by Dean Murray
Chapter 18
I felt my stomach do handsprings as I walked inside the opera house. The week had flown by much faster than expected. Especially considering how slowly each individual day had dragged along. Most of my waking hours had been spent wondering if Saturday night was ever going to arrive.
My train of thought shattered as I got my first glimpse of the interior of what'd become my own personal Mecca. The exterior of the building had been impressive, complete with statues and sculptures reminiscent of an eighteenth-century opera house, but I hadn't expected the illusion to hold once I passed through the enormous, gilded doors.
I'd been wrong. The floors were a gorgeous marble which drew the eyes to the nearest golden-white wall, and up the elaborate gilded trim towards vaulted ceilings. It was like walking into a palace, complete with painted, spun-sugar clouds, and burgundy drapes made out of rich velvet.
If it wasn't for the press of people pushing me from behind, I probably would've stayed in the front entryway right up until the sound of the orchestra filtered down to me. As it was, I only got a few hurried looks before being rushed along with the rest of the students.
Seeing all of my classmates looking utterly bored as they allowed themselves to be herded through the most amazing building I'd ever seen brought me back to my original train of thought.
I hadn't actually spent every waking moment thinking about Les Misérables. A fair number of those seconds had been spent with Brandon. He'd already been picking me up from school every morning and dropping me off most days. We now spent every lunch together, and he'd started lingering when he dropped me off. It was still only on the days when Mom wasn't home, and I hadn't quite mustered the guts to invite him in, but it'd still been really nice.
Of course it'd been the logical kind of thing to have start happening after someone asked you to the Ashure Day Dance. It was still so amazing someone like Brandon had asked me to go to a dance that half the time I forgot all about it. The other half of the time I had a hard time believing it'd really happened. But it had, and there were more than four dozen roses scattered around our kitchen to prove it.
Predictably, Brandon didn't do anything halfway. I'd gone to school on Tuesday after receiving his amazing, 'anonymous' gift the day before, only to be ambushed at lunch. I'd been anxiously waiting for him at his normal table when a pair of employees from the local florist had walked in, their arms overflowing with roses. I'd been expecting them to stop in front of Jasmin. Instead they'd passed her up and then declined to make a beeline to Cassie either. When they'd started handing the flowers to me, I'd tried to convince them there'd been some kind of mistake.
The sound of 'One Day More' playing on the cell phone nestled in the closest bouquet had been what finally convinced me it was all meant for me. Brandon's voice had been like silk caressing my face when I'd answered the phone.
One minute I was minding my own business trying to pretend like I didn't notice the nasty looks some of Brandon's friends were shooting my way when they thought I wasn't looking, the next I was going to the biggest dance of the year with the most popular guy in school. I'd half thought Cassie was going to rip out my throat.
I walked past a pair of gorgeous, gold-fringed drapes, handed my ticket to a distinguished-looking man in a uniform, and then smiled as he pointed me towards my door.
It was almost a relief to be around strangers again. He'd been polite, but hadn't tried to fawn over me. My being asked out had changed my treatment from almost every girl at school. Half the student body, the more sensible portion it seemed, had all decided that I was some kind of massively stuck-up slut. The other half had decided they needed to be my new best friend if they wanted to get invited to any of the cool parties ever again.
It might not have bothered me except the girls who now hated me were the ones I generally would've gotten along with, at least as much as I ever got along with anyone.
My leaving Brandon's insane bouquet of flowers at the office instead of lugging it around all day should have helped. Apparently they all either thought it was a ploy, or were just too stupid to get the message that I didn't want to jump on the popularity bandwagon. Whatever the reason, I'd gotten three invitations to assorted parties or other activities before school ended. I even got another two as I hobbled back from the office with my roses, which had decreased during their stay there by exactly the number of office ladies.
I'd politely declined each invitation, citing my need to catch up in Biology and Spanish, and made it to tutoring without further mishap.
Another usher, this one thankfully no more fawning than the first, pointed me towards my seat, and I felt my second surge of disappointment for the night. My seat was on the main level, but it was only three rows from the very top, and all the way off to one side. I guess it really wasn't that surprising. If the school was paying for the tickets I should just be glad I hadn't been stuck with a standing room only spot.
Still, as disappointing as it was that the performers were only barely going to be visible, it wasn't as bad as the nagging worry that Rachel wasn't coming after all.
We'd spent almost every second together talking about how much fun we were going to have seeing Les Misérables together. She'd even still been excited about the bus ride.
Given everything she'd said, I'd anxiously waited for her to show up at the departure point. It'd seemed impossible, but as Mrs. Alexander had gently herded me onto the bus, there'd still been no sign of her.
