by Kieran Scott
Hephaestus grinned as I ran back behind the counter, knowing I was barely going to be able to contain myself for the rest of my shift—for the rest of the night. I finally had a plan, a real plan, forming in the back of my mind, and I couldn’t wait to carry it out.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Katrina
If you could see
If you could hear
What I really am
Would you smile
Would you stare
Would you still be here?
“What’re you writing?”
I slapped my notebook closed as Zadie came up behind me. It was Thursday afternoon and I was killing time at the school library again, hanging out for half an hour until it was time for me to make the walk into town for my shift.
“Nothing. Just . . . a poem,” I said, staring down at my hands atop the notebook cover.
“Oh, yeah? Are you gonna submit it to The Muse?” she asked, sitting down next to me.
I blushed and shoved the notebook into my bag. “Uh, no.”
I let Mrs. Pauley post my stuff on the poetry board at the library, but that was only because no one I knew ever went to the library. Or if they did it was for a specific reason, and they weren’t pausing to read poetry on their way in or out. Plus, she only put the poet’s first name and age on the pieces. Otherwise, there’s no way I would have let her talk me into it. I wasn’t about to let the staff of the school’s literary magazine read my work.
“Why not? If it’s good—”
“It’s not. Trust me,” I said. I tapped my pen against the tabletop and glanced at the door. True was headed straight for us.
“Can we talk about something else?” I whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Sure, but if you ever want me to read anything, I totally will,” Zadie said, popping open her laptop. “I’m on the staff, so I can even submit it for you anonymously if you want.”
That was intriguing. “Anonymously?”
“What’re you doing anonymously?” True asked, arriving at my side.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Nothing,” Zadie backed me up, typing in her password.
True was clearly frustrated at not getting an answer, and I hoped she wouldn’t pry. She stood there for a second, knocking her fist against her hip, and I noticed her dress for the first time. It was a long gray prairie-style dress with a lace-up bodice and gathered waist, which she wore over stylish riding boots. Her hair was pulled back on the sides, and the arrow she always wore around her neck glinted in the sun. Her style had definitely changed since last week.
“Okay, forget it,” she said finally. “Do you have two minutes?”
“For what?” I asked.
“Come with me,” she said, backing up a step. Her expression was desperate, but somehow excited at the same time, which made me both interested and wary. “Please?”
“Where?” I asked.
“It’s a surprise. Come on. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
I let out a sigh. “Okay . . .”
True bounced on her toes while I gathered my stuff. Then she actually grabbed my hand and led me toward the door. By the time we turned the corner into the arts wing, I was starting to wonder if she was taking me to see my friends. My former friends. They sometimes hung out in the bathroom for a bit after school too. But I hadn’t spoken to any of them since Raine had told me off on Monday. To be honest, I’d barely even thought about them. I’d been too busy with Ty, the library, my schoolwork, hanging out with Zadie at lunch, and daydreaming about Charlie.
My steps slowed as we approached the bathroom door, but True kept moving, rounding the corner toward the band room.
That was when I heard the music. Well, not music, exactly. Just drumming. A complicated, insistent beat coming from inside. True pushed the door open very slowly. The thumping rhythm filled the deserted hallway, and now I could hear there was piano, too, though it was mostly drowned out by the drums.
I peeked through the crack in the doorway and my heart caught. Charlie. He was perfectly framed in the opening, pounding away on the drum set in the corner, his head nodding with the beat. He had his eyes closed, and every so often the nod would turn into a wag or a shake as he really felt the music. My mouth was completely dry.
Charlie was a musician. A real musician. Seeing him like this . . . it felt like a privilege. It was beautiful, plain and simple. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Although, not technically. His varsity jacket had been tossed over a nearby chair, and unless it had been canceled for some reason, I was pretty sure he was actually supposed to be at cross-country practice right then. Clearly, though, that either hadn’t crossed his mind, or it didn’t bother him to be missing it.
I glanced sideways toward the piano. Mr. Roon sat at the keys, playing what I thought was a jazz tune and looking over at Charlie appreciatively. The word “jamming” came to mind. The two of them were jamming.
“Should we be here?” I asked True, breathless.
She closed the door and looked up at me. “I wanted you to see that.”
My heart was pounding so hard, it was like it was trying to get my attention. “Why?”
True smiled, her gaze on my fingers. I hadn’t even noticed my hand pressing into my chest.
“Because,” she said. “It’s what’s true.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Charlie
It wasn’t until I grabbed my varsity jacket off the chair that I looked at the clock. Sonofabitch. How had that happened? Cross-country practice would be winding up in five minutes.
I weighed my options. Run up to the field and plead my case, or sprint out front, grab my bike, and make a break for it. Deal with it tomorrow.
“Everything okay, Charlie?” Mr. Roon asked, organizing his sheet music over at the piano.
“Yeah. Fine. Thanks, Mr. Roon. That was fun.”
“Anytime,” he replied.
