Miss Skinner stands at the front of the room and begins to explain the forming of ionic compounds. I try to listen, try to understand, but when it all starts sounding like gibberish, my brain shuts off without asking for permission.
When the bell rings, I clear up my things and rush out the door, only to bump into the person I’m trying to avoid. My books tumble to the ground, and as I bend down to pick them up, Kingsley does the same. I’m sure I catch him smile, and that’s when I know he did it on purpose.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a low, smooth tone. I can hear the amusement in his voice and it only grates at my irritation more.
I refrain from snapping at him in front of all these people. As I look around, everyone is staring at me, including his girlfriend, who doesn’t seem to be impressed.
I yank my books from him, and one of his hands immediately grips my arm and the other my waist as he helps me back to my feet. My cheeks warm, and my heart trips over itself. I make a point of averting my eyes from his as I turn and leave the classroom.
The day drags on, as usual. When the final bell rings, I go straight back to Mr. Barner’s classroom and have to wait outside for his students to leave.
“Didn’t skip any more classes today, did you?”
I make my way through his lingering students. “Only the one.” I grin.
“What about your chemistry test? Did you get your grade back?” As fast as my smile appears, it fades. I gulp, and look over my shoulder. Thankfully, the last students have left the room.
How did he know? It was like he could read my mind—although, I bet the teachers had nothing better to do than gossip about their students in the staffroom, and by the look on his face, my guess is that’s exactly what happened.
I sit down at a desk in front of him, feeling the shame wash over me. “I tried,” I mutter.
He holds out his hand, and I begrudgingly open my bag, pull out my assignment and hand it to him.
His glasses slip down to the end of his nose as he looks down at my assignment, and the time it takes for him to read it is torture. I’d never had anyone care about my marks before. Even though I hate it, I can’t deny the feeling it gives me when he looks up, grumbling in irritation.
He hands my paper back, rests his hands atop one another, heaves a sigh and says, “At least it’s better than a D.”
I lean back into my seat, letting my head to fall back, and laugh. When I prop myself back up, he’s also laughing. But a second later, he clears his throat, removing the playfulness in the air. “Maddy,” he says seriously. “You don’t have any chance of getting into Julliard if those grades of yours—”
I cut him off. “I know, I know.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“I know, sir, okay?”
And I did know. I need a tutor, but there is no way I can afford one. I just have to get my shit together and somehow concentrate in class.
He picks up the paper he was reading and mumbles, “Okay. Get your cello and start practicing.”
Doing what I have done for years, I go through the motions of effortlessly setting up my cello, preparing myself, and then, I let loose.
My fingers glide up and down the strings as I push the bow from side to side, creating one of my favorite melodies. Low, rich, and mellow. I sway with the sound as it fills my ears and my heart.
I open my eyes, and as soon as I come back to reality, I wish I hadn’t.
“What are you doing here?”
Kingsley is sitting against the wall, his legs out in front of him and his arms across that buff chest of his, watching me intently.
One side of his mouth pulls up first, revealing a dimple, and then the other, and I do my best not to show the effect it has on me. “Listening.”
What the hell? Sure enough, Mr. Barner is nowhere to be seen. “You can’t be in here,” I snap. “I already told you that.”
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t see why I can’t. Why are you allowed in here?”
I stammer to think up an excuse, and I hate it. “B-because.” Speaking on the spot usually comes naturally to me. Over the years, I’ve mastered the art, but now, I can’t even get a fucking word out.
He snickers. “Not a good answer.” His eyes are still burning into mine, and I’m afraid to look away.
“Neither was yours,” I mutter. I can feel my confidence creeping back. I want it to get a move on because I need it. Now.
He leans forward from the wall, and purses his lips, evidently studying me. Is this what being self-conscious feels like? Shit. No wonder most of the girls in school are depressed.
I’m sure I’m sweating. His dark green eyes brighten, and he says, “I was listening to the most beautiful music I had ever heard.”
Gag-gag-gag. Okay, I may be suffering from the Kingsley aftermath, but I’m not a fucking moron. I scoff. “You may make most of the girls in this school swoon, but I ain’t an idiot.”
He pushes himself up from the ground, darting over to me so quickly I don’t have time to fend him off or scurry out of my seat. He stills a few feet in front of me, crossing his arms over his chest again. His expression is hard, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I didn’t think you were.”
I groan. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“I’m trying to practice. Can’t you let me be?”
“You didn’t even notice I was here.”
“How long have you been there?”
He smiles. “The same as last night.”
I don’t know how long that was either. I shrug my shoulders, looking at him expectantly.
He chuckles then looks down at his watch and says. “About forty-five minutes.”
I gasp. What the hell? Sometimes, I wish I didn’t get so carried away. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be? Like lacrosse practice.” I point to his uniform, but then my gaze drifts over his arms—yes, his arms. Look away, Maddy, look away! Begrudgingly, my eyes travel across his collarbone, up his neck, and over his face. A light sheen clings to him. He’s already had practice. When my eyes meet his, I can see the smugness in them. I want to put my finger in my mouth and gag, but I think if I did that I would destroy his ego for all of eternity, so I decide to be the better person for once.
