by Piper Banks
I decided not to point out the obvious—that Charlie’s own hair hadn’t been a natural shade since she bought her first box of hair coloring at the age of eleven—deciding that this observation would just irritate her further. So instead I shrugged and said, “I thought she was cute.”
“I don’t. Her nose is too thin,” Charlie said. “And her nostrils are too large.”
“Really? I didn’t notice that,” I said.
“How could you not notice? They’re freakishly large. I’ve seen horses with smaller nostrils,” Charlie said. She kicked another stone out of her way. “They’re so big, you could park a car in there.”
“Hmm,” I said noncommittally. I didn’t think that Phoebe had abnormally large nostrils. She was actually quite pretty. But I had a feeling Charlie wouldn’t want to hear that just now.
“Do you need a ride home?” Charlie asked. Unlike me, Charlie already had her driver’s license and an ancient Jeep, which she’d inherited from one of her older sisters.
“I biked over,” I said, gesturing toward my silver ten-speed, which I’d chained to the bike stand outside the bowling alley.
“That’s okay. We can throw your bike in the back of the Jeep.”
On the drive back to the beach house, Charlie was silent. I didn’t mind. I was turning the Amelia problem over in my head. I wondered if Charlie was right—maybe I did have a moral obligation to help Amelia. I had no intention of turning her into my minion, of course . . . but maybe, just maybe, I could teach her that it was possible to have an extraordinary talent and still live an ordinary life. Amelia could have friends, and be silly, and have interests outside of her music.
Yes, I decided, I should help her. Besides, I’d already accepted the job. I couldn’t quit after one day. I’d go back tomorrow, and I’d figure out a way to get Amelia to open up to me.
The only question was, how exactly was I supposed to go about doing that?
Dex called me on my cell phone that night after dinner. I was in my room, stretched out on my bed, rereading How to Get Noticed and wondering if I should expand on the story, maybe even turn it into a short novel. I’d never taken on such a big project before, but the idea was exciting.
“Hey, you,” Dex said. His voice was soft and warm in my ear, and I felt the familiar zing shoot through me. “How was your day?”
“Let me put it this way—it was so bad, I found myself hoping Amelia would ask me to play ‘pirates’ with her,” I said.
Dex laughed. “It was worse than being tied to a tree?” “Almost. Do you know anything about classical music?”
“Mozart. Beethoven. Bach.”
“Can you teach me about them?” I asked eagerly.
“No. All I know is their names.”
“Oh,” I said, deflating. “That’s not going to help much. I was hoping to bond with Amelia over music.”
“I can teach you how to pull a quarter out of her ear,” Dex suggested.
“Thanks, but I don’t think she’s the kind of kid who will be impressed by magic tricks. Any other ideas?”
Dex thought for a few moments. “I make excellent paper airplanes. Would she like that?”
“Doubtful.”
“Other than surfing and playing lacrosse, that pretty much exhausts my list of talents,” Dex said.
“Thanks anyway. I’ll figure something out. How was your first day of work?”
“Excellent. No one drowned, which is always a big plus when you’re a lifeguard.”
“Did you get to save anyone?”
“No. I did break up a cutthroat game of Marco Polo,” Dex said.
“How can Marco Polo be cutthroat?”
“Let’s just say it involved DP-ing,” Dex said ominously.
“What’s that?”
“It stands for Down Pants-ing.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. That doesn’t sound good.”
“Let’s just say that I saw more of Jacob Maddigan and Robby Rios than I ever wanted to see.”
I laughed. Right now, talking to Dex, was the happiest I’d felt all day.
“Are we still on for tomorrow night?” Dex asked.
“Absolutely,” I said.
Chapter Five
“Hi, Miranda,” Mrs. Fisher said as she opened the front door to me on my second day of work. “How are you this morning?”
