There just has to be a way to juggle it all, she thought morosely, staring out the window as the bus turned into the long driveway leading into the park that surrounded the Wildwood Performing Arts Center.
But at the moment, she was feeling anything but optimistic.
Chapter Twelve
“Going to the dance tonight?” Tiffany asked casually as she brushed her long blond hair over and over again, just as she did at least eight times a day.
Megan looked up from the book she had been reading and blinked. She was lying across her bed with her shoes kicked off, wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, looking as if she had no intention of going anywhere.
“No, I thought I’d skip it.” Megan eyed her roommate with surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re going?”
“Me? Hah. No way.’’ Tiffany tossed her head arrogantly, as if that were the silliest idea she’d ever heard. “I have no intention of wasting my time with these children.”
“Oh. Does that mean you’re staying in tonight, then?”
Megan had been hoping to have the room to herself. These days she wanted nothing more than the opportunity to be alone. In the cafeteria, she ate her meals quickly, almost always sitting apart from everyone else. She spent her days going to orchestra rehearsals and then holing up in one of the practice rooms where she would play the flute for hours at a time.
Aside from that, she did little else besides stay in her room, reading or writing letters or studying her flute music. She was trying her hardest to avoid Allegra, Paul, and everyone else at Wildwood. And so far, she was managing to do a pretty good job.
“No, I’m not going to sit around here and stare at four walls all night,” Tiffany said. “As a matter of fact, I plan to spend the evening practicing.”
“You? Practicing?” Megan was astonished. “But I thought you hated the cello!”
“Oh, I do. But I’m never going to get Morris Church off my back until I at least learn to play the music the orchestra is doing. Besides,” she went on, sounding as if she had carefully plotted out her entire strategy, “I want to polish up my cello playing because I’m hoping that Jason Diamond will let me play some of his new music.”
“Do you really like that stuff?” She found it difficult to believe that anyone could actually like the strange, discordant sounds the composer called music. Some of it even called for “instruments” such as spoons banged against drinking glasses and worn-out sneakers banged against the floor.
Tiffany looked over at her, her blue eyes open wide as if she were surprised by the question.
“It’s not a question of whether I like Jason Diamond’s music,” she replied evenly. “It’s more a question of whether or not I like Jason Diamond.’’
Once Tiffany was gone, off to a practice room to try to master the cello in a few short weeks, Megan lay back in her bed and prepared to settle down for another long evening of solitude. But tonight, something was nagging at her. It was a kind of unrest, some strange sort of dissatisfaction she couldn’t quite identify.
And then she realized what was behind it. From the gym, far in the distance, she could hear rock music being played at full blast. The dance for the students at Wildwood was already under way. And despite her resolution to keep to herself in order to remain safe from any emotional turmoil, part of her yearned to be there, to be joining in the fun that all the others were no doubt allowing themselves to have.
Don’t be silly! another side of her warned. You can’t possibly go to the dance. You’d better not dare to show your face there.
After all, she reminded herself, Paul Banker is bound to be there.
She turned back to her book, glad she had picked up several good novels during her shopping spree in town a couple of weeks earlier. This one, in particular, was an excellent choice. It was a horror story, all about a town fall of people who, one at a time, were being converted into vampires by two mysterious visitors. It was so well written, in fact, that she made a point of keeping her face turned away from the window in case the floating face of a vampire appeared there, just like in the book.
As she kept on reading, the novel kept getting scarier and scarier. After a while she no longer heard the music from the dance. In fact, she forgot all about where she was. The scenes unfolding in the book, one after another, were so real that she had become part of them. She was living in that town, frightened of vampires, experiencing the same dread as the people who lived there.
And then, suddenly, she heard a sharp rapping at the window.
She jumped about three feet. Her heart was pounding as, without thinking, she instinctively pulled the covers up over her head. And then, when she realized what she was doing, she let out a nervous little laugh.
“I must be imagining things,” she said aloud, wanting to prove to herself how silly she was being. “The way I’m acting, you’d think the things that are happening in this book could actually be true or something.”
She opened the paperback once again, determined to keep reading. And then she heard the noise again.
This time, there was no mistaking it. It was real.
Megan put the book down. Slowly, fearfully, she allowed her eyes to drift over in the direction of the window. And as she was staring right at it, she heard that same noise once again.
But it wasn’t a vampire. It wasn’t anything supernatural at all. Not even anything a little bit scary, in fact, from what she could tell. No, now that she was looking at the window head-on, she got the distinct impression that the strange noise she was hearing was being made by something small and hard being thrown against the glass.
Pebbles?
But who on earth would be throwing pebbles at her window?
She was no longer afraid. But she was curious. Megan jumped out of bed and went over to the window. She peered outside, but it was too dark to see anything. So she threw it open as wide as she could.
The moment she did, she regretted it.
“Me-gan! Me-gan!” came the sound of a deep, male voice, singing slightly off-key but so loudly it could be heard even over the rock music that was still drifting over from the gym several buildings away. Someone was singing her name, replacing the word “Mammy” from the famous Al Jolson song with the word “Megan.”
