“I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to meet sooner. I had meetings off campus all week and was running late myself today.” Looking back and forth between us, he sighed, looking abashed. “Sorry, guys. I’m all over the place today. Have you two had a chance to meet yet?” I waited a moment, and then answered with an imperceptible nod. “Oh, good,” he said, chuckling. “And you got my e-mails and attachments?” I felt Dominic answer with a stiff nod beside me. “I’m sure you have questions about how . . .”
My attention was rerouted as someone called my name. “Foster!” I turned toward the accented voice, where Pilar was at her desk waving me over. I couldn’t leave soon enough. The stares of undisguised interest reflecting off Dominic’s arrival, and the palpable aversion he emanated, made me want to disappear completely. I would settle for the desk beside Pilar, up against the eastern wall. Reaching for my backpack, I began to slide out from my desk.
Mr. Balfy stopped mid-sentence, looking up at me quizzically. “Do you need to get something, Foster?”
I paused, slightly hunched, and slowly lifted a crooked finger toward Pilar. “My partner wants me to move over there,” I explained.
“Your partner? But didn’t you—” he laughed. “This is your partner, Foster.” He gestured at Dominic. “I thought you said you met?”
“But . . . Pilar . . . her last name is Knight.”
A wry grin spread on his face. “So, I take it you guys haven’t made it past first names then?” My legs had begun to shake. Trying not to collapse, I settled back into my chair. Mr. Balfy’s next words pounded into my skull like a sky raining anvils. “Foster Kelly, meet your Senior Piece partner, Dominic Kassells.” My eyes—preceding my neck—slowly crept toward my partner. Only the faintest movement, a ripple along the edge of his jaw, told me how he felt about this news.
I watched numbly as Mr. Balfy rose when Mason appeared, bow and violin in hand to claim his new seat. Having spent the last couple minutes eavesdropping, Mason’s partner, Taylor Lewis, snuck in one last glance at Dominic before tentatively—and more than slightly disappointedly—angled her body toward the stolid Mason. I would have given anything to change places with her. With anyone. I had no doubts Dominic felt the same.
Placing his hands on Mason’s shoulders, Mr. Balfy guided him into his new seat and came back to kneel on one knee between our desks. “All right, I’m going to let you guys get acquainted,” he said brightly, “but before you get to work, I thought I should mention this . . . when I was trying to figure out how to pair everyone up, I realized there were four students with K last names and three with L. Which is very unusual in a group as small as ours. The thing is . . .” he smirked, blowing out a husky laugh, “I actually had different partners picked out for you up until about three a.m. this morning. It’s only happened one other time before; where I’ve woken up in the middle of the night with this unexplainable, but strangely certain feeling about two students.” He lowered his head, murmuring softly. “Josh and Nicole. They were in my class the very first year I started teaching. On their own, they were hands down incredible musicians. But together . . .” I was feeling nauseous and light-headed, but turned to look at Mr. Balfy when he laid his palm on my clammy hand. He reached over to clasp his other hand to Dominic’s forearm. “Together, they were untouchable.” He got to his feet, fisting the tops of our desks once. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” He backed up and walked away, singing, “Pilar! Mon Cherie.” He held his arms outstretched to the partner I would never have. On his way, he slung his arm around Alex Kemp’s shoulders—my replacement. As I watched Pilar and Alex smile shyly at one another, both displaying looks of approval to their new partnership, my abdomen continued to clench and roll.
At some point I would have to turn around; and I would have to speak to my new partner. Hoping that Dominic—his name was like a Pavlovian stimulus, causing my stomach to churn every time I thought it—would make the first move, I remained still and silent. As the awkward moments continued to pile up, I grew increasingly anxious. I moved my head a fraction of an inch, peeking at him out of the corner of my eye. I swallowed hard. A small part of me still clung to the possibility I was completely wrong —and he didn’t detest me. This was enough to promote an entirely out-of-character response. Facing him, I braced my hands on the sides of the plastic chair, and prepared to speak. Preparation, I realized, was moot. The words that spilled from my mouth hadn’t crossed my mind during dozen or so opening lines I’d considered.
