“Best friend,” she corrects, and gives him a little wave.
After the introductions, Rayne turns her back on him for just a second to mouth the word “wow” to me, before turning back to face him with a smile. “So, are you coming with us?”
Griffon glances at me, a look of uncertainty on his face. “I don’t know,” he says. “Am I?”
Rayne grabs his hand in her right hand and takes mine with her left, practically bouncing as she walks. “I think you are. Is anyone hungry? I could use something serious to eat before we go in.” Despite my confusion with Griffon and his games, I glance down to where their skin touches and feel a pang of jealousy. This entire afternoon, Griffon made a point of not touching me. He’s been avoiding any contact like I’m contagious.
I usually love the slices at the pizza place next door to the theater, but I can barely choke down one bite as I think about everything Griffon said. As Rayne grills him about his life, he keeps glancing over at me with a worried look on his face. The movie isn’t much better. I’ve always wanted to see Harold and Maude, but as much as I try to concentrate, my mind keeps wandering back to the conversation we’d had just an hour before. That, and the fact that Griffon is sitting on my right side, his eyes not moving from the flickering screen in front of us, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we’re so close it’s difficult to keep my hand from accidentally brushing his on the armrest. He looks like a normal seventeen-year-old guy—okay, an insanely attractive seventeen-year-old guy—sitting in a revival movie theater, which makes it even harder to believe what he’s been saying.
As the lights come up, Rayne wipes the tears that have been streaming down her face. “Oh. My. God,” she says. “That was the most amazing love story.”
“It didn’t bother you that he was our age and she was eighty?” I ask, vaguely icked out by the romantic parts of the movie.
“No,” she says. “They were connected by so much more than mere age. They were destined to be together despite their ages. It was just beautiful.”
We walk out of the theater and into the buzz of nighttime in the Haight.
“Did you like it?” I ask Griffon. He’s been strangely silent since the movie ended.
“Yeah,” he says. “I did.” He leans down so that only I can hear. “I liked it the first time I saw it, too,” he whispers. “Back in 1971 when it had just come out.”
Feeling the warmth of his breath on my skin makes me shudder, and I have to pull away to get control of my emotions.
“Let’s go see if we can get a seat at Café Roma,” Rayne says. “I need to process some more.”
“I can’t,” Griffon says. “I have to get back.”
“Aw, come on,” Rayne says. “It’s only eight thirty. What in the world do you have to do?”
I freeze. He probably has a girlfriend. That would explain his no touching rule. The thought of him going back across the bridge to be with someone else makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
“I just have to go,” he says firmly. “Walk me to the corner?”
Rayne bumps me and glances at Griffon.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to her, and walk slowly up the street with him.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I guess,” I answer, feeling suddenly depressed and overwhelmed. A bus pulls up beside us and we stand back to let people off.
“Hey, when is that concert Kat was talking about? Isn’t it this week?” he asks.
“Yeah. Saturday.”
“Do I still have an invite?”
“If you want,” I say, trying to sound casual. Part of me is desperate to have him come, and part of me—a small part, but still—knows it would be better for both of us if he just got on the bus and didn’t come back. Took all of his talk about Akhet and reincarnation and just vanished into the night. “It starts at eight. But you don’t have to stay for the whole thing.”
“Don’t you have a solo?”
“Duet. I’m doing a Massenet piece with my friend Julie on piano.”
“Which one?”
I look at him sideways. Except for my conservatory friends, nobody I know has even heard of Massenet. “Meditation. From Thais. It’s no big deal. I think we’re last on the program.”
“Then I’ll definitely be there.” There’s an awkward silence where a kiss good-bye might happen under different circumstances. The part in the movie of my life where he bends down and brushes his lips lightly against my cheek and I reach up and run my fingers through his hair as I draw him to me. Instead, he gives me a little wave as he gets on the bus. “See you Saturday.”
Once he’s out of sight, I blink hard and take a deep breath, more convinced than ever that he has a girlfriend on the other side of the Bay. He isn’t interested in me that way. Why would he be? Apparently, I’m nothing more than his junior year charity project.
Rayne is buzzing with excitement when I get back to the theater. “So that is insane,” she says, bouncing up and down. “Amazing. Did he kiss you? What did he say? Are you going to see him this weekend?” She loops her arm through mine and steers me down the crowded sidewalk. “You have to tell me everything!”
I stop for a second, wishing I could. “It doesn’t matter anyway—we’re not going out, so don’t get all worked up. Griffon has some ideas that are not exactly … normal.”
“Ideas about what?” Rayne whispers, completely alert now. Ideas that aren’t exactly normal are totally her thing. “Like sex stuff?”
“No!” I say, a little too loudly. “Like…” I trail off here, unsure about how much I should say. There’s no way I’m going to tell her about everything Griffon said, but she is my best friend. Even sharing a tiny bit about what’s going on might make me feel not quite so bad. “Weird ideas about death. Reincarnation, past lives, things like that.”
Rayne looks at me like I’m the crazy one. “That’s it? So what? So does half of Berkeley,” she says. “My mom talks about that stuff all the time—indigo children, past life regression. Damn, in her eyes, that would make him even more perfect.”