“Hi, Mrs. Fisher. I’m fine, thanks,” I said. I shouldered my knapsack. Along with my writing notebook, it contained everything I could think of to bring that would interest a ten-year-old girl: art supplies, including construction paper, craft felt, glue, glitter and feathers, board games, and a selection of makeup pinched from Hannah’s bathroom drawer. She’d left for her trip to New York the day before, and so wouldn’t notice the missing candy-hued lip glosses and sparkly eye shadows.
“Amelia’s practicing,” Mrs. Fisher said, stepping aside to let me in.
I’d already figured this out, as I could hear the repetitive rise and fall of piano scales coming from the living room.
“She said that you two got along well yesterday,” Mrs. Fisher said, striding away down the hall.
“She did?” I asked, trailing behind her.
If Mrs. Fisher heard the surprise in my voice, she didn’t comment on it. She seemed to be in a hurry this morning, simultaneously sorting through the mail, drinking coffee, and fastening a chunky beaded bracelet onto her wrist.
“I’m sorry to rush off on you, but I have a client meeting I have to get to. I didn’t get a chance to make you girls lunch, but there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. You can reheat that in the microwave,” Mrs. Fisher said, gathering up her belongings.
“Sure, no problem,” I said in a tone that I hoped inspired confidence.
“Bye, Miranda. Have a good day.”
“Bye,” I said.
“Good-bye, Amelia,” Mrs. Fisher called out, raising her voice to be heard over the droning scales.
Amelia didn’t answer her, but Mrs. Fisher didn’t seem to notice. Her cell phone rang, and she clicked it on and lifted it to her ear.
“Hello,” she said, leaving the house in a cloud of perfume, click-clacking heels, and animated conversation directed into the small, silver phone. When the door closed behind her, cutting her off midlaugh, the house suddenly seemed very still and quiet, save for the sound of Amelia’s piano.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself. I turned and headed toward the living room.
The Fishers’ living room was large, but still cozy and full of comfortable furniture—chairs, two couches, tables, bookshelves, and, of course, Amelia’s large piano.
Amelia sat at the piano, her back perfectly straight, and her small hands gliding easily over the keys. Her long dark hair was fastened back in a ponytail.
“Hi, Amelia,” I said as I walked up behind her.
She ignored me. I had expected this, and had already planned my line of attack. I was going to annoy Amelia into talking to me. Finn had inspired the idea by example.
I leaned on her piano and watched her play. I could tell from the slight stiffening in her back and the tight line of her lips that my presence was already having an effect.
“What are you playing?” I asked. “Are those scales?”
Amelia didn’t answer, but she immediately stopped playing the scales and instead began to play something quick and jaunty. I thought it sounded vaguely familiar.
“Wasn’t that on a commercial or something?” I hummed it.
“I’m pretty sure it was, although I can’t remember what for. Was it for an airline? Or maybe it was a cat food commercial?”
Amelia immediately stopped playing and glared up at me.
“It’s a sonata written by Joseph Haydn, if you must know,” she said, her voice round with contempt.
I kept my expression pleasantly neutral. “Was he a famous composer?”
Amelia’s lip curled. “You don’t know who Haydn was?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope.�
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“Haydn was an illustrious eighteenth-century Austrian composer. He was a contemporary of Mozart and he taught Beethoven.” Amelia tossed her hair and sneered at me. “I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him. I thought you were supposed to be a genius.”
What sort of a ten-year-old used the word illustrious? I wondered. And why did people keep saying I thought you were supposed to be a genius to me? First Dex, now Amelia. But I couldn’t lose my temper now.
“Just in math. I don’t know anything about music. Maybe you could teach me,” I suggested cheerfully.
Amelia folded her arms across her chest and looked at me as though I were a cockroach skittering across the floor. “And why would I want to that?” she asked.
I felt my patience slipping away. “Look,” I said. “Your mom hired me to hang out with you, and I fully intend to do my job. So I’ll make you a deal—once a day, you do some sort of extracurricular activity with me. It doesn’t have to be anything big. We could just go for a walk, or go bike riding, or just sit and color. If you do that, I’ll let you practice in peace.”