And the person who was singing it was none other than Paul Banker.
She leaned out the window as far as she dared.
“Paul, what are you doing?” she called down. She was trying as hard as she could to keep the hysteria she was feeling out of her voice. She wasn’t sure how successful she was being, however.
“I’m serenading you, Megan,” came the calm reply. “See? I’m not alone. My pal George is here on guitar, and Alan brought along his violin. Sorry about the peculiar combination of instruments, but I’m afraid it’s the best I could do on such short notice.”
“Please get out of here before I call the police.”
“Call the police? What do you think they’d do? It’s not against the law to serenade a pretty girl.”
“What about disturbing the peace?” Megan insisted.
“Are you kidding? With all the noise coming from the gym? Nah, even if the police bothered to come around, all they’d probably do is laugh their heads off.
“So why don’t you sit back and just enjoy yourself? The next song I’d like to do for you is called ... you guessed it. It’s called ‘Megan.’ ”
He launched into another off-key rendition of a well-known song, this time substituting the word “Megan” for “Maggie” in the classic Rod Stewart song.
Megan stood at the window, watching and listening in horror. Her first impulse was to slam the window shut, turn off the light in her room, and go hide somewhere— somewhere no one would ever find her, like the janitor’s closet. But she could see that she wasn’t alone in the dorm. All the other people who had skipped the dance to stay in had also thrown open their windows. Unlike her, they appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.
Me
gan had never been so embarrassed in her life. This time, Paul Banker had simply gone too far.
“All right, Paul, you win,” she called down after he had finished his personalized version of “Maggie” and was about to begin the next ridiculous tune on his list. “I’ll do whatever you want, if only you’ll stop this once and for all.”
Much to her surprise, Paul turned to his two pals and instructed them to stop playing. Then he turned his face up toward her window.
“Okay,” he said solemnly. “All you have to do is agree to meet me somewhere so that we can talk. You have to give me at least fifteen minutes. No arguing, no interrupting ... nothing but a chance for me to tell you what’s on my mind.’’
Megan could only imagine what that must be. But she agreed. After all, she didn’t feel she really had any other choice.
“All right, Paul,” she called down. “I’ll meet you wherever you say, whenever you say.”
“It’s a deal. How about at the Clark Student Center Lounge, in about five minutes?”
Megan thought for a few seconds, wondering if there was some excuse she could come up with. But she was already convinced that the best thing to do was simply to get this over with. And the faster, the better.
“All right, Paul,” she called back, already pulling the window back down. “Five minutes.”
She slipped on a pair of shoes, grabbed a sweater, and braced herself for the worst.
* * * *
“All right, Paul. What’s all this about?”
Megan knew she sounded a lot tougher than she really was, but she had decided to meet Paul Banker on his own terms—that doing so was, in fact, the only safe way to deal with him. She wasn’t at all comfortable talking to someone as sure of himself as he was. Words had never come to her easily, and she had spent her life avoiding outgoing people like him—especially boys. Yet here she was, sitting opposite him at a small table in the cafe at the Clark Student Center, trying her best to hold her own, determined to confront him once and for all.
“It’s really nice that you came,” he began. Much to Megan’s surprise, he was speaking in a kind, gentle voice. “To tell you the truth, I never thought you’d actually agree to meet me here like this.”
Megan’s eyebrows shot up. “You thought I wouldn’t agree? Why, Paul, you didn’t give me much choice! Embarrassing me like that, in front of practically all the kids at Wildwood ...”
“There weren’t that many kids left in the dorm,” he interjected. “Most of them were over at the dance.
“Actually,” he went on, lowering his eyes as if he was experiencing a pang of shyness, “I was kind of hoping you’d be over at the dance, too. That was the main reason I went there myself this evening.”
“Why, so you could embarrass me in front of everybody?” she demanded indignantly.
“No, that’s not the reason at all. Look, Megan,” he said, his voice suddenly softening. “I want to tell you first off that I know as well as everyone else that I’ve been acting really dumb over the past few weeks. And, well, I’d like to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Megan looked at him in astonishment. “Well, that’s very nice, I guess. But there’s something that would mean a lot more to me than an apology.’’
“What’s that?”
“Your promise that you won’t do it anymore. Singling me out the way you have, teasing me, making me look like a fool...”
“Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” The look on Paul’s face was one of astonishment. “Do you think I’ve been acting mean?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Aw, Megan. I had no idea you were taking it so hard. All along I’ve just thought you were just ... you know, playing hard to get.”
“What?” Megan practically fell off her chair. “Paul, what on earth are you talking about?”
Paul took a deep breath before speaking. “Isn’t it obvious that I’ve got a terrible crush on you?”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’ve got a crush on me?” It took her a few seconds to digest this astonishing piece of information. “But Paul, I thought you were making fun of me!”
“I know. I mean, I know that now. But I had no idea up until now that you were taking it like that.”