“Perfect for you, maybe,” I say. “But not me.”
Rayne shakes her head. “We’ll see.”
Eight
I pace backstage, more nervous now than I’ve ever been before a performance. Telling Griffon about the concert was the single worst idea I’ve had in weeks. Stupid. And distracting. Hundreds of people in the audience never bothers me. Mom and Dad I can deal with. Even having Veronique here is okay. I think about the moment when I told him it was tonight and wish to God I’d shut my mouth. I don’t dare peek at the audience. Not only is it unprofessional—and Herr Steinberg would kill me if he knew I was even thinking about it—but knowing where he’s sitting will make things worse. Maybe he didn’t even come. It’s not like he owes me anything. Maybe he just stayed home on his side of the Bay and forgot about the whole thing. That thought alone makes me feel slightly better. Slightly.
Julie appears beside me, dressed in wide-leg black pants and a sleeveless top like I’m wearing, but on her they look elegant, instead of stumpy. The heels I have on help a little, but they also give me one more thing to worry about as I try to walk around without falling. You think that I’d have the heel thing figured out because I’m so short, but heels are one of the things that are in Kat’s domain, not mine.
“You ready?” Julie asks, standing up straighter and shaking out her hands.
“As I’ll ever be.” We step out onto the lit stage to enthusiastic applause. I say a silent prayer of thanks for the lights in the concert hall, because it’s pretty impossible to see who’s out there, and I can try to concentrate on not letting Julie—and everyone else—down.
As Julie’s piano leads into the piece, I pick up my bow and take a deep breath. I love the feeling of this music and don’t want to blow it. Meditation is from the part in the opera where the heroine is trying to decide whether to go with the monk who is in love with her and renounce her lustful way
s or to listen to her heart and be who she is meant to be. In the tempo and the mood you can feel her conflict as the notes soar and fall on the scale, everything rising to a peak and then dropping back. At least, that’s the plan.
The first few notes are strong and clear as I draw the bow across the strings, my hands loose, each segment flowing into the next one. As the music gets faster and louder, my fingers become the voice of the instrument, pulling the emotion from the cello, and then slowing down, softer and softer until the notes are almost a whisper. Just a few bars into the piece I give up consciously thinking about what I’m doing and just let the notes flow on their own, knowing that my best performances are the ones where I stop thinking and just go with it. I have to surrender everything and trust that repetition and instinct will carry me through to the end.
Too soon, the last notes fade into the ornate ceiling of the hall, and I open my eyes to the audience’s applause. As the relief that always comes from a successful performance fades, I suddenly feel Griffon in the room, can almost hear his hands clapping over the sound of everyone else. Turning my head to the left, the lights aren’t as bright, and I spot him right away, sitting several rows from the back, smiling as our eyes meet and applauding even harder. I can feel my face getting hot, and this time it isn’t from the effort of playing Meditation.
The lobby is humming with people when I finally walk out of the hall. I glance through the crowd, but don’t see Griffon anywhere. Not that I’m looking for him. I don’t want to talk about reincarnation or Akhet. I don’t want to have any more serious conversations. Things have been fine the past few days—no blackouts, no strange feelings—and I’ve almost convinced myself that the whole thing was some weird episode that has now passed. I just want to say thanks for coming all this way on a Saturday night when I’m sure he has better things to do.
“There she is!” Dad calls, waving me over to where he’s standing with Mom and Veronique. He puts his arm around me, pulling me in close to him. “That was wonderful, honey,” he says. “I literally had tears in my eyes at the end. Just beautiful.”
Mom bends down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It was lovely. Although I did sense a little hesitation during the adagio section at the end. I thought you were going to work on that.”
“I did,” I say quickly, glancing over at Veronique, who looks away uncomfortably. I give Dad’s arm a squeeze. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Your piece was better than I ever imagined,” Veronique says, and I can feel her excitement. “Transcendent. Luminous.” She shrugs her shoulders and grins. “I’m totally running out of descriptive words, but you know what I mean.”
“Thanks,” I say. “And thanks for coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” She glances downstairs. “I’m going for a drink at the café. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks,” I say, too pumped from the performance to even think of food.
“I’ll be back in a second,” Veronique says, walking away.
Before I can say anything else, I hear a yell and feel arms drape around the back of my neck. “Awesome, Cole!” Rayne squeals into my ear, practically pulling me down with her. “Loved it! Much better than the usual boring classical crap they play around here.”
“Glad to see you’re still awake,” I say, giving her a hug.
“It isn’t easy, but your stuff is worth it,” she says, faking a yawn and pulling me away from the group. “Did Griffon come?” she whispers.
“I saw him in the concert hall. But I don’t know where he went.” At that moment I feel someone watching me from behind, and turn to see Griffon standing a few feet away, a huge bunch of red tulips in his hand. I always thought he looked good in a hoodie and jeans, but seeing him in black pants and an indigo blue button-down shirt takes my breath away.
“Man, he cleans up good,” Rayne says, following my gaze. “Go on,” she whispers, giving me a little push. “You can’t let him just stand there by himself.”