“And if I don’t?” Amelia asked.
“I’ll bug you,” I said promptly. “Every time you sit down to practice, I’ll stand right here and do everything in my power to annoy you.”
“You can’t do that!” Amelia said, outraged.
I shrugged. “Sure I can. So there’s really no point in fighting me. Do you like arts and crafts? I brought glitter glue with me. And I brought Monopoly, too, if you’d rather play a game.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. She turned abruptly away, lifted her hands, and began to play again.
“Ignoring me isn’t going to work,” I cautioned her.
Amelia continued to play. I sighed. She wasn’t giving me any choice. I cleared my throat and began to sing.
“Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?” I sang enthusiastically, but off-key. I never could carry a tune. “Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.”
Amelia thumped her hands down on the piano keys in a crash of frustration. “Stop that!” she cried. “I can’t concentrate!”
“One for my master, one for my dame, and one for the little boy who lives down the lane,” I continued.
“What do I have to do to make you stop?” Amelia asked.
I stopped singing. “Play Monopoly with me,” I said.
“Just one game?”
“One game,” I agreed.
“And if I do, then you’ll let me practice?”
“Yes,” I said, adding, “At least for today.”
“Fine,” Amelia said, spitting the word out. “I’ll play one stupid game of stupid Monopoly with you.”
“Good,” I said sweetly. “I’ll set the board up on the kitchen table.”
Thirty minutes later, I owned most of the real estate on the board, and had built at least one hotel on each property. Amelia was playing, but without any enthusiasm or effort. She rolled the dice and paid whatever fines she accrued, but didn’t buy a single property. It was pretty obvious that her goal was to go bankrupt as quickly as possible in order to end the game.
“Passive-aggressive Monopoly,” I said as she handed over the rent on the luxury property I’d built on Park Place. “This is fun. Is it my turn?”
Amelia didn’t reply. She’d stayed mute throughout the game, keeping her lips pressed together in a tight, white line.
I rolled the die. “One, two, three . . . oh, look, I landed on Community Chest.”
The game was over in a record forty-two minutes. Amelia paid over the last of her rent money to me, and then, still not saying a word, she stood, turned, and marched back to the living room. A moment later, the sound of piano music drifted back into the kitchen.
As I stared down at my Monopoly empire, I couldn’t help thinking the whole exercise had been pointless. True, I had gotten Amelia away from her piano for a while. But it hadn’t been the bonding experience I’d hoped for. In fact, if anything, I’d just alienated her even further. With a frustrated sigh, I swept the pieces of the Monopoly game back in the box.
After that, the rest of the day passed much as the day before had. Amelia spent all morning and afternoon practicing, breaking only for lunch, which she ate in silence. We ate lunch together, but Amelia refused to speak to me.
No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on my writing, my thoughts kept drifting away like puffy clouds in a blue summer sky. I wondered what would happen between Dex and me if I decided to move to London to live with Sadie. Would we stay together, or break up? We hadn’t been dating all that long, and I’d heard long-distance relationships were hard to sustain even between people who’d been together for a while. Then I thought of Charlie, and how she’d lost herself when she was dating Mitch, and that I didn’t ever want to be that sort of person—the kind who puts her boyfriend ahead of everything else in her life.
I shook my head, trying to dislodge all thoughts of this dilemma. I had to make a decision soon, but I didn’t have to figure it out today. I redoubled my efforts with my story, but no matter how hard I tried to concentrate, I found myself instead listening to Amelia’s music. The song she was playing was absolutely beautiful, slow and soothing. I wondered what it was. Another Haydn piece? I tried to figure out if it sounded like what she’d been playing earlier, but quickly gave up—I just didn’t know enough about music to distinguish one classical piece from another.