Out in the hallway, a locker door slammed. Shouting voices echoed down the hall. Guys’ voices. Possibly my teammates’ voices. My stomach turned. Tomorrow sounded like a good idea.
Shoving my arms into the sleeves of my jacket, I ducked into the hall, then out the side door and around the building. A couple of guys in varsity jackets hung out in the parking lot, but I didn’t know them. Soccer players or football players. Who knew? But the sight of them made me feel like a bad jock.
It wasn’t my fault, though. Fred’s friend Scotty had been out sick today, which meant Roon had given me a shot at the kettledrums during orchestra. When class was over, even Fred had been forced to give me an impressed look—grudgingly, but still. And I was on such a high that when Roon had asked me to work on a piece with him after class, I’d automatically said yes. But I couldn’t believe we’d been playing that long. Time flies . . .
I turned the corner and ran for the bike rack. As soon as my lock clicked open, True appeared as if from nowhere.
“Charlie! You have to help me,” she said.
I tripped backward in surprise, slamming my shin against a pedal. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I’m late to meet Heath at the library to work on our project. Can you give me a ride?”
“I don’t have a car,” I said, confused.
“But you do have wheels,” she replied, yanking my bike from its slot.
I raised my eyebrows. “I guess you could ride on the handlebars. But I’ve never tried it. You could end up maimed. Or dead.”
True grinned. “I’ll take my chances.”
We both climbed on, and I very carefully made my way down to the sidewalk. It was wobbly at first, but eventually I figured out that if I stood up on the pedals I could see better and keep my balance even. By the time we got to the library, we were both laughing. True hopped down.
“You coming in?” she asked.
“Why?” I said. I’d already turned my nose toward the street.
“There’s something I want to show you,” s
he replied.
I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, but I only have a minute. I have to get home, eat, do homework, and be back here to meet Katrina again tonight.”
“Or you could just meet her now,” True said, starting up the stairs.
My heart thumped. “Is she working?”
True nodded. “Just come on.”
I quickly locked up my bike and we went inside. I had the trembly, nervous, blood-rushing feeling I always did when I knew I was about to see Katrina. It was a feeling I never got when I was about to see Darla, but I tried not to dwell on that. Darla was cool. She liked me, even if she maybe did want me to dress more like Josh. We had fun together. And she also didn’t have a boyfriend.
I was about to breeze through the lobby and over to the counter, but True stopped in front of a bulletin board.
“Damn. It’s not here,” she whispered.
“What’s not here?” I asked.
Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, this is even better.”
“Okay, what is going on?” I asked.
True grabbed me by the shoulders and positioned me in front of the board. Student poetry. Right in the center was a long, listlike piece.
“Read that,” she directed.
I sighed. “Are we here to see Katrina, or—”
She grinned. Half laughed. “Just read that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
This was what I read:
I am not me.
Not without him.
He made me.
He saw me.
And still
He loved me.
More than anyone has.
More than anyone will.
It’s pathetic.
It’s sad.
It’s the oldest cliché.
But it is
who I am
Now.
Without him.
—Katrina, 16
I stopped breathing. Then I read it again. By the time I’d gone through it a third time, my eyes stung.
“She wrote that?” I whispered.
“She did,” True replied.
I turned to her. “This is what you wanted to show me?”
“Yep,” she replied, folding her hands in front of her.
“Why?”
“Because,” she replied. “It’s what’s true.”
I turned and looked back at the board. I read the poem one more time. Suddenly I had to find Katrina. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and say nothing. I wanted her to not feel like this.
“Hey, guys.”
True and I both turned at the sound of Katrina’s voice. She was smiling, but when she saw my face, her eyes darted to the board and she realized. Then she turned gray and was gone.
“Katrina, wait!”
I caught up with her by the bathrooms. She’d stopped before going into the ladies’ room, and she leaned back against the wall next to the water fountain. I glanced behind me, expecting to see True, but she hadn’t followed.
“Are you okay?” I asked Katrina.
She hung her head. “I can’t believe you read that.”
My heart was so full that I was terrified of saying the wrong thing. I didn’t want to feel it deflate right now. Which was what it would do if I screwed this up.
“It was . . .”
“Stupid? Awful? Sad?” she asked, her eyes shining.
“Awesome,” I said. “I could never do that.”
“Do what?” she asked. “Be so self-pitying?”
“Put myself out there like that,” I corrected. “And it’s not self-pitying. It’s . . . how you feel.”
A tear spilled out onto her cheek, and she swiped it away. I took a step closer to her. “But do you really think that? That no one will—”
I stopped short of saying it. That no one will ever love you again.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” she said, straightening up and sniffling.
I nodded. “Okay.”
She flicked a smile. “I saw you. Playing. Today in the band room.”
I did a double take at the conversation shift. “You did?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “You were awesome.”
“Um, thanks.” She was there? How? Why?
She pushed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and lifted her shoulders. “Have you ever thought about, like, joining a band or something? Because you could. I mean, not that I know anything about it, but . . . I think you could.”