“I have a song,” I said.
Dominic, arms crossed over his chest, and fingers dug roughly into ribs, responded with the give of dried cement. “Congratulations,” he said.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I whispered, earning a derisive sound from him.
Not knowing where I should go from here, I continued to stare, inadvertently memorizing his physical appearance—this would later contribute to a perfectly clear recollection.
I nearly shuddered out of my skin when he turned suddenly, gimleting me with piercing blue eyes. “Foster . . .” My name was a curse on his lips. He inhaled through his nose and blackened himself to me. “This isn’t going to work for me.” The mordant tone in his voice increased when he glanced back. “It just isn’t going to work,” he repeated with finality and slid the binder off his desk.
Sitting at his desk, Mr. Balfy smiled as Dominic approached. Taylor’s shiny, blonde ponytail whipped around, seeing past me. “That guy is so frickin’ hot,” she said to the girl one seat behind Dominic’s desk.
“Oh-my-gawd, I know!” Laurel Bastings hissed in an emphatic whisper. “Did you see his eyes? Like, could they be any bluer?”
It was impossible, but I tried not to pay attention to the uncensored gushing in front and behind me. I did, however, keep a surreptitious eye on another conversation.
“I know,” Taylor agreed, head moving to and fro. “He’s gor-geous, and his body. Seriously, do you think he models?”
I glanced up involuntary, blushed, and hurried to look elsewhere; though I was unable to disagree with Taylor’s appraisal. Hunched over Mr. Balfy’s desk, the thin red shirt pressed tightly around the span of Dominic’s wide shoulders, like another layer of skin shadowing every sharp curve of his back. My heart fluttered when Mr. Balfy suddenly looked up at me, his brows merged together in confusion.
“Oh, he totally models,” Laurel remarked decidedly. “You aren’t born looking like that without wanting to show the whole world.”
“Totally. Oh, I wonder if—”
“Can we please work on our song?” Mason interrupted scornfully, jabbing his rimless glasses up his nose. “I don’t see how any of this has to do with music.” Both girls laughed. Taylor rolled her eyes.
Sometime during their discussion, several pairs of eyes were alerted to the spectacle at the front of the room.
Mr. Balfy’s solemn but firm voice was easily heard. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Dominic, but I’m afraid it’s your only option. And if I may,” he paused, raising his brows meditatively, “you’re very lucky to have her. She’s an incredible vocalist, not to mention one of the nicest—”
“I don’t care.” Dominic’s replied. “Just put me with someone else. Anyone else. Just not her,” he pleaded, furiously.
The words landed like bludgeons on my abdomen.
“There is no one else, Dominic,” Mr. Balfy explained calmly.
“Then I’ll work alone.”
“You can’t, I’m sorry. It’s Senior Partners. The idea is to work together—”
The next directive came out in slow growls. “Then put me with someone else.”
Mr. Balfy sighed, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “I already explained that. Everyone has their partners—including you. My decision is final.”
Something about the way Dominic’s spine straightened out, like a snake about to strike, made me shudder. “All right. Then I guess I’m done. Feel free to fail me.”
I saw hi
m turn and come toward me. I ducked my head and made myself very still, listening to the soft whir of the air conditioner.
He would rather flunk the class than be your partner.
I raised my chin, watching him shove the last of his things into his backpack. He looked at me and, sensing what was coming, I felt the air leave my lungs.
He said evenly, almost in whisper, “I want you to stay away from me, do you understand?”
This request landed on my heart like a poisonous flower.
He waited until I nodded at him and then he was gone.
Not one person spoke. No one moved. The entire classroom grew so quiet, the gentle click of the door closing sounded like gunfire.
And if I didn’t leave immediately, I was going to be sick on myself.
