6:59

by Nonye Acholonu

  Dave, Tanya, and Hudson raised their hands happily. Armando, Anjolie, and I sat there staring at Mr. Fuller expectantly.

  Mr. Fuller shook his head, wagging his finger at Anjolie. “No, Miss Rivers,” he said in a chastising tone. “Every female should know how to sing!”

  “Well, I guess I’m not female,” she said flatly.

  The rest of us laughed at her joke but Mr. Fuller just gave her the stink eye, apparently not favoring her response. “Can you do anything musical?” His voice was almost desperate. “Can any of you do anything musical?” His eyes landed on me.

  “Cameron can,” Hudson said, pointing at me and smiling.

  Thanks, Hudson.

  Mr. Fuller’s already large eyes ballooned in size. “Really?” he asked, his voice painfully spirited.

  I shrugged. There was no getting out of this. “Yeah, I play the piano and some guitar,” I said as nonchalantly as possible. I didn’t want to play in front of our class. That was so embarrassing! I had to make it seem as though I was mediocre.

  “Come,” Mr. Fuller said, grabbing me by the arm. “Come play for us.” He ushered me to the grand piano, willing me to take a seat.

  I sat down reluctantly, dreading every minute of this. What if I messed up? Then I’d not only look stupid in front of everyone here, but I’d also embarrass myself in front of the senior class. Why couldn’t we just film something? That way, if I messed up, we could just film over it.

  “What do I play?” I asked, nerves making my hands shake. I quickly shook them out and smiled hesitantly.

  Mr. Fuller placed the sheet music in front of me. “How about the standard Good King Wenceslas? Can you play that, Cameron?”

  Of course I could play that. That was the first song I’d ever learned to play. I could probably play the stupid song in my sleep. Flexing my fingers, I lightly placed them on the keys and began to play without even looking at the sheet music in front of me.

  After I’d finished, Mr. Fuller nodded. “Good, all pianists should be familiar with that piece,” he said ruffling through his sheet music. He fingered a few sheets of paper before placing new ones in front of me. “Play Fur Elise.”

  Even before he finished talking, I was already playing as if it were my job. I pressed on the keys without hesitation, following the notes with my eyes. It was as if my fingers were the music and the piano keys were their voices. Even with a crappy song, I loved the feel of playing.

  “My,” Mr. Fuller gasped, placing his hand over his heart, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know you were this good, Mr. Sloane.” He fingered through the sheet music once again, searching for another song. “How long have you been playing?”

  “Too long,” I said remembering that every single day of my life I’d played the piano for at least an hour. It wasn’t because I had to and it wasn’t just because it looked good on college apps — it was because I needed to. It was the only way I could really express myself being so shy and everything. It was the only way I could be bold.

  Mr. Fuller found the song he was looking for and replaced the previous sheet music with this song. “Now, this is a tiny bit tricky. I’ve only recently mastered it and that was due to over forty years of practice.” He pointed at the sheet music. “Can you play the third movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata?”

  For some reason, I knew he was going to challenge me with this specific piece. I’ve only had the chance to look at it a couple weeks ago. I stared at the piano keys and began to play, my eyes darting between the keys and the sheet music.

  Again, my fingers glided over the keys like waves on rocks. Music shot out from every key like lightning and I feared that the music wouldn’t keep up with how fast my fingers were moving. I played the entire song, only managing to flub once halfway through. I desperately hoped that no one noticed.

  “Cameron Sloane,” Mr. Fuller gasped. “You amaze me.”

  I felt a blush creep up into my cheeks when everyone else in the room applauded my playing. I sat there awkwardly, smiling from ear to ear. Anjolie had her eyes on me, her mouth dropped open in awe.

  “Since when do you play the piano, Cameron?” Dave asked, sweeping his hand through his thick brown hair. The look on his face was the total opposite of impressed. He looked more annoyed than surprised at my skills.

  I shrugged and opened my mouth to answer, but Armando beat him to it. “Does it matter, Dave? You know he’s gonna win now, right?” he said, flashing me a thumbs up.