I smiled, staring at my shoes. “Thanks.”
Then, taking a chance, I turned and leaned back against the wall next to her. There was only a sliver of space between her and the door to the men’s room, so our arms brushed. She didn’t attempt to move away.
“My dad would probably freak,” I told her. “He’s never liked the whole drumming thing.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“If you met him, you’d understand. He’s much more of a sports guy,” I told her. “When I made varsity cross-country, he freaked.”
She nodded. “That explains it then.”
“Explains what?” I asked, feeling, incongruously, offended.
“Why you tried out,” she replied. Not judgingly, but matter-of-factly. “I get it. I would do anything to see my dad’s face if I could tell him about that A in English. It’s not cool, I know, but making him proud . . .”
“Feels good,” I finished for her.
She looked over at me and nodded, smiling sadly. “Yeah.” Her voice broke. “But now he’s gone.”
I reached out with my pinky and touched the side of her hand, right near her wrist. For a second, she froze. I held my breath. Every inch of my skin was on fire. Then, just when I thought she was going to turn and run, she slowly, ever-so-slowly, pulled her hand out of her pocket and hooked her pinky around mine.
I bit back a laugh. And for a few, perfect seconds, we just stood there. We held our hands down between us, half-hidden by our thighs, and just were.
“Katrina,” I said finally.
“Are you—” she said at the same time.
We faced each other and laughed, pinkies still entwined. “Ladies first.”
She smiled. “Are you—”
“There you are!”
Her boss—at least I think she was Katrina’s boss—appeared at the end of the hallway. She was the same woman who had been here yesterday when we studied together. Katrina yanked her hand away from mine and stepped forward.
“Sorry. What’s up?” she asked.
I hung back. My pinky finger throbbed.
“Somebody moved all the Lemony Snickets again,” the woman said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. She tilted her head to see me past Katrina’s shoulder. “We have a Lemony Snicket bandit. Whoever it is comes in here once a week and hides them on us. In the bathroom, in the basement, under the trees. But Katrina always finds them. She’s like our very own book detective.”
I attempted to smile, but secretly, I hated this woman for interrupting us.
“I’m on it,” Katrina said.
She cast one forlorn look over her shoulder. At least I think it was forlorn. Kind of hoped it was. “See you later?”
“Yeah,” I said.
And then she was gone, and I was left with one seriously warm pinky finger.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
True
Charlie and Katrina were starting to fall. Even from the far side of the room I could see it—I could feel it. Anyone could have. They were sitting right next to each other at the study table, thigh to thigh, practically pressed up against each other. Every once in a while their eyes would meet, and he’d laugh or she’d tuck her hair back and bite her lip. I had to concentrate to keep myself from standing up and shouting, Would you two kiss already?
Charlie glanced at me, and I refocused on my history text. Beneath my chair, my feet did a happy dance. It had worked. My show-and-tell that afternoon had worked. When Charlie had chased after Katrina earlier, it had taken everything within me to keep f
rom spying on their conversation, but whatever had passed between them, it had pushed them over the next hurdle. They were starting to understand each other. Starting to appreciate each other. Growing closer. Falling in love.
This time, I didn’t want to count my proverbial chickens before they hatched, but I could hope. Hope like hell that before long, these two would be happily coupled and that damn sand timer would turn over and give me a fresh start.
Charlie’s pinky brushed Katrina’s on the tabletop, and they both blushed. I missed Orion so much it hurt. But with every touch, every look, every smile between the two of them, I was getting closer to him. I had to have faith.
The automatic door wheezed open behind me. Katrina looked up. Her hand darted under the table and the color drained from her face.
“There you are!”
Ty, apparently unfazed by the universally accepted quiet rule in libraries, stormed across the room. His eyes were wild and his muscles seemed to bulge beneath his denim sleeves. I instinctively stood. This was an angry man on a mission.
“Where the fuck’ve you been? I’ve been texting you for an hour,” he shouted at Katrina.
“What’s wrong?” Katrina asked, standing up shakily.
“I just told you! I’ve been texting you for an hour!” he repeated, casting a suspicious look at Charlie, who was still sitting in his chair. “Who the hell is this dork?”
“I told you I was going to be here studying with my econ partner,” Katrina said, gathering her books. From the tense look she was casting about the room, she wanted to get him out of here as quickly as possible before he could make even more of a scene. “What happened?”
“I just got fired, that’s what happened,” Ty blurted.
“What?” she gasped.
“Katrina?” Mrs. Pauley emerged from behind the circulation desk. “Are you okay?”
“Of course she’s okay,” Ty shot back. “I’m here.”
“It’s fine, Mrs. Pauley,” Katrina said, grabbing Ty’s hand and leading him gently, but firmly, toward the door. “Charlie, I’ll text you later,” she called over her shoulder.
Stunned, he lifted his hand in a wave.
“Gino fired you?” Katrina asked as they blindly moved past me toward the door. “Why?”