I made eye contact with no one as I rose from my desk. Unsteady on my feet, I gathered my belongings and carefully made my way to Mr. Balfy, who appeared a bit stricken himself. I kept my eyes down for fear his empathy would be the thing to undo me.
It was silly to whisper. I knew everyone could hear me. “May I please go to the office and call home? I’m not feeling very well.”
“Of course, Foster. Let me write you a pass.” Mr. Balfy lifted paper and notebooks in search of a pen, eventually finding one tucked behind his ear.
My fragile composure was cracking. I begged it to hold on a little longer. “Thank you.”
Gina was the first one to speak, muttering an unflattering statement about Dominic.
Vanya was second. “W-o-w. That was so rude. I mean, how hard would it have been to wait until after class to tell her that?”
“Yeah,” Gina replied, “that would have been so much more polite.”
“Was I talking to you, Emo?” spat Vanya.
Groaning. “Gawd. All you princesses are the same. No originality.”
My manufactured stoic began to crumble. The tremors had grown into full-blown shaking. I was willing Mr. Balfy to write faster, when I felt a small hand touch my arm. I turned to see Pilar standing next to me, distress written all over her face.
“Mr. Balfy,” she leaned in, whispering, “I’d like to accompany Foster to the office, if that’s all right.”
“Absolutely, Pilar,” he said, tearing the pass from the pad and handing it to her. “Thank you for doing that.”
I didn’t understand why he didn’t hand it to me. Not until Mr. Balfy added, “And try to sit her down as soon as possible,” as though I wasn’t standing there.
My limbs felt like liquid gold. I swayed on my feet.
Oh, a glimmer of hope pervaded my consciousness, this is a dream.
Yes. I was certain of it. It had to be. Didn’t it? The leaden legs, the streamline of catastrophic events, and the underlying sensation that if I could just wake up, I could put an end to all this horror.
I closed my eyes and pinched myself on the inside of my arm. Then I could almost smell Rhoda’s breath, feel her heavy head resting on my shoulder.
Pilar spoke softly at my ear. “Easy does it, love. Almost there.”
It was true. Dreams did come true.
Chapter Seven
About to part ways—Pilar back to class and I to a bathroom where I can release some of the pressure building behind my eyes—we both suddenly froze. Piercing the tranquil quiet of the hallway was a familiar voice, both irate and extremely loud.
“Where is he? I’m gonna kill him!”
Unflinching, Pilar and I watched Emily barrel toward us, fists clenched and hair undulating turbulently behind her like a blonde cape. I shut my eyes, resigned and not at all surprised. Emily had found out about everything. And she was livid.
“Pilar,” I whispered as Emily closed the distance, “You should probably go.” This was going to be ugly and she didn’t need to get any more involved in this. Seeing her study Emily warily, I quickly added, “Really, it’s okay. Emily’s my friend.”
She arched a delicate brow. “Is she now?” Pilar turned to me, frowning and skeptical as if I had casually mentioned I was friends with a wild boar.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I said, trying to get her moving in the other direction before Emily reached us. When she was this angry, there was no telling who or what might end up as collateral damage. I could tell she was vacillating. I had less than ten seconds before Hurricane Emily touched down. “Oh, darn . . .” I did my best to look absent-minded—it wasn’t difficult—and spoke quickly. “I forgot to sign up for rehearsal time in the auditorium. Do you think when you get back to class, you could put me down for Thursday at four?”
Pilar didn’t look completely convinced, but acquiesced, promising to take care of it. She touched my arm in farewell and slipped away just as Emily stomped to a halt in front of me.
“So?” she prompted, staring at me with the countenance of a homicidal manic. “Where is he?”
I raised my hands in supplication. “Em . . .”
Her eyes looked like brown hornets, prepared to sting the first thing they landed on. “In there?” She pointed behind me and shot down the hall.
My eyes bulged as I realized what she was about to do. I stretched out a useless hand, taking a step after her. “Wait! Emily, he’s not in there,” I cried. My frantic voice bounced off the walls of the hollow corridor. Before I had taken two steps, Emily had the door flung open and was standing in the entryway. Through the crack in the door, I watched her head swivel from side to side. I put my face in my hands, wondering if it was possible to die from humiliation.