“That was amazing,” Griffon says as I walk over to him. His eyes are shining with excitement. “Just beautiful.” He looks down, as if noticing the flowers for the first time. “Right. Um, these are for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the bundle and trying to ignore Rayne’s yelp as she watches. I’ve never gotten flowers from a guy before, and I run my finger over the waxy perfection of one of the petals, wondering if red tulips have any particular meaning. Red roses equal love. Do red tulips mean I’m-not-attracted-to-you-like-that-so-let’s-be-friends?
Rayne walks over and puts one arm around Griffon. I only wish I could be so casual with him. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but my mom’s coming to pick me up. Nice to see you again.” She grins at him and then at me.
“You too,” Griffon says. Rayne gives my arm a squeeze as she walks away.
Silence surrounds the two of us as I try to think of something to say. “I’m glad you came,” I finally blurt out. Okay, not so clever. But not totally cringe-worthy.
“So am I.”
I glance back to see Dad, Mom, and Veronique standing in a small circle staring at us. I figure now is as good a time as any. “Do you want to meet my parents?”
He follows my glance. “Looks like I don’t really have a choice.” He smiles. “Yeah. That would be great.”
“Mom, Dad,” I say as we walk back to them. “This is Griffon.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he says, shaking hands first with Dad and then Mom. Mom smiles at him and raises her eyebrows at me, while Dad just glances at the flowers in my hand and looks suspicious.
“Nice to finally meet you too,” Dad says, looking pointedly at me. “Do you go to school with Nicole?”
Griffon stands up straight and puts his hands behind his back. Somebody obviously trained him well in the art of parent-charming. “No, sir. I live over in Berkeley. I go to Marina.”
“Berkeley,” Dad repeats. “So … you know each other from the conservatory?”
“No,” I jump in. I don’t want to have to explain how we met. Not right now. “Kat knows a friend of Griffon’s. By the way, where did she go?” I hope my attempt to change the subject isn’t as obvious to them as it is to me.
“She left right after your piece finished,” Mom says. “Some work thing she has to do.” She nods toward Veronique, who is standing silently off to one side sipping a bottle of water.
“Oh!” I say, knowing I’m going to get a manners lecture later. “Sorry. Griffon, this is Veronique.”
“Nice to meet you,” Griffon says. As he takes Veronique’s hand, a shadow seems to pass over his features, and his easy smile is replaced by a more serious expression.
“Nice to meet you,” Veronique says, with an emphasis on “you” that is impossible to ignore. I shoot her a look and hope that she doesn’t go on about it. “Cole has an amazing talent, don’t you think?”
“She does,” he says, with a short tone I’ve never heard before. He seems to be studying Veronique, and I notice his jaw muscles tighten like he’s upset about something.
“I, um, have to get my stuff out of the practice room,” I announce, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with him. He’s usually so polite, but there’s a hardness in his eyes right now that freaks me out a little.
As if he’s working at it, Griffon’s features seem to soften, and he smiles at me, finally taking his eyes off Veronique. “I’ll help you,” he says. He turns back to Mom and Dad. “If that’s okay?”
Dad glances at Mom. “Fine with me. Saves me from having to carry the heavy stuff back downstairs.”
Griffon and I walk up the stairs in silence. He seems to be lost in thought, staring off into space as we climb. At the top, he looks back toward the group and leads me to one side.
“How do you know her?” His voice has an edge to it that makes me nervous.
“Who? Veronique? She’s one of my students, remember?”
“No, I mean, how did you meet her?” he demands.
“It does matter,” Griffon says, his voice low and his eyes angry. He goes quiet and looks away as another couple passes us at the top of the stairs. He steers me into an empty classroom.
“Try to remember.”
His intensity makes me stop protesting, although I have no idea what’s going on.
“I … I’m not sure.” His eyes are riveted on my face as I search my brain, trying to remember how we met. “I think she was at one of the conservatory concerts last year. She came backstage and shook my hand, met my parents, and all that. Then a few days later she contacted me through the group saying that she’d heard I was giving lessons.”
He takes a step closer, glancing toward the stairs. “I don’t think you should see her anymore. Can you make up some excuse—say you’ve stopped giving lessons, or you need a break?”
I shake my head. “Why? That’s crazy. I’m not going to drop one of my students.” Forget about the fact that I’m not going to drop the only student who ever pays me on time.
“I can’t explain it all now, but you have to trust me. She’s not just a regular student. There’s more to it. There’s a reason she’s in your life now.”
I think back to all he said in the park. “Wait,” I whisper. “You think Veronique is … you know …?”
Griffon doesn’t touch me, but I feel his urgency all the same. “She is, but not like us. Some Akhet come back only for revenge, to right the wrongs they feel have been done to them in the past. I got a sense of that from her essence. I don’t think she’s just another random cello student.”
I can see the anger in his eyes, and a shiver runs up my spine. At this point I’m not sure if anyone is who I thought they were, especially Griffon. His face is still beautiful, so beautiful that it makes my heart ache to look at him, but everything that comes out of his mouth makes him seem more distant and paranoid. His words are having an effect, just not the one he thinks. “You’re scaring me,” I whisper.
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