Allegra (24 page)

“I have lunch with them, but we're all busy the rest of the time.”

She simply nods and then concentrates on her food.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. My thoughts return to Noel. I wonder who he eats dinner with. I remember him saying a few weeks ago that he had a date. It didn't sink in at the time, but now I wonder if he's seeing someone. That thought never occurred to me. I'd just assumed a date meant he was meeting someone or had a rehearsal. Picturing him with a woman…well… I put down my spoon, alarmed, and look up. Mom is studying me.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she says, dipping a piece of focaccia bread into some balsamic vinegar and olive oil.

“Nothing, really,” I say, but I've suddenly lost my appetite. Maybe being patient and waiting until I graduate to pursue a relationship with him is not such a good idea after all. Anything could happen between now and then.

Mom is still staring at me, so I pick up my spoon and change the subject. “Dad says we're all going to Uncle Dave's for Christmas?”

She looks back down at her food, and her expression changes. “Yeah, I guess,” she says, without much enthusiasm.

“Where will Dad stay when he comes home?”

“We haven't talked about that yet.”

She doesn't offer anything more, so I decide to drop the subject. We go back to our own thoughts, my mind taking me to all kinds of unpleasant places featuring Noel and beautiful women.

“I'll take the car tonight if you're not using it,” Mom says, breaking the long silence. She begins clearing the dishes.

“That's fine; I'm not going anywhere.” I wonder some more about Marcus as I carry my dishes to the counter. I haven't seen him or his sports car in a few weeks. “I'll be down in the studio if you need me.”

“How's the composition going?” she asks, brightening at the change in subject.

“Not bad.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, no, I'm fine.” I feel almost panicky at the thought of her getting involved. This is my project, mine and Noel's. I smile inwardly at his name. I'm getting more used to using Noel rather than Mr. Rocchelli. I hope I don't accidentally slip up at school, although I doubt he'd mind that much. A lot of the kids are actually calling him Rocky.

“Okay.” She sounds disappointed.

“I'll let you listen in a few days. We're almost at the end.”

“We?”

I realize with a start that I've let it slip again, the fact that I'm not working on it alone. “I've had some help… so we're all good.”

“I didn't know this was a group project.”

“It's not, but…like I said, I don't need any help.”

She just regards me for a moment, then continues filling the dishwasher. I limp down the stairs to the music studio.

I'm pulled out of my daydreams a few hours later by the sound of the doorbell ringing upstairs. I know it's probably just someone canvassing for a charity, but it always unsettles me when someone arrives uninvited at night.

I limp up the stairs and peek out the window. There are no cars parked at the curb. Opening the door just a crack, I find Talia standing there. My heart sinks.

“Hey,” I say, opening the door fully. “What's up?”

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“Yeah, I guess.” I step aside to let her pass.

She peers down the hall. “Is anyone home?”

“No.” I remember what her house looks like and suddenly feel embarrassed at the state of my little home.

“Good.” She walks into the kitchen and plants herself in a chair. I lean against the kitchen counter and wait.

“Aren't you going to join me?” she asks, motioning toward another chair.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On why you're here.”

She sighs and looks down at her hands, but she doesn't say anything.

“So, why
are
you here?” I reiterate.

She stays quiet for another moment, then looks up. “That's not very friendly, Allegra.”

“Really? Well, the last few conversations I've had with you haven't been very friendly either. Is it my fault if I figure this is going to be another lecture?”

“I haven't lectured you,” she says quietly.

“Then why are you here?” I ask again. “You've never dropped in before.”

“Because of this.” She pulls a crumpled sheet of paper out of the pocket of her jacket. She unfolds it and begins flattening it out on the table. I recognize my own handwriting and then, with a pang, I realize what it is: my list of things I know about Noel. I lurch over and try to snatch it away, but she's faster than me. She grabs it and holds it behind her back. I slump into a chair, realizing the futility of struggling with her to get it. Besides, she's obviously read it already.

“How did you get that?” My heart is slamming against my ribs.

“Spencer found it in your backpack. He was looking for a pen or something.”

I remember now how the three girls and Spencer were reading something when I joined them for lunch earlier, and how the paper was quickly tucked away when they saw me approaching. “He shouldn't have snooped. And it's none of your business either.” The acute embarrassment of the situation is causing me to snarl, but I can't help myself.

“It is if we're friends.”

I glare at her.

“But then again, maybe we're not.” She holds up the paper. “Point number three,” she says. “
He understands why I can't relate to people my own age
.” She looks at me. “Why is that, Allegra? Do you think you're better than the rest of us?”

My face burns, but I don't respond.

She continues reading. “Point number four.
When he looks at me, he really sees me
.” She draws out the word
really
. I realize how silly it sounds read this way. “You don't think I see you, Allegra?”

I know she is studying my face, but I look out the window, too mortified to say anything. What else did I write on that stupid page?

