Dad looks at me while I look at the picture one last time before closing my laptop.
“He's really the boy from Lincoln Center?"
I turn to him after putting my laptop away. "You remember that?"
"Of course. It was our last trip together . . . the three of us."
I can't respond because tears are pooling in my eyes, so I just nod.
"Come here." He opens his arms to me again.
I don't hesitate. "I miss her so much."
"Me too, darling."
When we join Meme in the kitchen, she smiles at the sight of Dad’s arm around my shoulder. Then, we make our plates for dinner and sit down at the small table. Dad picks up the Dachshund saltshaker and smiles. “I remember this little guy. That booth had all kinds of things made after different types of dogs.”
“Have you been back there lately?” I ask.
“No, I mainly just work. Actually, one of the things I wanted to tell you is I got an offer from Mount Sinai Hospital in New York.”
My brows knit together. “Like New York City?”
He nods before taking a quick sip of sweetened tea. “I was looking for something in Atlanta, but New York is the closest I can find right now. It’s the same coast, at least. A quick plane trip away.” It sounds similar to the argument Liam made.
“When would you start?” I ask.
“They want me as soon as possible. I found a few apartments near the hospital, but I wanted you to look at them and help me decide.”
I set down my fork and hesitate. “I mean, you’ll be the one living there, right?”
Meme clears her throat and gives me a look when I meet her gaze.
“I was hoping you’d want to come stay with me sometimes. You’d have your own bedroom and everything.”
Despite our earlier conversation, the thought of spending a whole weekend alone with Dad still makes me nervous. Our relationship used to be so easy, and now it isn’t, but I meant it when I told him I wanted to try. “Okay. I’ll help you pick.”
Dad gives me a grateful smile. He may not have shown up at Meme’s to get me three years ago, or at least not on her doorstep, but he’s willing to uproot his life just to be closer to me. As Katherine would say, that’s definitely an action.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Avery
“Let’s use this photo as an example,” our teacher says. A close-up photo of a bee sitting on a flower appears on the screen, but it’s off centered to the right. “Studies show people’s eyes don’t focus on the center of a photo, but instead, our eyes naturally go to one of these intersecting points.”
The photo is cut into thirds horizontally and vertically to show the four points around the center. "If you place points of interest at these intersections or along these lines, your photo becomes more balanced. The viewer will interact with it more naturally.”
He shows an example of another photo emphasizing the same idea. “I want you to find a few examples of your own photographs or either take new ones that show the rule of thirds and bring them to our next class.
Instead of going back to my apartment, I decide to find a quiet place to study on campus. I have a ton of photos to look through in order to choose the right ones for the assignment.
After I find a desk against the back wall, the sound of whispering gets my attention. A row of computers is near my table, and two girls sharing earbuds look at one of the screens. I take out my laptop and find the folder with my photos from the summer. It’s strange to think it’s already December. My summer in Oxford still feels as if it were yesterday, but at the same time, it feels as it were another lifetime.
My attention drifts back to the girls as one of them gets up to leave. I have a clear view of the computer screen. The video currently playing on YouTube catches my attention. I stand up, my things forgotten, and walk over so I’m standing right behind the girl who stayed. My gaze is glued to the screen. The caption of the video reads, “Brotherhood Live at APS Music Festival.”
“Have you heard of them before?” the girl asks. “My best friend is obsessed. I don’t know how she finds these random bands.”
The camera closes in on the stage, and breath cages in my chest as all four guys come into view. I look down at the girl and just nod. “Do you mind if I listen?”
She pulls out her earbuds so the sound comes out the computer speakers instead. Thousands of people are cheering as Rob begins playing his favorite acoustic guitar.
As I sit down in the chair the previous girl vacated, the camera angle changes, and Liam’s face is front and center. "We've got one more for you t onight .” I’m so grateful the video is close enough to capture his expression. He pauses as Rob continues to play guitar softly in the background. “I wrote this song for Avery, the girl who got away.”
I’m vaguely aware of gasping and grabbing the stranger’s arm beside me.
Liam takes a quick breath before he begins singing, “She stood there wearing red, taking in my four strings. One life coming together, another about to end.”
At the refrain, he sings, “I’m in love with a girl who can’t stay. Please stay, stay, stay.” He holds out the last “stay” as a long note full of pleading.
My throat tightens, and my eyes burn.
“She stood here years later, taking in my one bow. This time I fell in love, but she always had to go.”
Rob joins him on the refrain, and then he sings the last verse, “To her there’s an ocean between us, but to me it’s just a pond. Whatever will be, will be, because she was meant for me.”
At the very en d, he sings the chorus again, but after the last “stay” there’s a pause, and he finishes with, “for me.” He sounds so vulnerable. I almost forget there’s a crowd. It feels as if he’s singing just to me. Maybe he is. I know he is.
When I feel a hand cover mine, I look over at the girl and notice I’m still gripping her arm. “Sorry.” I wipe my face quickly when I realize my cheeks are damp.
