duck. Moving from a dog in heat to a swimming bird didn’t exactly increase my odds of Gavin finding me attractive. But at least we were on friendlier terms.
Chapter 5
Unfortunately, I didn’t see Gavin on Thursday. Not for lack of trying. I stood outside in the halls after class, chatting with Emmy for as long as possible, before I either had to head to another class or leave campus.
“Okay, don’t look now, but he’s behind you to your left.” Emmy’s persistent teasing both annoyed and entertained me. I nonchalantly turned my head behind me, only to hear Emmy giggling. “Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she declared.
“So not funny, Emmy.” I whacked her with my sight-singing folder.
“I thought it was.” Emmy’s snigger turned into a full out snort. She turned serious. “WTF, email him or something. Tell him you’re struggling with your play and sings.”
“But I’m not. At least not yet. It’s only been a day, for frick’s sake.” Emmy’s locker made a not very soft, though sturdy, place to rest my head.
“Okay, fine. Torture yourself all you want.”
“I’m not torturing myself. I don’t know. I don’t want to fling myself on him like everyone else is doing and make an ass of myself. We still don’t know if he has a girlfriend.”
She pointed down the hall, a signal for us to mosey to our next class.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Ask him. And what if he doesn’t? He’ll never know you’re interested if you don’t let on you’re interested,” she answered.
“Yes, thank you for the relationship advice, Dr. Emmy.”
She patted my back. “Dr. Emmy at your service.” She bowed. “Besides, if I’m not getting any, at least I can h
elp you along.”
Looking down at my deformed folder, I hadn’t realized how tight I clutched it until after she made references to sex. Smoothing the folder out, my retort echoed my lack of confidence. “Not even close to ready.”
She clucked her tongue. “When you are ready, say the word. I’ll be your wingman.”
Friday couldn’t come fast enough. I’d finally get to see Gavin again, though I couldn’t predict how we’d behave around each other. My confidence edged close to ninety percent that he forgave me for my crappy behavior during Monday’s lunch at Groove. We weren’t exactly bosom buddies, either.
I arrived at the classroom and noticed everyone already seated. There were three new students, including Gavin, in the studio.
Each year, the department forced Mickelson to take at least two new students. Although each year he complained he had too many. Said it cramped his style and remained a disservice to the students because he couldn’t get enough one-on-one time.
Like he actually did one-on-one time with us on a regular basis. I think maybe he couldn’t be bothered with advising too many students. It took away from his creative mojo and time spent on his own work.
“Louise, good of you to join us. With”—Mickelson squinted toward the clock on the wall—“two minutes to spare.” He nodded toward an empty chair in the last row behind Gavin.
“Sorry,” I offered even though class didn’t start for another two minutes. True, Mickelson’s brilliance created one of the most coveted composition studios, but with his brilliance came a lot of weirdness. I never predicted what kind of mood he’d be in, though it was always entertaining, if not coherent.
“Apology not accepted because it’s not required. You weren’t late. But you were almost, which is almost bad, but not quite.”
We introduced ourselves and this time, I ended up going last rather than first. I forced my eyes to scan the entire classroom, attempting nonchalance toward Gavin. Difficult with him practically next to me. Nerves engulfed me, along with the inevitable awkward conversation in these types of situations.