I glance at the clock. It’s the same time as last night. 9.30 P.M.
“I don’t have anywhere to be,” he says, bringing my attention back to his.
Oh, God. I stand up, grab my cello by the neck and haul it across the room, locking it in its cupboard. As I turn on my heel, I nearly faceplant into his chest. I didn’t even hear him creep up behind me.
“Shit.”
He takes a step back, and says, “Why do you always stop on my account?”
I scowl at him. “I don’t like an audience.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Well, you better get used to it.”
I frown as I look up to his pompous, perfect face. “What?”
His gaze darts to the desk. Sitting atop it are my audition papers. I can’t deny the fault of my heart as I see it’s addressed to me.
“That’s not mine,” I say quickly. If my voice doesn’t give it away, then I’m sure my expression would have.
“Yes, it is,” he says. I can’t look at him. I can’t move at all. I’m like ice stuck in the moment, but slowly melting by the presence of the sun. Fucking global warming.
“How do you know?” There’s no way he knows my name.
“There’s no one else in this school who plays anything as well as you play that cello.” He nods towards the cupboard.
The ice has fully evaporated, and reality has checked in. “And you’ve listened to all the musicians have you?”
He isn’t smug now. There isn’t even humor in his eyes. He is dead serious. “Music is a passion of mine, so yes, I’ve overheard a few, but none of them are as good as you, Maddison.”
Fuck. I become light-headed, and have to catch the back of the chair to steady myself. Is his stupid, egotistical nonsense
getting to me? Am I really turning into one of the dumb girls who falls in his wake?
Get yourself together, Maddy. You don’t associate with the narcissistic snobs, especially the King of the school.
I can’t be in his presence any longer. I push past him, and open the door. I wait for him to take his sweet old time to stride across the room, refraining myself from yelling at him. I impose silence between us, which is harder than I thought it would be. As soon as he leaves, I switch off the lights, and lock the door. I turn on my heel, hoping the silence means he has left, but he’s still there, leaning against the wall. I pivot in the opposite direction, and start walking.
“How long have you played?” He’s at my side in an instant. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and his sports bag hangs off his shoulder. Out the corner of my eye, I can see him watching me. With his long legs, he easily takes one stride for my two. When I don’t respond, he continues. “Let me guess, since you were a kid or something.”
I laugh. “I wish.” Crap, there goes the silent treatment. He looks confused, and I sigh, “I started playing in eighth grade.”
“You’ve only been playing for four years?”
I glare at him. “How do you know what grade I’m in?”
“You’re in a lot of my classes. I accidentally bumped into you today.”
I remember that encounter all too well. That was no accident. I eye him warily. “You’ve never recognized me before.”
He chuckles again. “Of course I have. You’re kind of hard to miss.”
I stop in my tracks, and he spins around to face me, a wry smile spreading across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looks me up and down, and I immediately feel self-conscious. Yup, some sort of sickness is about to come on.
“I’ve never met a classical player who dresses like a rocker.”
“So my style is what I’m known for?”
“Not really. Everyone knows the things you do.”
Of course. Cynth stands outside our school and sells the goods we steal from the rich kids’ parties for a higher price than what she could ever get at her school, and because Kingsley is at every party and knows everyone, there’s no way he wouldn’t recognize the wares. Cynth says I’ve got a good market, and I should try get in someone’s pants, fuck them, take their money, and run. Because she has such good advice, I told her she could shove that idea up her ass.
“However, you’ve gone off the radar lately. What happened?”
I turn around and start walking again, but he easily keeps up. I groan. What was this guy’s problem? I’m not interesting in the slightest; in fact, once he really knows about me, I’m sure he’ll be running out of this corridor faster than he can run across the lacrosse field.
“Let me guess, you got an audition to Juilliard, and you decided to clean up your act. How sensible of you.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“I know, but I want to.”
I stop abruptly, and he turns to face me. “Okay, Kingsley, I—”
He cuts me off. “So, you know who I am?”
I scoff. “Of course, I know who you are. The whole universe probably knows who you are.”
He smiles that goddamn smile. “Well, I think that’s a bit of a stretch, but—”
“Okay, I don’t know you, you don’t know me. Let’s just leave it at that and part ways. From now on, I’m locking the door.”
I push past him again and hurry down the hallway. The cleaners smile at me, and I have to force a fake one in return.
A few moments later, he’s jogging at my side. “Seriously?”
“But that’s not nice. I’ll have to sit out in the hallway and listen.”
When we get to the end of the hallway, I open the door, and a waft of cool air clears my head.
As soon as we reach the bottom of the stairs, he starts walking towards the school parking lot, and I turn left, following the footpath. Yes! I can finally get rid of this guy.
