“I had a great time.” I squeeze Beth’s hand. Of the two I like her best, which is sad because
Beth is shooting daggers my way. While we were in the moment she seemed to enjoy herself. Guess that’s changed.
The girls sit at the table where Maddie sat only moments ago. My heart lurches, and that makes me angry.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Every time I’m near her, my body proves I’m lying. And it irritates the hell out of me.
I grab some bacon and a slice of cheddar. Slap the ingredients between two pieces of toast and eat as I make my way over to the piano rooms.
My music professor asked me at the end of my freshman year to play a duet for the Winter Gala this year. I’ve got to practice. As it is I’ll probably only get in an hour this morning.
Maddie
The practice rooms are in the basement of the Fine Arts Center. My shoes skim down the stairs. The padding echoes off the walls. I push open one of the heavy double doors, and am rewarded with one of my favorite sounds.
Music.
It’s loud and soft. Heavy and light. Staccato and legato. Classical and jazz. Rock and roll. It’s the sounds of every emotion that ever existed, all bottled up in individual rooms. I make my way down the hall slowly.
This is my church.
My home.
The best place in the world.
I stop in front of a door and peer inside. It’s empty except for a piano and a bench. My breathing slows, my heart settles. The door closes behind me with a click. My body unwinds. I place my music on the stand and sit.
Another breath.
Nothing exists but the keys, the way they press against the strings and form a sound. Beautiful or angry. It’s there because of me, tattooed in the air because I created the sound with the press of a finger.
I scoot the bench, shift my butt, and begin.
Scales first. I start at middle C. The left hand plays down and the right plays up in synchrony. Without skipping a beat, I move to the next set of scales. My breathing keeps time with my hands. I rock back and forth slightly, allowing my body to feel the beat, my fingers to warm up and modify to the keys of an unfamiliar piano.
By the time I’m halfway through my world shifts and I feel better, right. For the first time in two days, there is no Gina and her sad face, her words shredding the room with hurt. No Kyle and his beautiful smile or his ass-grabbing hands. There’s only this room and these keys and my fingers forming notes. There is only crescendo and decrescendo, allegro and adagio. Notes played together in chords.
After fifteen minutes I move on to the piece I want to play for Professor Jenkins. I’ll see him tomorrow for my piano lesson. It’s an honor to be taught by the Professor and not one of the graduate students, so I want to be prepared.
But as I begin, Kyle’s face fills my mind. It blocks out my peace. Instead of notes, I see his dark messy hair and his light blue eyes.
Slamming my hands against the keys, I stand. The clock on my iPod says my first class starts in ten minutes. I grab my stuff and dash out the door. I don’t want to be late.
Maddie
’m not going to make a great first impression.
Outside the light burns my eyes, and I squint.
The campus is huge and spread out. The day I arrived, I took the map they gave me and did a walkthrough of my classes. Then we had orientation, and a couple hundred bored freshmen followed perky guides around for three hours. Luckily, most of my classes are near each other.
Dorms and the cafeteria are located to the south. The sororities are north of the dorms. Asher Field and a hangout known as The Mall sit behind the sororities. Then there are the fraternities. Behind them is a graveyard. To the west of Asher Field is the library and colleges in specific fields—Education, Agriculture, Anthropology, Engineering, Physical Sciences, and the Arts and Sciences. To the east are the Law Building, the Fine Arts Center, the Mikesell Building, the Arena Auditorium, an athletic center, the stadium, the College of Molecular Biology and Animal Sciences, and finally the Center for the Visual Arts. There are buses that can take me where I need to go, and I’ll probably use them when it gets colder, but for now I’ll walk. Especially since the building is close.
English is a required course. I enter the Mikesell Building along with several other students. A tall guy wearing University of Bellam Springs sweats pushes past me. He has a basketball in one hand. With the other he touches my shoulder, his hand swallowing it up.
“Sorry about that.” His face is friendly.
“That’s okay.”
He takes off in the direction I’m heading and walks into an auditorium-style classroom. The room is packed, filled with fresh-faced new students, same as me. I find a seat near the back and slide in.
The doors close with a resounding click. A tanned woman with bleached blond hair twirled into a perfect bun walks to the podium. She’s wearing irresponsible but absolutely gorgeous heels that match her navy suit. There’s a pencil protruding from the flawless bun. She looks tiny from way back here.
“After today—”
The door closest to me springs open and Gina walks in. I wave her over when she catches my gaze.
Once Gina is seated, the woman continues, “These doors will be locked at exactly nine o’clock beginning next class. If you’re even one second late, you will not be allowed to take part in my lecture.”
She gives a pointed look in our direction. I feel myself sink down in my chair.
“Damn. College is serious,” Gina pouts.
I give her a sideways look and see she’s smiling. None of the hurt from earlier is apparent in her features.
“My name is Professor Susan Spears. You may call me Professor or Ms. Spears. I will not answer to anything else, including Susan, Ma’am, or Teacher.” She grabs a thick stack of papers and hands them to someone in the front row.
He stands, and my heart freezes. Kyle. Every semblance of self-control exits my body. I suck in my breath, wishing I could disappear, bury myself under a ton of rock.
