Later on, it was even more unnerving to see how natural it was for me to enter the school building openly holding Keith’s hand, sharing our private smiles beneath the eyes of the crowd. Even though they all had heard about us, we still took them by surprise. Their gawking gazes followed us all the way to our lockers, and our steps were preceded by silence and followed by buzzing whispers.
Through it all, I found I couldn’t care less. I was happy.
While we were in front of my locker, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt my skin crawl. My heart did a somersault and I jerked my head around only to find Lena standing on the opposite side of the hall.
She looked venomous and her lips were moving, undoubtedly sharing her views on us with her entourage.
I breathed out and turned back to my books without a second glance.
After Beatrice, Bitch Queens like Lena became kindergarten stuff. Worries, like reputation, faded to noise in the background. I had everything I needed, and no time to worry about the likes of her.
“Walk you to class?” Keith asked when I was done, uncomfortable with all the attention, but holding his head high in spite of any snide comments coming our way.
I shook my head. “Walk me to the auditorium?”
He frowned for a second, but then he nodded in understanding. The big doors opened without a noise and then we were on the shadowed stage, the old Victorian furniture lumbering in the darkness.
It looked exactly the same as it had on Saturday.
“How do you feel?” I asked, after making a couple of rounds weaving between sofas and tables and lamps.
He stopped my wandering, hugging my waist from behind.
“It’s okay, Alice. She’s gone. I’m here.”
So I’m that transparent. Either that, or he knows me that well.
I twisted around to hug him back. “How can you be so sure? What if she’s just hiding?”
Keith just caressed my back in a comforting gesture. I frowned, but when I looked up, his gaze was lost beyond me, a serene smile playing on his lips. Following his line of vision, I found the side table with the portrait we’d filched during the weekend.
It wasn’t there. In front of its empty space, the dozen red roses lay scattered among shards from the broken vase.
“We’re safe,” Keith whispered before kissing me just like that first time.
And I believed him.
***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ron C. Nieto was born not that long ago in a bustling European city. Well, okay, she was born in Madrid, Spain. Though there were no castles and definitely no princes whatsoever, and she can't recall any fairy looming over her cradle, she was awarded a gift of sorts: a wild imagination combined with a love for words. Unfortunately, along came the curse of the Procrastination Monster, who has shadowed her for the best part of her life to date.
But in spite of this, she knew she wanted to be a writer from the very beginning: actually, she does not recall ever striving to be anything else.
Well, past that amusing stage wherein she insisted on being Batman, that is.
Anyway, she undertook her educational adventure and eventually graduated from Universidad Pontificia Comillas ICADE ICAI, where she became a translator for Spanish, English, French, Italian and Japanese. Her stay in the Realms of Higher Education gave her the strength to overcome the Procrastination Monster, sit down and scratch the aspiring out of aspiring writer.
Silent Song is her debut novel and she already has plans for her next projects. She can be found working on them whenever she doesn’t procrastinate doing something else.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d not have been writing today if my family hadn’t been there to support me. The day they told me that I didn’t have to be an engineer and that I should pursue the career that fulfilled me truly changed my life. Plus, it was super fun to re-apply for a different University and get admitted just two weeks before the year started... Thanks for those crazy moments, thanks for laughing with me instead of despairing!
While I graduated, there were many Professors who also supported me. I’d like to give special thanks to Eva Gonzalez and Pilar Ucar, who believed in my writing talent before I ever did.
Thanks to Amy, my editor. She’s spoiled me! Her help in pointing out mistakes when I was too caught up to notice them and her encouragement have made this book what it is.
Thanks to Justin Sandercoe. He runs the www.justinguitar.com website and, while he doesn’t know it yet, Keith wouldn’t exist without him. You see, he teaches people to play guitar for free over the internet, and he’s a real pro about it. He’s taught me all the theory I know. He’s also responsible for whatever actual music I can play, and for the new depths of understanding and appreciation I have for each melody I listen to these days.
And last but definitely not least, thank you.
Silent Song (Ghostly Rhapsody) Page 19