"Maybe she's driving instead of taking the bus down. I seem to remember someone saying her brother had purchased a ticket. He isn't here, so possibly they're going down together."
It'd been a fairly slender thread upon which to hang my hopes. Somehow my dream of seeing Les Misérables had morphed into a dream of seeing Les Misérables with Rachel. We still didn't get to spend much time together, but she was rapidly becoming the only person I could confide in besides Brandon. A boyfriend, or near-boyfriend, was nice, but some things just needed to be shared with another female.
I couldn't tell my mom about my feelings for Brandon or she'd absolutely freak. After spending so much time lying to her about the origin of the almost four dozen roses, I couldn't afford any kind of slip in that regard. She'd thought the single rose, Lagrimas del Angel, as I was calling it now, had been sweet and thoughtful, especially when I'd told her it was from an anonymous admirer.
The other roses had been an entirely different matter. I'd had to do some pretty quick talking to convince her I didn't know who they were from either. All of which meant I still hadn't told her I'd been asked to the Ashure Day Dance.
Luckily, Rachel was the perfect listener, even if she did cringe a little every time I mentioned Brandon. All the things I would've told my mom had instead been shared with Rachel. Best of all, there'd been absolutely no hint that she'd blabbed to anyone else.
I settled deeper into my seat, opening my program as the orchestra started warming up. It was amazing to think the near-chaos currently drifting up from the pit would transform itself into the glorious strains of the Overture in just a few minutes.
I was so intent on the program it should've taken a small explosion to bring my head around, but something caused me to look up as Alec walked past the drapes. He looked even more gorgeous than normal.
I'd gone back and forth, both with myself, and with Rachel, on how much to dress up. Going in normal street clothes would've cheapened the experience, but I hadn't wanted to stick out too much from the rest of the kids, all of whom I'd been pretty sure would be in shorts and polos.
I'd been right, which had made me glad I'd compromised and come in my one and only sun dress. Alec apparently hadn't gotten the memo. He was in an honest-to-goodness full tux. I wasn't the only one stunned by how good he looked; there was a ripple of turned heads as people noticed his entrance.
He paced the short distance down to the back row of seats with such incredible grace that I felt my mouth go dry. No one person should be so attract
ive, not when there wasn't enough of him to go around to every single woman in the world. For a few seconds I forgot all about the reasons I didn't like him, and just wished he was sitting in front of me instead of two rows behind me where I couldn't see him.
Then I realized what his arrival really meant. Rachel had stood me up. She wasn't on the bus, and she apparently hadn't come with her brother, so she wasn't coming. I knew I should reserve judgment until I'd given her a chance to explain what'd happened, but it was hard to remember that when faced with Alec's air of superiority.
Rachel was nicer, but she was still a Graves. Maybe this was just a sign of things to come.
Apparently I wasn't the only one put off by Alec's snobbishness. A couple of guys who looked like they were old enough to be in college were rolling their eyes at him. They were whispering and laughing, but positioned as they were closer to Alec than to me, I couldn't make out any of what they were saying.
While I agreed completely with their sentiment, they were so loud they were disturbing at least twenty or thirty people. Hopefully they'd quiet down once the actual show started up.
Judging by the orchestra, it was almost time. I looked back, intending to shoot the obnoxious pair a nasty glare in the hopes it would shut them up, and instead caught Alec's eye. The house lights were still bright enough for me to make out every detail of his perfect face, and yet I was still baffled by his expression. He'd obviously been staring at me, was still staring at me actually, but it wasn't a leer. It was something else, it made me want to blush, or maybe smile and toss my hair. Whatever it was, it left my skin feeling warmer than usual, and more than a little tight.
Even after I looked away with a flush of embarrassment, I still felt like I could feel his eyes watching me. I could feel his presence behind and to the left of me, like a gentle tingle of electricity I could've pointed to even with my eyes closed.
I resisted the urge to look back again as the lights dimmed and the orchestra began the opening strains of the first number.
The actor playing Jean Valjean strode out onto the stage, and even weighed down by chains, he still commanded everyone's attention as though he was a member of the nobility. Each successive character somehow managed to latch onto my heart as they arrived.
Despite the nagging sensation that I could feel Alec behind me, the first few minutes of the play exceeded all my hopes. That all changed when they started 'Lovely Ladies'.
It was my absolute least favorite song on the whole soundtrack. Frankly the whole play would've been better if they'd just left it off. Still, sitting through a song about 'ladies of the night' as my mom still called them, had seemed like a small price to pay for getting to listen to the rest of the play.
By the middle of the song both of the oversexed boys behind me were whispering catcalls.
I felt my ears going red. I wanted nothing more than to sink down into my seat and try to ignore them, but once guys got started on something like that, they never stopped. Some of the people around me were starting to evidence signs of annoyance, but that just spurred the hecklers on to greater heights.