“What’s wrong?”
I turn to Gina but can’t speak. My mouth is full of cotton.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I shake my head and return my attention to Kyle. He’s already on the third row.
“Mr. Hadley is my TA. He’s passing out your syllabus. Don’t lose it. It’s the only one you’ll receive, so protect it with your lives.”
There are a few snickers.
“Dramatic much?” someone says.
Professor Spears breaks a pencil, snaps it in half with her fingers. “This isn’t high school. You don’t have to be here. If you aren’t in your seats, ready to learn at exactly nine o’clock, you will not be allowed to participate.” Then she points to someone and says, “Get out. You’re no longer welcome.”
I hear a gasp. A girl rises and steps around other student’s feet. “Bitch,” she stage whispers. There are a few giggles.
“Keep it up and I’ll have you thrown out of school.”
The girl clamps her lips shut and walks to the door, throwing it open. The door closes behind her and the room is silent. Even Kyle has paused in passing out the syllabus. It’s so quiet. All I can hear is breathing and the pounding of my heart.
Kyle moves to the next row. Three away from mine. I’m tempted to get up and leave, but unlike some, I want to be here. I want a degree.
Gina scribbles something on a piece of paper and shoves it toward me.
What’s your problem? Bitchy Spears? Or hottie TA?
“Anyone else feel the need to leave my class?” Ms. Spears asks.
No one says anything, which isn’t surprising.
“Excellent. Once you have your syllabus, review it. You’ll notice there’s a paper due each week…” She continues speaking, but I’ve stopped listening.
My body is trained on Kyle. Two away.
Gina adds more question marks to the paper.
I swallow. My f
irst thought is to deny, deny, deny. What’s the point though?
She sets her pencil on top of the paper.
I scribble back: I’ll tell you later.
A grimace crosses her face, and she sniffles. I’m worried that she’s crying and look over. She gives me a huge smile. I notice her eyes. They are wide, like she has them pinned open with invisible toothpicks. She writes: so it’s the hottie TA. She sniffs again.
Maybe she’s getting a cold.
Are you sick? I write.
No, she answers.
Okay.
A slight breeze moves my hair, and I immediately know why. Kyle is at our row. My heart is pounding so loud, like it wants to knock me over, drag me down, and punch me out. I know I need to stay away from him. I know he’s probably dangerous, evil. But my body doesn’t give a crap what I think. The sight of Kyle, the way he moves, stands, and breathes; he makes my body ache in places I didn’t know could ache.
The cotton balls in my mouth are now accompanied by sandpaper.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him, I keep telling myself. But I can’t resist, and I glance at him through my lashes.
He shakes his head, glances at the paper Gina and I have been writing on, and then smiles, an enormous, beautiful, all-consuming smile. At me.
He read what we wrote. My face heats and my hands start to shake. I’m humiliated.
Gina giggles takes the stack of papers he hands her, grabs one, and passes the rest to me. I do the same, passing them to the next person.
Never in the history of syllabuses has the one in my hands been more interesting. I pretend to focus, keeping my eyes on my paper, praying my heart will slow down.
Seconds that feel like hours slip by and Gina sets the condemning paper on my desk. On it is masculine writing with a number and the words: call me!
Ms. Spears is still talking. Probably about the syllabus, but I can’t hear a word. La Traviata: Prelude to Act 1 is playing in my head, the aching opening notes matching my heart. My lips part and a squeak escapes my throat.
I’m losing all grasp on reality.
Still, I can’t help myself. I watch Kyle’s descending movement and am mesmerized by the way his shoulder blades move effortlessly under his shirt, the way his muscles flex when he takes a step.
Gina steals the paper and scribbles four words, meaningless when separated, but together bring my face to scalding.
You have it bad.
I take a deep breath, working to convince myself her words aren’t true. That too much time has gone by. Too much has happened. That any feelings I’m harboring are residual from when I was younger. I’ve seen the way the current Kyle behaves, and there is nothing about him to like. Definitely not love.
Except his smile.
And his eyes.
And the way he moves, like a predator stalking its prey. Lithe. Liquid. An image of the two of us kissing enters my head and my body warms.
I shake my head and try to glare.
Gina covers her mouth with a hand, stifling a laugh.
I squeeze my thighs together, forcing myself to listen to Ms. Spears and her overdramatic ruminations.
When class is over, I follow Gina out. I have Biology next. First I need to grab my book and a pencil.
“Who is he?” Gina asks when we’re outside.
I ignore her, focusing on the landscape surrounding us: the pine trees and the wild daisies, the rose bushes and the crabapple trees. In the distance are the Rocky Mountains. The grass on campus is lush and green. With Wyoming’s harsh winters, it won’t last much longer. I sigh and inhale a deep breath. The air is crisp.
“Maddie?” she says, smacking my arm.
“What?” I respond automatically, then sigh heavily. I’ve got to tell her something. Not that Kyle was my first crush, or the first and only person I dreamed of marrying. I won’t tell her how his father killed my parents or that he might hurt me. I can’t tell her any of that. Instead I say, “He’s some guy from the party last night.”