Curiosity takes over her features. The modern turquoise frames of her glasses should be distracting, but her incredibly blue, and now, scrutinizing eyes shine through. “I’m Nora.” She holds out her hand, which seems kind of silly since I just held onto her arm for the last three minutes.
I shake her hand anyway. “Avery.”
Nora sucks in a breath which makes me realize my mistake too late. She looks at the computer screen and then back to me. “Avery?!” Her voice is too excited for the otherwise quiet study area. “As in, the girl who got away, Avery?!” She points to the video still pulled up.
I look back at the screen and think about lying. But grabbing a stranger and crying are not normal reactions to a simple music video. “I guess I am,” I admit.
“You have no idea, do you?” she asks while grabbing her phone off the table.
“Idea about what?” I watch as she rapidly taps on the screen of her phone.
She holds the phone up so I can see. “You’re sort of famous.”
Brotherhood’s feed on Twitter is pulled up, and apparently # thegirlwhogotaway is trending.
“Fans have been trying to figure out who ‘Avery’ is since the video went viral.” Nora laughs. “I bet no one guessed she’s a girl going to a small art school in Atlanta, Georgia.”
I smile nervously. “Can we keep it that way?”
“You mean I can’t take your picture and post it all over the internet?” She looks offended. “I know I’m a stranger, but I wouldn’t do that to someone.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
She nods. “I wouldn’t mind hearing the story, though. If a guy like that wrote me a love song, I’d post myself all over the internet in a heartbeat.”
I figure I have nothing to lose at this point. She will either keep her word or not. At least if she does out me as the girl who got away, she’ll have the whole story.
Nora’s reaction after my very fumbled and quick recount of meeting Liam is almost funny if I weren’t still
in a state of shock over the video. “Are you crazy?!” she says. It’s not a question.
“It’s complicated,” I try to explain. It’s a common argument for my feelings about most things. How do you feel about Liam? It’s complicated. How do you feel about your father? It’s complicated. How do you feel about losing your mother? It’s complicated. How do you feel about pumpkin-spice lattes? It’s complicated.
“Do you love him or not?” she asks.
“It’s just not that simple,” I answer, which sounds like a synonym of “it’s complicated.”
“Do you love him?” she repeats impatiently.
I look back at the computer screen and think about some of the lyrics that affected me the most. I squeeze my eyes shut a moment before saying, “Yes.” Then I look over at Nora. “I love him.”
“Yes!” She jumps a little in her chair as if my life is her favorite reality TV show. “And what are you going to do about it?”
I shake my head. “It’s too late. I’ve missed my chance. Besides, Brotherhood is obviously even more popular now; he’s probably moved on.” Although, as I say it, I know it doesn’t ring true.
Nora must feel the same way. “Again, are you crazy?!” She squints at the computer screen for a second. “He performed this song only three months ago. You don’t write a song like that and then move on after only three months!”
“Maybe,” I say.
Nora slaps her hand on the table in excitement. “We’ve got to plan something big. Like some sort of public declaration of love!”
My eyes widen. “That sounds horrible.”
“Well, you can’t just text him or something equally lame.”
She has a point, but I do know someone else I can text. I walk over to the table to get my phone with Nora following behind me, completely invested in our love story now.
I pull up my last text with Emily and begin typing. “I need your help.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Liam
Mum and Dad take turns hugging me one last time. Mum pushes strands of hair away from my face affectionately. “Try to take your mind off the band for a little while. Things will work out.”
After Rob, Lei, and I decided Alloy Records wasn’t for us, Eric officially left Brotherhood. Apparently, he had been shopping around for a while and found another band looking for a drummer, a band he said actually cared about “making it big.” We were all still upset over his decision to leave.
I watch my parents as they walk back towards their hotel. They spent the weekend helping me move into Juilliard's student residence building. We spent a lot of time walking around the city, too. Now, they were checking out of their hotel and catching a flight back to England. I was officially alone.
As I walk by the fountain at Lincoln Center, Avery’s on my mind again. I still can’t believe she’s the same girl I met here all those years ago. It was probably less than forty degrees outside that day, but I was sweating.
I had played all over the UK, but Lincoln Center was on the top of my busking list. I had already knocked Washington Square Park off my list earlier that day. And Lincoln Center was on the top of my list for one reason —Juilliard.
Juilliard was a dream I kept to myself. Especially if things went well with Mum and Dad. I couldn't ask them to adopt me just so I could turn around and leave them in a few years.
Dad watched my pacing for a moment, but then gave up as he joined Mum on a bench a few feet away. He knew me well enough by now. I would have to do this in my own time. I fixed the knit cap more securely on my head, but then unbuttoned the top of my coat.
Finally, I shook out my hands before reaching for my violin. I made myself stop thinking so I could start playing. I noticed a girl around my age lingering back a few feet but obviously listening. Although her red coat made her stand out, I would have noticed her regardless. She was the only person my age who seemed to enjoy what I was playing, as if it meant something to her. I hated the song was almost over, and she would probably move on.