I was so worried they were going to ruin everyone's experience, that I turned around and shot them a dirty look.
"Oh, sweetie, don't you worry, we've been aching to get our hands on you all night. We're saving plenty of loving for you later. Meet us out back after this crap is over and we'll give you a real show."
My mouth dropped open in shock. Nothing was going to get them to shut up now, not when they had such a perfect target. Sitting there staring at them was about the worst of all the choices open to me, but I was too shocked to pull my eyes away.
I felt a surge of heat rush through me as the room wavered slightly. For a second I worried I was going to pass out, but movement behind the two punks distracted me from my heaving internal landscape.
There was just enough light for me to see Alec lean forward and put a hand on each troublemaker's shoulder. There was an abortive movement by the two loudmouths, as they tried to spin around and confront him. Granted, the lighting was less than ideal, but it didn't look like Alec was holding onto them very hard. Still, neither of them made it more than a quarter of the way around before being slammed back down into their chairs.
The tingly heat that'd convinced me Alec was staring at me earlier was back, and even more intense. I felt the tiny hairs on my neck stand up as the feeling redoubled yet again. The darker, more vocal of the two opened his mouth and got the first part of a swear word out before ending in a hiss of pain that was almost completely drowned out by a crescendo from the orchestra pit.
Alec leaned forward, whispered something in each of their ears, and then finally let both of them go. I expected them to turn around swinging, or at least swear at him. I didn't expect them to remain in their seats stunned and shaking like trauma victims.
An usher finally arrived to see what all of the commotion was about. The older boys shook themselves and then looked for a second like they were going to try and get Alec kicked out of the theater.
The sense of being caught in some kind of electric sandstorm momentarily intensified, and then faded away as they got up and left.
I felt my mouth drop open again as they scurried out of the theater without once looking back. Alec, who I'd always figured had the depth of an old-style Mickey Mouse cartoon, had just faced down two older boys, and singlehandedly saved my Les Misérables experience.
Valjean launched into 'Who am I?', and almost against my will I was pulled back around to where I could see the stage. Even as enthralled as I was by the music, I made a mental note to thank Alec after the performance. For once I wasn't going to try and get the best of him verbally, I was just going to walk up and thank him.
The sense of being able to feel Alec behind me didn't diminish during the course of the play, if anything it gradually increased almost to the levels it'd been during the face-off with the college boys. Now though, it felt more reassuring than threatening.
The rest of Les Misérables was even better than I'd hoped. Minutes and seconds went by faster than at any other time in my life. As the curtain finally came down, I brushed away the traces of tears that'd appeared on my face during the performance, and turned in my seat as the lights came up.
Alec was gone. The drapes were swaying gently as if they'd been brushed by someone moving quickly, but other than that there was no trace of him.
It wasn't until I'd filed out into the grand foyer, eager to spend a few minutes taking in the gorgeous bronze statues liberally scattered throughout the room, that I realized why I felt so odd. Part of the difference was the normal sensation of having vicariously been part of something larger than life. My head knew all I'd done was sit motionless while performers portrayed a fictional story. The rest of me felt as though I had just risked life and limb, seen people I loved killed, and played a small but tangible part in altering the course of history.
Returning to my mundane, ever so boring life was an incredible letdown, but that didn't explain the hollow sensation that'd lodged itself somewhere between my heart and stomach. Illogical as it sounded, the only explanation for feeling as though a part of me had been ripped out and lost was Alec's having disappeared sometime between the last note and the final bow.
It was unsettling. Even my growing feelings for Brandon didn't hint at that kind of need. It was a pale shadow of what it felt like to lose a family member, but it was made up of too many of the same elements.
One of the chaperons, an over-bleached woman who looked like she was struggling to deny her last eight or nine birthdays, had to call my name at least twice to shake me out of my funk.
I followed everyone else out to the bus, but there wasn't any refuge there. I was just too different from everyone else.
Hour after hour passed in silent misery, until finally the rest of the kids wore themselves out and it quieted down enough for me to lapse into a fitful sleep. I was smack-dab in the middle of a dream about Rachel and Britney when
everything changed.
Ever so slowly, the normal dreamscape took on a sharp-edged glow, and then morphed into the breathtaking colors that'd wormed their way even deeper into my heart than I'd realized. I didn't recognize my surroundings, but they were different than any of the places I'd been before. The new scents whipping past me on the breeze were sign enough even if I hadn't been able to detect the subtle differences in the light emanating off of the foliage paving the trail I was walking along.
For the length of the dream I lost myself in the wonder of experiencing the world in all of its amazing depth. Still, even the pure delight in my surroundings wasn't enough to mute the feeling something was missing.