“Uh-huh. I need details. You act like you’re ready to have his babies.” Gina is half running to keep up with me and still be able to see my face.
“No, I’m not,” I say, stomping toward Irvine Hall.
“Um, yeah.” Gina laughs. “He’s cute, and you’re smitten. Is he good in bed? Is that why you left last night? You two hooked up?”
“Stop,” I tell her, picking up my pace.
I don’t want to talk about this. It infuriates me that I don’t have more sense, more control over my reaction to him. A person can change a lot in seven years. I’ve changed. The last time he saw me I’d been a happy, altruistic, glass-half-full kind of girl.
Not anymore.
Plus, he doesn’t remember me.
His number on that piece of paper is there for one reason and one reason only. He wants to hook up. But I’m not that kind of girl.
I take the elevator up to the tenth floor. Gina follows. I cross my arms and turn away.
She doesn’t say anything until we’re in our room.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She sits on her bed, and I finally take the time to really look at her. Not too many minutes ago she was a ball of broken curled on her bed, hugging a teddy bear to death. Her eyes are still kind of wild, and she’s jittery. I’m guessing too much coffee.
“Never mind.” I pick up my biology book, a spiral notebook, and a pencil. “I’ve got biology. What about you?”
She flips on her stereo, blaring it loud, and I get the feeling she’s mad.
“Gina?” I touch her on the arm.
She jumps, like I’ve physically hurt her. I quickly tuck my hands behind my back.
She rubs her nose with a finger, sniffles. “I don’t have another class until one o’clock.” She picks up her purse and goes to the door. “I’ve got to pee. Want to meet at Perky’s for lunch?”
“Sure,” I reply, but she’s already gone.
Maddie
t’s been a week since I’ve seen Kyle, and I’m glad.
So glad.
Not! My insides ache for him.
I search for him, too. Especially in the cafeteria, and at English. He’s the TA of Ms. Spears’ class. Doesn’t that mean he’s required to be there? He isn’t around, though. I can’t help but wonder why. Is he okay? Is he avoiding me?
I’ve been keeping busy. Going to my classes, practicing piano, and doing homework. Professor Jenkins, my music teacher, loved the piece I played for him. Said I have a real future—whatever that means—and asked me to play a duet for the end of year Winter Gala. I agreed, of course. Playing will guarantee me another full ride scholarship. Next Monday I’m supposed to meet my partner so we can choose our song and begin practicing together. The Professor didn’t give me a name. He was mysterious about it or maybe he was vague because he isn’t sure who my partner will be yet.
The prospect of doing something musical calms my nerves. It means less time to spend thinking about Kyle. Less time to pine for the remnant of a guy I fell for seven years ago.
I hope.
Because it seems no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about him.
The paper he wrote his phone number on is folded small and stuffed in my back pocket. It feels like a fifty-pound weight. Every time I move, I feel it. I keep pulling it out, studying it, deliberating.
In the coffee shop.
On a bench in the Mall.
In my room after Gina is asleep.
When I get out of the shower.
I want to throw it away. Toss it, and every thought of Kyle, right in the trash. I manage to do it once. Five minutes later, I pulled it out.
“Why don’t you burn it?” Gina asks when she walks into our room and catches me staring at it again. She pulls a lighter from her pocket and flicks it on. “Go on, set the sucker on fire.”
Like a moth I move toward the flame, holding the paper out. It’s a g
ood idea. If I torch it the unpleasant thing will be gone, and I can’t gawk anymore, even if I want to.
The heat licks my fingers and catches the edge of the paper on fire. But I can’t go through with it. I blow it out.
Smoke caresses the air, twirls it in its arms, and all I can think about is Kyle.
“Damn it,” I say, grabbing my music.
“You can run but you can’t hide,” she laughs, sniffs.
I glare. “I can try,” I say, heading to the door. Before I open it, I ask, “Are you sick?”
Her nose has been runny for days. Since the day after the party. I’m concerned.
Gina shakes her head, clears her throat. “Maybe a cold or allergies. All the freakin’ tumbleweeds are getting to my sinuses.” She grabs a tissue and blows her nose.
“What about the other day? We still haven’t talked about it. Is everything okay?”
She waves me off but I catch a glimmer of sadness cross her face. “I’m good. Better than good actually, and Friday night we party again.”
“I’m not—”
“No excuses. I’m going to give you a makeover.”
I nod and push my lips into a smile. “Sounds fun.” It doesn’t sound fun. I’m worried about her idea of a makeover. But I get the feeling she needs something to look forward to.
I close the door and walk to the elevators. Several others students enter as well.
When the doors are closed a girl with straight black hair asks, “What’s burning?”
She’s searching the elevator for the culprit. I’m guessing she smells the burnt edges of the paper tucked away in my pocket. I keep my eyes down, staring at all the shoes. Converse equals easygoing. Docs are the equivalent of rebel. High, strappy heels? She’s trying way too hard.
I look up. Her effort seems to be working. The guys take turns ogling her. I’m a phantom, a ghost loitering in the back. No biggie. I prefer it that way. Really, I do.
A phone vibrates, and one of the guys pulls his cell out of his pocket. His fingers click across the screen. He’s texting.
Because of You Page 4