  Dave shook his head, brushing off the comment. “He’s too shy to win. The only reason he was voted in was because he got hot.”

  Whoa. Okay so that came out of nowhere. How was I supposed to respond to that? I honestly had no idea why they voted me in. I liked to think it was because I was opening up, but given my near anxiety attack when playing the piano in front of everyone, I couldn’t be too sure about that.

  “Wow, Dave,” Anjolie piped up, glaring at him. “Do I sense some jealousy?”

  Dave just looked away, avoiding her piercing gray eyes. “I’m not jealous of Cameron. Get real.”

  “Sure,” Anjolie said, getting up and joining me on the piano bench. “That’s why you’re gonna throw the ‘good looks’ card out, huh? Please, Dave, there’s no winning against Cameron.”

  “Anjolie, why don’t you shut up?” Tanya piped up, flipping her picture-perfect hair over her shoulder. “No one knows why you were voted in, so I’d suggest you’d keep your opinion to yourself.”

  “That’s a lie,” Armando said, flicking his gaze on Tanya. “Everyone knows why she was nominated.”

  “Why, because she’s hot?” Tanya said in a dumb voice, rolling her large green eyes and plopping down next to Dave. She and Dave snickered at each other, baring evil grins.

  “Yeah,” I said, shooting them an equally dirty look. These two had no right to say what they were saying. Who did they think they were? “She’s definitely hot. And she’s incredibly smart. She’s funny and she’s goal-driven. And unlike the two of you, people actually like her.” I smiled at Anjolie. She smiled back, brushing her hair over her eyes as she tried to hide her blush. “If anyone was gonna win, it would be her.”

  “We’ll see,” Tanya murmured shrugging her pointy shoulders.

  As an uncomfortable silence fell over the six of us, all of our gazes focused on Mr. Fuller. He stood there nodding his head in delight. When he noticed all of us staring at him, he cleared his throat. “My apologies, students,” he said, gathering his papers. “Gotta love drama, right?” he straightened up and clapped his hands together. “I have decided on the parts. Dave, Tanya, and the beautiful Hudson will accompany each other in vocals. Cameron of course will assist on the piano. And Armando and Anjolie — figure something out. Dismissed.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Olive

  When I saw Cameron round the corner after school today, my heart immediately sped up like a treadmill. He hadn’t seen me yet, waiting for him at his locker, so I took this time to double check myself.

  Okay, so my hair had seen better days. Last time I looked in a mirror, it hung heavily down my shoulder like an old blanket and there was no pizzazz to it at all. I definitely needed a haircut. Pronto. My clothes were pretty good although I should’ve gone with the red shirt instead of this crappy orange one. What was I thinking! On second thought, I probably wasn’t thinking. At least I’d worn my favorite jeans; they were dark and tight and they made my legs look ten times longer. According to Hudson, guys liked long legs. So I was good in that department. Whether or not I should take off my zipper hoody was left unanswered because by that time, Cameron had already seen me.

  I saw his breath catch as his eyes locked with mine. A slow smile spread over his lips and only when Armando clapped on his back did he finally breathe out. I smiled like a doofus, waving at him. Do girls still wave? Or do they do that nod thing? Crap! I didn’t know!

  “Hey, Olive,” Cameron said in a breathy voice as if he’d just run to catch up to me. His sm
ile was spread from ear to ear and he couldn’t take his eyes off me.

  I opted for the slow smile, the one Hudson taught me a few nights ago. “Hey, Cameron,” I said in a none-too-excited voice.

  The two of us stared at each other with our smiles on our faces, standing in the middle of the hall. I didn’t know how long this trance was going to last. If Armando hadn’t broken it up by interrupting, we probably would’ve been standing there for ages.

  “What am I going to do for the presentation?” he cried, his accent audible. “I can’t sing! I can’t play the piano! Face it, Mr. Fuller doesn’t want me to win!”