“Have you found the answer to your question, Allegra?”

“What question?”

“Point number six.
Is he in love with me too
?”

My mortification turns to fury. Now I do snatch the crumpled sheet away. She doesn't try to hang on to it.

“Well, is he?”

“It's none of your business.”

“What
were
you guys doing in that portable, alone, at night?”

I refuse to dignify her question with an answer.

“You've been screwing the hot teacher, haven't you, Allegra?” Her voice is soft, steady.

I'm so mad I decide to let her think what she wants. How would she ever understand the kind of relationship Noel and I have? “If you're about done, Talia, I have homework to do.”

Surprise flickers across her face. It wasn't the response she was expecting. “You could get him fired, Allegra. Is that any way to treat someone you supposedly love?”

I walk to the front door and open it. As she passes me in the hallway, she puts her face right up to mine and says, very quietly, “What you're doing—both of you— is wrong.”

I just glare at her.

She leaves without another word. I shut the door behind her and slide the deadbolt firmly into place.

In order to get to my early-morning composition session on time, Mom allows me to take the car. She thinks it's another group project that I'm working on, though I didn't actually come right out and say that.

Noel's car is in the lot when I arrive. I pull in beside it, turn off the ignition and just sit. I tossed and turned all night, rehashing the conversation with Talia. It makes me nauseous that the whole group has read that stupid list I made. My heart speeds up again just thinking about it. How am I ever going to face them? When I wasn't rehashing what happened with Talia, I fretted about how this session with Noel will go. I've been so excited to be with him again, but will he want to talk about what happened the other night? I slump into my seat, unable to decide which situation is more embarrassing. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and sigh loudly. When I open them again, I see that the sky is starting to get light in the east. I climb out of the car and grab my backpack.

When I enter the portable, Noel is already at work in the sound room. He has the headphones on and his back to the door, so he doesn't hear me approach. I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching him deep in concentration. There is something intensely beautiful about a person who is totally involved in work that he loves.

Eventually he senses my presence and swivels around to face me. He pulls the headphones off and smiles widely. “Hey. Good morning, Allegra. Ready to get to work?”

The warmth of his smile relaxes me, and the nausea eases. I roll the other chair alongside his and stare into the computer screen. “What are you working on?”

“Listen to this.” He clicks the mouse, and the familiar music fills the small room. I listen to a few bars, then smile. He shuts off the music.

“That's perfect, using the string instruments to tie those two passages together. I don't know why we didn't think of that before.”

He laughs. “I know. Something so simple…sometimes it eludes us. So, I was thinking, shall we go back to the beginning this morning and try to smooth out the other rough patches?”

“Okay, but I'd say you're actually avoiding the really big problem,” I tease.

“Which is?” He cocks his head.

“The ending. Neither of us knows how to tackle that.”

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckles. “It's easier to edit than compose, especially an ending, which is so important, and so complicated. But how about this for a plan? Our time is limited right now…the other students will be arriving in just over an hour. If we get on a creative roll this morning, we won't want to stop. Let's save the ending for tomorrow's session, after school, when we're not as pressed for time.”

He frowns. “Or maybe you are? Sorry, I shouldn't assume.”

“No, that's a good plan.”

For the next hour we concentrate fully on the project. A suggestion from me releases some new idea from him, which, in turn, helps me think of something even better. I get lost in a vortex of creative energy, and everything but the music is forgotten.

Eventually Mr. Rocchelli sits back in his chair and sighs, breaking the spell. He glances through the glass partition to the wall clock in the classroom. “Wow.” He takes a deep breath and sighs again. “We accomplished a lot in that one hour.”

I glance at the clock, surprised that a full hour has passed. “Yeah, we did.”

His eyes scan my face. “So we're all okay then? No bad feelings about the other night?”

“We're okay.” I mean it, yet for the first time this morning, I can't meet his eyes.

“You know, Allegra, this process has been really rewarding for me. Usually I write alone, but I find that two brains are not just two times more creative than one but about ten times more creative. It's wonderful how it works.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Our eyes meet and I feel that deep emotional connection again.

“I'm looking forward to working on the ending tomorrow afternoon.”

“Me too.” I smile.

With sudden abruptness, he reaches for his flash drive and saves the work. I pull my own out of my backpack.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asks as I save the work to my drive.

“No, not really,” I answer. “What about you?” I think again of the date he referred to once.

“Not much. I have a gig booked this Saturday, which will be fun.”

“What's the gig?”

He rolls his chair back, stands, stretches. I follow him out of the sound room. “It's at the legion. Some old guy's birthday party. Not very glamorous, but we get to play music and that's what counts. Now, what your dad does, that sounds glamorous. I have all the Loose Ends
CD
s.” He turns and smiles at me as he tosses his flash drive into the top drawer of his desk.