“Where are you going?” he calls from behind. I don’t answer, and I quicken my step, but again, he easily catches up. “Do you need a ride?”
“No,” I spit out.
He flicks his gaze around the street. “You can’t walk home.”
“Why not?”
“At this hour?” he says, startled.
“Nothing wrong with a night stroll,” I say, not meeting his eyes.
“Come on, I insist. I’ll take you home.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“You can’t expect me to just let you go. There are psychos out there, especially at this time of night.”
I wonder when my attitude is going to affect him. Surely he should have gotten the message by now. “Thanks for the concern,” I roll my eyes, “but I’ve done it plenty of times, and you don’t need to be the knight in shining armor.”
He stammers, “B-but—”
There is no way in hell he is dropping me off in the ghetto in his rich boy car. No freaking way.
I stop breathing in the cool air, and as I exhale, I grit my teeth and say, “I said, I’m fine.”
When he doesn’t respond, I turn back around and hurry down the street.
Kingsley
Is she fucking crazy? Crazier than I had heard? There are rapists and murderers, and everything else out there, and she’s walking home. Someone could easily jump her. Why would her parents even let her do that? Perhaps they’re like mine and don’t know where she is half the time.
When she disappears, the pounding of my heart doesn’t subside, and I know I shouldn’t have let her go. Why didn’t I stop her? Dick.
I jog back to my car, jump in and speed in the direction she headed. I have no idea where she lives. For all I know, I’m worrying about nothing. She could live on this street, and I’m paranoid for no reason. But something is telling me that isn’t the case. She probably lives on the other side of town.
I’ve never met her in my life, but strangely, I feel connected to her. When she plays, she does something to me. She takes me to a place where I feel comfortable and content. She whisks me away to somewhere I need to go.
I drive for at least twenty minutes before I finally give in. If anything happens to her, God, I wouldn’t forgive myself.
No girl I know would be brave enough to do that. No girl I know would turn down a ride with me either.
Suddenly I get such a fright, I nearly put my foot through the floor when a call comes in.
Rebecca.
I groan and hit decline.
The night is pitch black, and the dim street lamps aren’t helping. There is no way I’m going to find her, so I turn down the next street and make my way home, forcing her out of my mind. Forcing that strange pit in my stomach away. I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much anyway.
I pull up to my house and park right in front of the door just to piss my dad off.
I walk into the foyer, drop my bag on the floor and make my way into the kitchen. My mom is sitting at the dining table with a few of her friends, wine in hand.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hey.”
I open the refrigerator, grab a drink and am about to head out, when she calls after me.
“How was your day? You have lacrosse?”
I turn around, all three of her friends are staring at me. “Yes.” I have lacrosse practice every Wednesday and Thursday and play on Saturdays. You’d think she’d know. I’ve been on the team for two years now.
“He’s got to get those girls somehow, Lilly,” one of her friends says, and I grimace.
She laughs. “Oh, stop it, Marg. Have you met Richard and Amanda Stark’s daughter? That’s who he’s dating.”
Not anymore. They all sit up straighter and make petty little remarks. Rebecca is definitely from the richest family in town.
“I’m right here, Mom.”
“Oh, I know. Come here. Come give your mom a kiss before you disappear.”
I walk over and kiss her on t
he cheek. Even though most of the time she is as oblivious to my presence as my dad is, I can see the brightness in her eyes when she wraps her arms around me.
“I love you, Hamish.”
“I love you, too.”
I turn, crack open my Gatorade and make my way towards the door when she speaks again. “Your father wants to see you.”
I choke on the drink I just took a swig of. “Great.”
Kingsley
There was a time I would have done anything for this—to talk to my dad. For my dad to talk to me. When I was younger, that’s all I wanted, but after my sister died, he’d stopped communicating with me altogether. He barely even looked at me. Now, I couldn’t think of anything worse.
I push open the door to his study without even knocking. He looks up, his hard expression unwavering. He takes a swig of his whiskey, places it back down, and continues writing as I make my way towards him. I hate being in his presence. I hate it with every particle of the body that he created. I hate him.
“I heard what happened,” he says, still writing on some paper. I sit in the chair across from him and clench my fists. He only started talking to me a year ago, after he found I was dating one of his biggest client’s daughters. It wasn’t the normal fatherly talk. It was rules, orders. My relationship with Rebecca quickly turned into a business deal, and he ruined it. I’m sure if he hadn’t gotten involved, we would still be okay.
I keep my gaze on his face, even though he doesn’t bother looking up. “And?” I say through clenched teeth.
A few moments pass before he finally places his pen down and looks at me. “Fix it, or you’re out.”
I tsk and stand up. I’m not taking this from him anymore. “Whatever.” I pace out of his office.
Maddison
I open the text message from Cynth. One of your pretty boys is having a party this Friday, you in?
I have no idea how she finds out about these parties before I do, but I need to make some more money soon, and a richy is just what I need.
Me: I’m in.
Kingsley
Stolen Songs Page 3