I kept my eyes on her as I lowered the violin. She surprised me by stepping closer until the violin case was the only thing separating us. She seemed happy and care-free, emotions I was still getting used to after living with Mum and Dad.
The girl dropped an American dollar in my case. "That was . . . amazing," she said.
I smiled in return as I tried to think of something to say. Something more than just a simple thank you. But it was too late when a woman, most likely her mum, told her they had to leave. She looked back towards me one more time before following her parents as they walked in the direction of the street.
I was thinking about how I wished I would have said something to her when Dad asked, "Want to keep playing?"
I nodded. "Just a few more."
Although I could have stood in the middle of Lincoln Center and played until sunrise, the temperature was quickly dropping. After I put away my violin, we began walking towards our hotel.
"We saw this and thought of you," Mum said as we huddled together on the sidewalk. "There was a stack of them by the school's café."
When I saw the pamphlet she handed me was for Juilliard, I sucked in a breath.
Dad quickly added, "We hate even thinking about the possibility of your leaving Oxford one day, but if you plan to anyway, Juilliard is the best. And so are you, son."
And now I’m here. My dream actually came true. I linger on the exact spot I played all those years ago before walking back to my new flat to finish unpacking. Classes begin tomorrow, and I don’t want to be searching through my things last minute.
As I’m putting away clothes in the wardrobe, something distracts me again. I take off my headphones and listen. It sounds as if someone next door is tapping out a rhythm against a desk. I start to nod along to the complex groove pattern. Whoever they are, they’re bloody brilliant, and I need to know them right this second.
I make my way to the hallway and knock on the next door over.
When it opens, a bloke around my age looks back at me. He has brown hair that doesn’t quite touch his shoulders, and his arms are covered in tattoos. I smile when I see the drumsticks he holds in one hand.
“Hey.” His pierced brow is arched expectantly.
“Hey, I’m Liam. Your next-door neighbor—”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t realize anyone had moved in yet. I’ll switch to my silent drum pad.” His expression is apologetic.
I immediately shake my head. “I actually came over to tell you how brilliant it sounds.”
“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles and holds out his empty hand. “I’m Felix.”
I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you. Are you here for percussion?”
“Yeah.” He opens the door wider and steps aside which I take as an invitation. “You?” he asks.
“Violin.” All the flats are identical, but I look around anyway. Felix is not only a brilliant drummer, but he also appears to be exceptionally clean for a bloke our age.
“Cool. British I’m guessing?” He sets his sticks on the kitchen counter.
I nod. “Transferred from Oxford University. Just got here a few days ago.”
“Have you had the tour yet?”
“I had the official tour, but I wouldn’t mind an unofficial tour.”
Felix grabs a thick black bomber jacket off the sofa. “Let’s start with the best place for coffee.”
After grabbing my coat, too, I follow Felix as he talks about his experience at Juilliard so far since he started back in September.
With coffee in hand, we’re walking to the next spot, supposedly the best bookstore in our area, when Rob’s name pops up on my phone. “Mind if I take this?”
Felix waves me off as we turn a corner.
“Alright?” I answer.
“We miss you!” Rob and Emily’s voices mix together.
I laugh. “Miss you both, too.” My feet give as we walk over wooden boards underneath scaffolding.
“Everything good?” I ask
.
“Oh, you know, just finishing up my application for a student visa,” Rob says casually.
“What?!” Rob and Lei had both been talking about moving with me before I left, but I didn’t take them completely seriously.
“I already submitted mine,” I hear Lei say in the background.
“I’m already American, so I beat you all,” Emily teases.
“This seems really quick. Don’t you all need to think this through?”
“What’s to think through? Our best mate, not to mention lead singer of Brotherhood, is in New York City.” I’m reminded of that fact as the smells of exhaust and trash mingle together as we continue walking.
I shake my head in disbelief. “You are crazy enough to move to another country just like that, and I love you for it! So, Brotherhood will be together in New York City?”
Rob laughs. “Sure will! Start looking for a drummer, yeah?”
I look over at Felix as he pushes the crosswalk button. “That may be easier than we think.”
After we say goodbye, and I end the call, Felix asks, “Good news?”
“The best news. My mates are moving here.” My smile is so wide my cheeks start to hurt.
“That’s awesome! Did I hear you say Brotherhood?” he asks. “Why does that sound familiar to me?”
“It definitely shouldn’t. We’re just a small band from Oxford.”
“Wait!” Felix says. “You guys have that song, about the mystery girl, right? I saw a video of you guys playing at that music festival.”
“The girl who got away,” I confirm. Fans are still wondering about the mystery girl.
“True story or propaganda?” he asks as the bookstore comes into view.
I sigh. “True story.”
He takes in my expression. “Ah, sorry, man. I guess it didn’t work out.”
I open the door for him. “Not yet.”
“I left a girl back in Florida. Long-distance sucks.”
I only nod in agreement as we enter the bookstore. “We just lost our drummer, too.”
Please Stay for Me (The Brotherhood Series) Page 17