Age 15:
From: [email protected]
I am so sorry that happened to you, Lil. If I had been there, I totally would’ve pulled the fire alarm and screamed “FIRE!” up and down the hallway so you could escape. Since I can’t be there for you like that, let me tell you a story that’ll make you feel better. About a year ago, my class was giving presentations. We had to sit silently and listen to each one, so, of course, my brain was wandering all over. I zoned out entirely. Meanwhile, blood was rushing to…other places. And when it came time for me to go up and present, I had to wrap my jacket around my waist. I don’t think everyone in the room noticed, but a couple of the guys were totally laughing. Kids are mean, Lily. Don’t let it get to you. If it makes you feel better, send me their addresses, and I’ll gladly go roll their houses.
Screw those guys,
Shiny
***
“Would you play for me?”
I’d played for thousands of people over the years, from small venues full of friends and family only to larger stadiums during college. Yet none of those felt as significant as playing for her.
If she was anyone else, I would have sauntered over there without a second thought, all cocky and grinning, then played a random piece floating around in my head. But when she looked up at me with those big doe eyes and pouty lips, my heart stuttered. What piece? What tempo? Would she think I was showing off?
“I, uh.” No was on the tip of my tongue. But she was watching me like I was a magician who’d just pulled a bunny out of a small top hat.
She looked so sweet, fingers twiddling and a smile shining up at me.
“Sure.”
I took a seat on the bench and placed my hands on the keys. It was all so normal. So familiar. Yet, with Calla’s eyes on me, my mind went blank. I couldn’t think of a single song. Couldn’t remember how to move my fingers.
So I closed my eyes. Just forget the rest, Nate.
My fingers flew across the keys as I played a symphony I’d learned years ago in order to impress some girl at the high school talent show. It was symbolic, I supposed. Except Calla was one hundred times harder to impress, and a fog of pressure so thick it was blinding surrounded me. As if her presence was the equivalent of an entire arena of eyes staring up at me through the harsh stage lighting.
I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, letting my fingers do all the work as I pushed away the worries. I tuned out the woman in the room as Beethoven’s music filled the air. I didn’t even have to think about it anymore. My body knew the melody better than my brain did. It was the same way I played guitar. Or any other instrument, for that matter. No sense in thinking. Thinking ruined it all for me. It caused distractions. It caused questions like “Did I turn the oven off before leaving the house?” and “Why did I write a seven-page letter to my first crush when I was twelve?” Each and every day—heck, multiple times a day—thinking caused my brain to fly off on a whim. But when I let the music just…be, when I let go of all control, that was when the beauty of it all came into play. That was when the song spoke the words I couldn’t. When tears were shed and hearts were moved.
I stopped halfway through. I could’ve gone on for ages, but the piece was long, and I would’ve been devastated if I’d opened my eyes to see a yawning Calla.
Instead, when my fingers trailed off the last note and I slowly lifted my gaze to her, Calla was slack-jawed and in awe. A lone tear trickled down her cheek, and she cocked her head to the side.
“How did you do that?” she asked. She was only a few feet from me, but her voice sounded light-years away.
“Uh, practice.” It was a simple answer, but it was the truth. “I’ve been practicing since I was seven, so I’m kind of used to it.”
“Wow,” she whispered, sounding like some of my younger students the first time they heard me play that piece. “You’re really, really good. I can’t even play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”
I chuckled. “I could teach you, if you want.” This is not keeping your distance, Nathan.
Calla stood straighter. “Really?” She had stars in her eyes, like a puppy watching a treat dangled just out of reach.
“Absolutely. Everyone can be taught how. It’s just discovering how you perceive the music. Some people need sheet music. Some need to hear the rhythm and then go for it. I personally have to think of the melody like a puzzle. Each piece comes together as my fingers find the right key. And after enough practice, my fingers do all the thinking for me.” I pressed one key quickly, then another, and another to prove my point.