  “He doesn’t want either of us to win,” Anjolie said, standing beside Hudson, who was texting ferociously on her phone. “Mr. Fuller has his eye on Dave and Tanya. Those two are like his babies.”

  “Exactly!” Armando cried out. Then he glanced at Cameron. “What do I do, Cameron?” he asked, running his large golden-brown hand through his dark hair.

  Cameron’s eyes reluctantly shifted from mine and he turned to look at Armando. “Mannie, you must know how to play something. Or you could at least learn.”

  Armando rolled his eyes but nodded. “I guess I could learn something.” He gazed at Hudson. “Will you help me?” he asked.

  Hudson kept texting, staring at her phone intently. Only when Armando nuzzled his face into her neck did she snap back to reality. “What?” she asked, a blush surprisingly seen through her brown skin. “Were you talking to me?”

  We just rolled our eyes. Hudson was always texting. Sometimes I’d caught her texting during exams — she was that bad. But living a fabulous life must involve texting fabulous friends, right? I knew that if I had any friends to text, I would be doing the same thing.

  Armando quickly filled her in on what everyone was talking about. She nodded and wrapped her arms around Armando’s waist. “Of course I’ll help you, Mannie,” she said, wiggling her nose over his. “You know how my mom has a bunch of instruments at home? Well, we could probably get you acquainted with some.”

  Hudson was right. Her mother was like an African-bohemian goddess. She had all of these African drums and flutes and bongos and all of those other kinds of instruments. A whole room in Hudson’s amazing house was filled with these instruments.

  “How about we all go there?” Hudson asked. She glanced at Anjolie. “You can come too, Anjolie.”

  I had completely forgotten about Anjolie’s presence. All eyes went to her. In the split second before she responded, I’d caught her staring admiringly at Cameron with those mysterious gray eyes. But that could’ve just been a trick of my eyes or whatever.

  “Um, sure,” she said, and smiled hesitantly. Then she glanced at Cameron. “How far a walk is it?” she asked, switching her backpack onto the other shoulder.

  It was Cameron’s turn to talk. “Oh, get real, Anjolie,” he said. “I’ll take you!”

  Anjolie smiled a slow smile — my slow smile! — and said, “Well, okay then.”

  Then it was settled. The five of us were off to Hudson’s house to learn instruments for their homecoming performance. As we left the building, I wished bitterly that I hadn’t brought my own stupid car to school.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Cameron

  “I’ve actually never seen Hudson’s house before,” Anjolie said, strapping herself into my car. She flung her backpack into the back seat and faced me.

  I started the engine and pulled out of my parking space. “It’s pretty awesome if you ask me,” I said. “It’s a four story house. The kitchen, the guest room, and all that first-floor-stuff are on the first floor. Then Hudson’s mom, Monica, has the second floor. She had her office and her master bedroom and another room dedicated to her instruments. There’s also a bathroom and a huge balcony. The third floor, Armando’s floor, is just like that. But he mostly just hangs on Hudson’s fourth floor.” I turned onto the road and followed behind Armando’s car. “That floor is pretty much an apartment. It has her bedroom, her homework room, two bathrooms — one with a waterfall shower, and her own personal living room. She’s installing a game room into the old cat room and putting her cat into her old closet room.”

  “Wow, that chick is living like a princess,” Anjolie said. Then she muttered, “Figures.”

  “Figures how?” I asked, glancing at her.

  Anjolie shrugged. “Her father’s the king. Of course his daughter would live like a princess.”

  King? Her father’s a king? Of what? Galicia?

  As if noticing my surprise, Anjolie quickly stammered, “Did I say her father was the king?” She laughed hesitantly. “I meant her father lives like a king. So she must live like a princess.”

  “How do you know her father lives like a king?” I asked, pulling up to a stop sign.

  “She told me. Duh.”

  “She’s never told me that.”

  “Well, she told me.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and drove on. After a brief moment of silence, I glanced at her again. “So what are you going to do for the presentation then?”

  “Probably play the harp,” Anjolie said, and sighed as if commenting on the blueness of the sky. She brushed the curly hair out of her face.