He was shaking his head slowly, looking very upset. “You know, Megan, I’ve never met a girl like you before in my life.’’
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
Even as she asked the question, Megan had a feeling she knew what he was talking about. A handsome, charming, bright boy like Paul was undoubtedly being pursued all the time by girls who were just like him: the most popular in the class, the best looking, the most sure of themselves. He had probably never even noticed that girls like Megan existed, girls who were shy and uncertain and not at all attractive in a showy way. What she was wondering at this point was why he had even bothered to notice her in the first place.
“Let me put it this way,’’ Paul said seriously. “Most of the girls I’ve gone out with in the past have been more concerned with the fact that a good-looking guy was interested in them, somebody that would impress their friends, than they were in finding out what that guy was really all about. Yes, I know I’m good looking. I’ve been hearing that all my life.
“But do you know what? I couldn’t care less. And do you know what else? Whenever people do think I’m good looking, all that does is get in the way. It makes them see me as ... I don’t know, as some kind of two-dimensional figure or something instead of as a real person.”
Megan looked at him and blinked.
“So what do you expect me to do, Paul? Feel sorry for you or something?’’
“No,” he said quietly. “Actually, what I was hoping was that you’d turn out to be the kind of person who could see me for what I really am, instead of as some kind of great catch who would make all your girlfriends jealous.
“You see, Megan, I’ve always prided myself on having a really good sense about people. It’s almost as if I could read their minds—or at least make really accurate judgments about them. And from the first time I saw you I figured I could tell the kind of person you are.”
“And what kind of person is that?’’
“Sensitive, caring, able to see below the surface of things.”
Megan considered what he was saying. “Goodness, Paul, you’re making it sound as if I’m some kind of saint or something.”
“Hardly.” A smile crept across his face. “I also happen to think you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever met in my life. Oh, maybe not in the usual sense, not with lots of makeup and flashy clothes that are the latest style and all that. I mean, you’re not exactly another Tiffany Forrester.”
Megan couldn’t help chuckling over that unlikely comparison.
“But you’re pretty in a real way. You’re one of those girls who’s lucky enough not to need lipstick and eye gook and all that junk to look terrific. You’re great just the way you are.”
Megan was astonished to see that Paul Banker—the popular, outgoing, self-confident Paul Banker who, a mere hour ago, she had thought was the biggest jerk she had ever met in her whole life—was turning red.
“So tell me the truth, Megan,” he went on. “Have I botched things up completely? Are you so convinced that I’m a creep that you don’t want anything to do with me?”
She thought he was teasing her again. But when she looked at him more closely, she saw that there was a sincere questioning look in his eyes.
“I don’t think you’re a creep, Paul,” she replied slowly. “I think ... I think that I don’t know what to think about you anymore. The things you’ve just been saying to me have come as a total surprise. You’re not at all the person I thought you were.”
“Well, assuming that’s a compliment and not a put-down,” he said, flashing her a quick, nervous smile, “do you think maybe you’d consider going out with me? You know that note I stuffed inside your flute wasn’t a joke. I really meant it.” She
epishly he added, “I guess that wasn’t such a good idea, was it?”
“Not a good idea at all,” Megan agreed. But she couldn’t help smiling. “Oh, Paul, if you wanted to go out with me, why didn’t you just come out and ask me? Why didn’t you try talking to me? Why didn’t you try to get to know me?”
“Because, believe it or not, I’m shy, too, Megan. I never thought a girl as real as you, somebody so sweet and sensitive, could ever be interested in somebody like me. You know what I mean. Somebody who’s always talking and joking and fooling around and showing off.”
Earnestly he added, “I guess I just didn’t know how I could ever convince you that there’s more to Paul Banker than meets the eye. So instead, I just went ahead and acted really stupid.
“Anyway, why don’t you just get it over with, Megan?’’ he finished with a sigh. “Just say the word and I promise to leave you alone for the rest of the summer. Or if you haven’t written me off completely, maybe we really could go out sometime.’’
He glanced over at her shyly. “What do you think, Megan? Do you need more time to think about it?’’
Megan looked at him and smiled. “No, Paul. I don’t think I need any more time to think about it at all.”
Chapter Thirteen
Things were finally beginning to look up for Megan. Not only did it look as if her relationship with Paul Banker was bound to be on the upswing, but her mother called the very next morning to say she and her new boyfriend were heading down to Clayton for the weekend. They wanted to take Megan out for lunch and an afternoon of sightseeing—and to give Megan and this mystery man a chance to get to know each other a little bit.
Rather than feeling competitive toward the new man in her mother’s life, Megan couldn’t have been happier. Just as her mother wanted the best for her, she wanted the best for her mother. And it had saddened her to see her mother resign herself so quickly to living the rest of her life all alone after Megan’s father had died.
So she was excited as, early the following Saturday afternoon, she stood outside Ellis Hall, dressed in her favorite blue-and-green flowered sundress. While she was waiting for her mother to arrive, several of her friends walked by her on their way to lunch at the cafeteria.
Going Solo Page 14
