Allegra (23 page)

Ms. Dekker takes one look at my ankle and excuses me from ballet class. “Take the week off from all your dance classes,” she says, “and then we'll reassess the situation.”

I limp down to the library, determined to start on my English essay, which I've put off for far too long—something that never would have happened in the past. I slide into a chair and pull my English binder and textbook from my backpack. I'm just starting to write when I sense someone sliding into the chair across the table from me.

“Hi, Allegra,” Spencer says, pulling me out of the world of Alice Munro's short stories.

“Hey.”

“Are you skipping dance class?” he asks.

“No,” I tell him, noting that he seems to know my schedule. “I have an injury. What are you skipping?”

“I have a spare.” He reaches into his pack and also pulls out a binder. “Is your dad back from his road trip yet?”

“No, not until Christmas. And then he's just taking a few days off.”

He nods and begins flipping through the pages. “I really appreciated getting all those autographed photos. I hope you told him.”

“I did.” I return to my textbook, but now I have trouble concentrating on the words. Talia told me that Spencer likes me. I glance at him, then go back to my textbook. It seems more like it's my dad and his band that he likes, and I'm just the person who can keep him posted on their activities.

We work in comfortable silence for a while, but I'm not getting anywhere with my assignment. I grab my pen and notebook. “I'm going to use a computer,” I tell him, standing up. “Watch my stuff ?”

He nods, and I turn and begin to limp away.

“Allegra?”

I turn to see what he wants. He's scribbling on a pad, but his pen appears to be out of ink. “Have you got a pen I can borrow?”

“Maybe. Try the bottom of my backpack.”

“Thanks.”

I see him reach for my bag before I turn around.

I spend the rest of the period researching information for my project and trying to put thoughts of Noel out of my mind, but not very successfully. When the bell rings, I head back to the table.

Spencer has packed up his things; he hands me a pen. “This is yours,” he says. “Thanks.” I take it from him and note that he doesn't look at me.

“See ya later,” he mumbles before turning and practically dashing out of the library.

I wonder, briefly, what has come over him. He usually hovers around, and with my sore ankle I thought he might even offer to carry my backpack for me, but I shrug it off. He must have something on his mind. I toss my pack onto my shoulder and limp off to my history class.

When the lunch bell rings, I suck up all my courage and head toward the music portable, but at the door of the main building, I feel that familiar shortness of breath, and sweat breaks out in my armpits. My chest feels tight. I turn and start walking toward the multipurpose room instead. My breathing returns to normal and my skin dries quickly. I wonder how I'll ever be able to enter the music portable again.

It's slow going through the crowded hallways. Every time I get jostled in the crowd, I put too much weight on my ankle and pain shoots up my leg. Eventually, I take cover at the end of a bank of lockers and wait for the crowd to disperse. Once the traffic becomes lighter, I continue toward the multipurpose room.

I see the girls and Spencer in their usual places. They're huddled together, reading something that Spencer has in his lap. Talia looks up and spots me walking toward them. I see her lips move, and suddenly all their heads jerk to look in my direction. Spencer tucks the sheet of paper he was holding into his pack.

“What's up with you guys?” I ask, sitting down beside Talia and taking an orange and a tub of yogurt from my lunch bag.

She looks directly at me, but the others suddenly become very interested in their own lunches.

I look more carefully at each of them, but they continue to avoid my eyes.

Spencer suddenly grabs his pack and stands up. “I have to be somewhere,” he says.

I watch as he leaves. “What's with him?” I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. I've just been accepted back into their circle, but something is wrong already. “He started acting all weird in the library too,” I add, but mostly to myself.

None of them answer my question, but I see Sophie look past me, and her eyes widen.

I turn just as Mr. Rocchelli sits down on the step right below me.

“Hi, girls,” he says brightly, looking into each of our faces.

“Hi,” we all say in unison. I can feel Talia staring at me, so I focus on peeling my orange and hope my face doesn't give me away.

“Allegra, I've been looking for you all morning,” he says. “I wanted to return this.” He hands me my flash drive.

I take it hesitantly.

“And to see how your ankle is.”

“I'll live,” I mumble.

“I guess Allegra told you she had a little accident in the parking lot yesterday,” he tells the others.

“No, actually, she didn't,” Talia says, still staring at me. I won't meet her eyes.

“Did you get a doctor to check it out?” he asks, ignoring Talia.

I can't look at him. “No, it'll be fine.” I hate that my face is crimson, like I have something to be ashamed of.

“I have to take a week off from dance, but I'm sure I'll be good to go after that,” I say.

“It occurred to me this morning,” he continues, “that accidents on the school grounds need to be reported. I'll grab the paperwork from the office and you can fill it in during music theory this afternoon.”

I just shrug. As if I'm going to do that. And besides, why would he want it reported that I was here alone at night with him?

“As well, Allegra,” he says, “we need to schedule some new sessions in the sound room. Let's not forget to do that this afternoon.”

I finally get up the nerve to look at him and find his eyes searching mine, looking for…what?

“Okay,” I say.

“Good.” His eyes are still glued to mine, as if he's trying to size me up or perhaps tell me more through his gaze. Finally he gets up. “Have a good afternoon, girls,” he says and, without looking back, walks away.