  “You play the harp?” As I was saying the words, I knew she must play it. She looked so angelic and peaceful — the harp was invented for her!

  “I taught myself at the orphanage,” she explained. “Some rich guy donated a few instruments for us and everyone went for the guitars and drum sets. I went for the harp.”

  “Why the harp?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said, glancing at me with her gray eyes. If I hadn’t been driving I probably would’ve been lost in those magnetic eyes. “The harp — it was huge and spray painted silver along the edges. The strings were this amazing white color. I felt drawn to it. When I picked it up, everyone laughed at me for choosing such a weird looking instrument. I didn’t care. I took the instrument and sat in the hallway and taught myself how to play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

  “That was the first song I learned how to play on the piano,” I pointed out, smiling at her.

  She smiled back. “I spent all week working on the song and once I learned it, I couldn’t stop playing it.” Then she laughed and gazed out the window. “I played it so much that Miss Pam had to go out and buy different sheet music with different songs for me to learn. That’s how I learned how to play my favorite song, Clocks by Coldplay.”

  “Did you get to take the harp with you, you know, when you… left?” I asked, knowing full well that almost all orphans don’t have a choice as to what they’re allowed to bring with them.

  To my surprise, Anjolie nodded. “My adoptive parents okayed it. They said that I looked just like the harp because of the whole gray and white thing I do.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, what’s up with that?” I asked her. “Whenever I see you, you’re always in gray and white. Are those your favorite colors?”

  She shrugged. “At first, no,” she explained. “I’d had this foster family once. They had this daughter that was so full of herself it was disgusting. One day she was emptying out her house-sized closet of all things gray and white. Because I was standing right there, she gave me everything from shirts to jeans to skirts to shoes — anything and everything that was gray and white.

  “At the time I had two shirts and two pants. I hated those clothes with a dying passion. Her giving me the clothes changed me.”

  “So now it’s only gray and white?” I asked, pulling up through the gate and onto Hudson’s vast driveway. I swear, it’s pretty much a mile-long driveway.

  Anjolie sighed and shrugged. “That’s pretty much all I’ve got…” Her voice trailed off.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Olive

  I had to sit on the couch alone with the bags and the food while the four of them jumped into learning the instruments.

  “Grab whatever you like,” Monica said in a calm voice. “Wh
atever instrument moves you, I urge you to become one with it.” She shifted her shawl over her shoulders and sat cross-legged in front of a bongo. She drummed on it gently as the rest of them looked around.

  Struggling to concentrate on my homework, I tried to focus all of my attention into the difficult math problem. I’d managed to complete most of it, but every time I finally managed to focus, I found my eyes drifting up from the sheet and over at Cameron. He sat on the piano bench, smiling and suggesting instruments for Armando. I stared at him, admiring his devastatingly good looks, wondering how in the world he’d become so blessed.

  I remembered the one day when we were six and the two of us were on the ground watching old cartoon shows. As we watched, I remember him accidentally flip the channel to an entertainment channel and we’d witnessed our very first music video. The two of us watched hungrily as the guys and girls danced and sang. I couldn’t take my eyes off the lead singer.

  “I love him,” I’d told Cameron.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because he’s handsome-looking,” I replied with a girlish sigh.

  Then Cameron became all fidgety and uncomfortable when he asked, “Am I handsome-looking?”

  I remembered gazing at him with disgust, snorting unattractively. “Of course not! And you’ll never be handsome-looking!”

  Cameron got all huffy and puffy and Mila had to intervene. I was forced to tell him, “Okay, you are probably going to become handsome-looking.” We didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

  The sad part was that I’d actually thought it was the truth.

  Back in his shy days, Cameron looked a mess. His hair was always uneven and greasy, he’d worn these incredibly disgusting eighties glasses, he was, like, two feet tall, and his braces were too big for his mouth — thus resulting in the slobbering. He’d looked like this up until eighth grade when he’d managed to get the gross braces off and change his glasses. But then came the age of puberty which destroyed all hope of him becoming hot. Or so I thought.