She nodded, wearing a smile bigger than any I’d seen from her. Her voice picked up higher and louder. “Okay! But I haven’t tried to play since I was a kid, so fair warning—you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
I laughed. “Here. Come sit.” I scooted to one side of the bench. When she sat beside me, I scooted some more. Because I had no business knowing what it felt like to be pressed up against Calla Wells.
“Here, spread your fingers like this and follow me.”
I pointed toward her end of the piano while I took the lower notes. Listening intently, she followed along as I played. G CC CD EE. I taught all my students to play The Itsy-Bitsy Spider first because it was simple and didn’t require much thinking.
Calla’s fingers stuttered as she mimicked my movements, awkwardly bending to reach each key since they were far shorter than mine. She wasn’t half bad, though.
She chuckled after trying for a few rounds. “Yeah, I don’t know about this.”
I waved a hand. “We’ll work on it. Don’t worry.” What was I saying? I should not be offering to spend more time with her than I had to.
“Would you really teach me? I want to play stuff like “Interstellar” and Mozart. Pull out some crazy stuff as a party trick, you know?”
My brain told me to say something like actually, I’m pretty busy with work and lessons, so maybe another time…or never.
Except my lips moved without my permission. And the next thing I knew, I was confidently saying, “I’ll get you there in no time.”
It was the truth, though. As long as I could crack the code and discover how she learned best, she would have limitless potential.
She stood from the bench and twisted from side to side. “Except”—she cringed—“I don’t know how I’ll pay for it. Money is kind of tight. Your best friend is a cheapskate. When I told him my desired annual salary was one million dollars, he told me to go back to Chuck E. Cheese.”
I laughed. I would’ve had a heart attack at ten if I’d gone to a birthday party and Calla was my server.
“Well…how about you pay me in other ways?” I grinned and waggled my brows.
She reared back a bit. Probably because it sounded like I’d just offered piano lessons in exchange for sex.
“Oh, uh,” she stuttered, and her face turned red.
It was a sight. I, for one, had never seen Calla Wells speechless.
“I mean like help me with marketing. I’m trying to expand my business. Give more lessons, but I’m having a hard time. I made a flyer, but no one’s responding.”
She let out a long breath, and her shoulders sagged. “Well, what did the flyer look like?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I used a lot of bright colors and stock photos of children who looked excited.” I’d made copies at work and had stuck them up at local coffee shops and bookstores.
Calla winced. “Oh heavens. Okay. Yeah, we can work on that. How about I handle your social media pages for you and you can teach me?”
“You don’t mind?”
I was awful with social media. My last post included a picture of me on the beach in Ocean City. I was holding a giant cotton candy, and the caption read: Pour some sugar on me.
But I was always looking to expand my classes, especially if it meant spending a little less time in my apartment or at West Oak.
“Absolutely. Come on. I’ll even shake on it.” Calla stuck out her right hand and grinned.
I stood from the bench, wiping my hands on my navy work, then wrapped my hand around hers. The instant our fingertips touched, my chest tightened, and tiny sparks danced across her skin to mine. She was soft and warm, like a comforting pillow I wanted to wrap my whole body around.
This close, I could smell her sweet, floral perfume. I was not a perfect gentleman. I’d had my fair share of experiences with women, even if I didn’t always create the best first impression. But I’d never felt a connection so electric through a handshake alone.
Calla’s eyes were locked on mine so intensely I wondered if she was challenging me to a stare off. Her expression, so bright and cheery, was like a lighthouse calling me in. Her ever-present smile radiated pure joy. And right now, that joy was directed at me. It was too much to handle. She was too much to handle.
I yanked my hand back like she’d burned me and spoke far too quickly. And too loudly. “Well, gotta go to bed! Goodnight, now!”
Skittering past her, I headed toward the door, bumping the wind chimes next to my drum set in the process. Without stopping to right the fallen silver chimes, I hollered, “I’ll fix those later. Bye.”
I shut the door on her and darted to my room, where I threw myself onto my bed, face in my pillow, and let out a sigh.
Luke’s sister. Luke’s sister. Luke’s little baby sister.
If I said it enough times, maybe my brain would get the message. Then maybe it’d help me out by telling my heart not to race at mere handshakes.