If it is, please take me now.
“Oh . . . Emily,” I heard my teacher’s friendly, but clearly wary voice address her. “Is everything . . . okay?”
“Yeah.” She sounded distracted. “You have a Dominic Kassells in your class, right? The office needs him—to speak with him about his transcripts.”
Now. Take me now.
“Oh, well, he—I’m afraid he isn’t here.” There was a distinct sadness in his voice that made my own bleakness rise up in answer. “Dominic left a little while ago.”
“No worries,” she replied. “I’ll find him eventually.” Whether Mr. Balfy did or not, I clearly heard the threat embedded in the seemingly innocent words.
Emily stood before me with brows furrowed and hands perched on her tiny hips. “You look kinda pale, Fost,” she acknowledged. “Even for you. You want to sit down for a minute?”
The idea had crossed my mind; however, I was worried when I unlocked my legs, the rest of me would, too.
I nodded, shrugging off my backpack and pressing it to my chest. Emily waited for me to move first. I could tell by the way she eyed me closely she wasn’t altogether convinced I would make it. The cold floor felt good on the backs of my clammy calves, though the indignant germaphobe cried out in protest. I laid my hands on my skirt and tried hard not to think about it.
Emily settled in beside me, exhaling in a huff. Expecting a thorough rant, in which she defamed Dominic’s character and fantasized about the multitude of ways she planned to harm him, I was taken by surprise by both the question and gentle tone.
“I really embarrassed you, didn’t I?” Emily was contrite—no question—though if she could do it all over again, I doubted she would do it differently.
Occasionally, I wondered what it would be like to exist without a filter to strain my every thought, or an in-depth analysis on every potential decision I might make. Most of the time, I ended up taking too long, contemplating and considering, and the moment passed by none the wiser to my vigorous indecision. I brought my knees to my chest, holding the heavy fabric in place as I slipped both arms under my kneecaps.
Looking over at Emily, I asked, “Don’t you have Algebra this period?” I didn’t want her mixed up in whatever this was, and a truancy could jeopardize Emily’s ability to participate in the next game or competition. Besides, it didn’t matter; I was embarrassed long before Emily showed up.
Staring straight ahead, Emily mimicked my posture involuntarily, then
rearranged, resting the smooth of her forearms above her silky brown knees. She made a disgruntled noise.
“I don’t get it . . . I don’t get how someone who doesn’t even know you—has never even talked to you, thinks he can go around being a complete—”
I winced at Emily’s profanity, which went on for some time.
“I don’t know what I did wrong. I’ve never made someone that angry.” I admitted this without thinking, surprising myself with an unrestrained thought. My natural instincts to minimize the intensity of an uncomfortable situation had been dulled. I was being careless.
“You didn’t do anything, Foster.” Fiercely, she checked my face to make sure I believed this. “Nothing,” she added with a definite shake of the head. “Some people just suck.”
I nodded. The frank judgment made the most sense. Without no apparent cause or reason on Dominic’s part, it did seem as though this was true. The only problem was, it didn’t feel correct. Mean people—those finding pleasure in inflicting others with pain—enjoy each and every facet of the torturing process. They take their time, watching the face of their victim closely, savoring every wince, exhilarated by their own performance; in the giddy shredding of the fragile ego, the perpetrator is marked in both the voice and eyes. They aren’t frazzled, but utterly relaxed. A serenity manifests; they are no more exerted than if they were reading a poem. Thinking of Dominic now, how he shook as he spoke to me, I knew he hadn’t enjoyed hurting me. In fact, he could hardly stand to look at me at all.
“What happened exactly?” Emily asked, stumbling into my reverie.
“I—I’m not sure,” I said honestly. I looked down at my hands, not realizing I had folded my pink pass in a series of triangles. It was the same size as a piece of confetti—only much thicker.
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