My heart thumps. I don't know why he would track me down at lunchtime unless he really wanted to see me. He could just as easily have waited until this afternoon to talk about those things. I peel off a segment of orange and slide it into my mouth.

“When did you have this little accident?” Talia asks.

“Last night.” I bite into the orange and enjoy the burst of tangy juice.

“You were here last night? With Mr. Rocchelli?”

“Yeah.” I look directly into her eyes. “What's wrong with that? We were supposed to work, but then I twisted my ankle on the way to the portable so I went home instead.”

She stares at me. “Have you being doing this a lot? Meeting Mr. Rocchelli at night?”

I don't like the accusatory tone in her voice. “A few times. Our schedules are full. It's the only time we can get together. He often has students come back to work in the evening.”

Talia glances at the other girls, but they remain focused on their lunches.

“Were there other students last night?”

“No.”
Stay cool
, I tell myself.

“Do you really think it's a good idea, being here alone with him at night?”

I shove my lunch bag back into my pack and stand up. “Look, Talia, I don't like what you're implying, now or yesterday after English.”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't answer.

With as much dignity as I can muster, I swing my backpack over my shoulder and limp away. I feel all their eyes on my back.

I step into the library and immediately see Spencer, slumped over some books at the same table we were at earlier. Not wanting to return to the multipurpose room or sit alone in the cafeteria, I'm left with no choice. I head outside and cross the short driveway to the music portable. My next class is here anyway. I don't go to the sound room but to a table. There are other students scattered around the room. I sense Noel's presence at his desk, but I don't look at him. Instead, I pull my history textbook out of my pack and turn to chapter 12, “The Reformation
.”
My eyes scan the words, but nothing sinks in. I think about Talia and what she has implied. It ticks me off that she's figured it out, that she knows what I'm feeling. Well, she may
know
, but she doesn't
understand.
All the girls may think Mr. Rocchelli is hot, but they haven't created music with him like I have. They don't have the chemistry with him that I do. He doesn't relate to them the way he relates to me. We simply have to take it slow, finish the music, get through the remainder of the year and then, once I graduate…I smile to myself, thinking about it.

“What happened to your friends?”

Noel is standing across the table from me, looking down. I squirm, remembering what happened in here last night. His face, however, shows nothing but open friendliness.

“I need to get some reading done, and the library was full.” The lies just get easier and easier.

He nods. “I meant to ask, will your mom be able to collect her car?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Actually, I have no idea. I'd told her the truth about why I left it at school last night, except that I led her to believe I was meeting a whole group of students here. She said she'd find a way to get over to pick it up. I'd like to think she'll take the bus, but somehow I doubt that.

“I don't want to keep you from your homework,” he says, “but now might be a good time for us to compare schedules.”

“Sure.” I check the calendar on my phone, even though I don't need to. Without dance classes or a social life, my time is wide open.

He grabs a daytimer from his desk. “So,” he says, flipping through the pages. “Does Thursday morning before school work for you? And then”—he flips the page— “Friday afternoon, right after school?”

I feel like saying something flippant about the risk of his being alone with me before school, when it's still dark, but I don't. I just enter the times into my calendar. As if I'd forget.

He glances around the room, checking on the other students. “Allegra, I'm really sorry about your ankle.” He pauses. “And everything else. I'm glad you're willing to get the project finished.”

I meet his eyes for a brief moment, but this time he looks away first. For some reason that pleases me.

“I can use a break from dance.”

“Feel free to use the sound room whenever it's available,” he says. “And that reminds me, I've got the accident form on my desk.” He spins around and strides back across the room. I watch, noting how neatly his plaid shirt tucks into his faded jeans, jeans that look like they were designed specifically for him. His shoulders are broad—the shoulders of a grown man, not a kid. His hips are narrow. My eyes dart away when he turns back in my direction.

Sliding the sheet onto the table in front of me, he says, “I've filled in the parts I can. The rest are personal details that you need to fill in.”

I glance at the form and see that he's been completely honest, not giving any more information than is asked for, but not leaving anything out either.

Detailed description of accident:
Student at school for an evening music theory meeting. She twisted her ankle in pothole in driveway. Assisted into music portable, then driven home.

Mr. Rocchelli is watching me, head tilted. “Okay?” he asks.

I just nod. The bell rings, and lunch is over.

S
ixteen

My fingers slide along the keys on Dad's keyboard, but I don't play the notes. I'm lost in thoughts of Noel and wishing tomorrow would hurry up and get here. I can no longer compose anything without his input. We are so close to taking the piece to its musical peak; after that, there's just the resolution to write.

“Allegra?” Mom calls down the stairs. “Dinner is ready.”

As I sit down to a bowl of steaming soup, I realize it's been a few days since we've had the chance to eat together. “So what's new with you?” I ask, blowing on my soup to cool it down.

She smiles, just a little. “Oh, you know, same old. Students in the mornings, work at night. But it's all good.”

It's all good
? Her marriage is crumbling. Shouldn't she be feeling a little less-than-good about that? I'd love to ask her about Marcus, but I don't dare.

“How about you?” she asks. “How's your ankle?”

“It's not so bad. Black and blue, but I can get around.”

“You must be missing your dance classes.”

I shrug. “Maybe I needed a little break.”

I feel rather than see her glance at me.

“I haven't seen your friends around…not since that night they all came for dinner.”