I stood, abandoning my writing, and walked back to the living room, irresistibly drawn to the music. I didn’t think Amelia had noticed my arrival. I stood behind a wing chair and out of her line of sight, and listened to her play. The song grew in intensity, unfolding as she coaxed the melody out of the keys. I’d always thought that classical music was boring. But this certainly wasn’t. As I listened, the fine hairs on my arms stood on end. Amelia finished the piece and sat so still for a moment that I wondered if she’d fallen under her own spell.
I clapped. “That was amazing,” I said.
Amelia started, and turned around. Her expression was wary, suspicious that I was here to coerce her into participating in another nonmusical activity.
“What’s the name of it?” I asked.
“It’s Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,” Amelia said. “It’s a really famous piece.”
“I can see why. Look at my arm.” I held it up. “I have goose bumps. But I think that might have more to do with your playing than anything else.”
I wasn’t humoring her. Amelia was an extraordinarily gifted musician. She played with such grace and feeling, the music soared inside me in a way I’d never experienced before, and especially not with classical music.
Amelia bowed her head. “Thanks,” she said, almost begrudgingly.
“Play me something else,” I suggested.
Amelia looked up. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want to hear?”
“You pick. Anything,” I said. I sat down on the white wing chair and folded my hands on my lap.
Amelia considered my request, and for a moment, I thought she was going to refuse. But then she shrugged one shoulder, lifted her fingers to the keyboard, and began to play. This piece was quite different from the last. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, teasing the song out, while I leaned back in my chair and let the music wash over me.
Chapter Six
“I’m impressed. I had no idea you were so devious, Miranda,” Dex said that evening.
We were sitting in the theater while we waited for our movie to start, sharing a large popcorn with extra butter. One of the many things I liked about Dex was that his appetite was as large as mine. I could never be one of those girls who claim to get full grazing on lettuce leaves and carrot sticks.
“What do you mean?” I asked, reaching for a handful of popcorn.
“You totally played Amelia,” Dex said.
“No, I didn’t,” I said.
“Sure you did,” Dex said. “She wasn’t tal
king to you before, right? But then you complimented her, schmoozed her up, and ta-da —now you’re best buddies.”
“Ta-da? There was no ta- da,” I said. “First of all, we’re not best buddies. We’ve only just gotten to the point where she’ll stay in the same room with me. And second, I wasn’t trying to manipulate her into liking me.”
“Deny it all you want,” Dex said. “But it’s hard to argue with results. Didn’t you say she agreed to go to that pottery painting place with you tomorrow?” He smiled at me in a way that made my stomach flutter. “That’s definite progress.”
Amelia had agreed to go to the pottery studio with me, which I considered a minor victory. I hadn’t expected her to go along with the idea when I proposed it, but she surprised me.
“Sure,” Amelia had said, shrugging. “It’s better than stupid Monopoly.”
I now reached for another handful of popcorn, tossing the buttery kernels into my mouth one at a time. “I was going to suggest we go to the pool, but Amelia can’t swim.”
“Really?” Dex frowned. “That’s not very safe, especially when you live in a town surrounded by water.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “You’re a lifeguard. Do you ever give swimming lessons?”
“I could. Does she want to learn how to swim?” Dex asked.
I shrugged. “Probably not, but I’ll ask her. Although considering how contrary Amelia is, I’d probably have better luck if I use reverse psychology. I’ll tell her that under no circumstances is she ever allowed near a pool. She’ll be swimming laps within a week just to prove me wrong.”
“See? You are devious,” Dex said.
“Dex?”
Dex and I both looked up at the sound of his name. The girl standing there in the aisle, beaming down at my boyfriend, was gorgeous. She was tall and slender, with thick golden blond hair that fell in waves down around her shoulders. She had large brown eyes, a perfectly straight nose, and full lips that were curled up in a devastating smile. She was probably the prettiest girl I’d ever seen outside of movies and magazines. She was even prettier than Hannah.