Because of You (16 page)

Maddie

’m nervous about meeting the other half of my duet. Professor Jenkins told me to meet my partner in Piano Room 3. I’ve been to the room several times already. Professor Jenkins teaches his private lessons in there. That’s fine.

What isn’t fine is that I have no idea who my partner is. What if she’s bad? What if she’s hard to work with? What if she hates me?

I enter the Fine Arts building, walk down stairs, and open the heavy door leading to the practice rooms. I can’t help the intense sigh of relief that enters and exits my lungs. I imagine this is what religious people get from prayer. It’s calming. Fortifying.

There’s still five minutes until our meeting time, so I walk slowly, enjoying the muffled sounds filling the hallway. As I get closer to the designated room, a strain of music rises above the others. It’s heartbreaking, full of longing, sadness, and hope. I stop, unable to move. It’s beyond beautiful. I have to see who’s playing. My heart demands it.

I run to the door and peer through the small rectangular window. My body registers my partner’s identity before my mind does, and my mouth falls open. New sets of butterflies have hatched inside my stomach, fluttering around wildly. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he played the piano, or even liked classical music.

But he’s always liked poetry
, I think, pushing open the door.

The music stops and he looks up. Surprise creases his brow, turns his lips into a smirk.

“It’s you.” I’m unable to stop the grin that blooms across my face.

He steps away from the piano and approaches me. It looks like he hasn’t shaved in a while. His face is scruffy.
It’s sexy,
I think.

He’s wearing faded jeans and a black button up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his biceps. I drink him in. He takes my breath away.

“It’s me.” He picks up one of my hands and caresses my palm with the other.

The butterflies are frantic, and my heart is racing, racing, racing.

“I didn’t know you played.” The words stumble out of my mouth like drunken old men.

“So you’re my other half?” His fingers are caressing my inner wrist, and my heart stops. Slams to a standstill.

“The duet?” I ask, clearing my throat.

He chuckles. “Maddie Martin. Freckles.” His eyes roam my face as though he’s searching for memories. Trying to see the girl I was when we were younger. When we made our pact.

I was eleven. Short. Shadowy curls. Chunky. Full of wonder and ideas. Always quick to laugh. Always quick to share.

I’m no longer that girl. My face and body have become lean. My hair is long, and I don’t laugh nearly so often as I used to.

“It’s good to see you.” His eyes are searching my face, whether for truth or lies I’m not sure.

I rock back, surprised he’s gotten right to the point.

Does he know why I left? Why I wasn’t able to say good-bye? Does he know that I believe his father killed my parents? Does he know what I saw? The gun in his father’s hand, the words he said. How could he? Unless his father told him. Told him about the silly, mixed up Martin girl. And what if his father asked him to watch out for me? Kill me?

I can no longer meet his gaze and look away. Too many questions are racing through my head. “I…” I’m not sure what to say.

He steps closer, pulling my body to his. I sink my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of fresh laundry, and vanilla. He’s solid, real. And I don’t ever want to let him go.

“Sorry I was an ass about pretending not to know you. It’s just I saw you and—”

“You were pretending?”

The revelation is a surprise. I’m not sure whether to be pissed that he pulled such an immature prank or relieved. I choose pissed. “Why would you do that?” I turn away, part of me thinking I should just leave. Walk out. Tell the Professor never mind.

“Hey,” he says, pulling me to him. “I did it because I was hurt you stopped talking to me and…” He pauses. “When I saw you I went into shock.” He kisses the top of my head. “Because I realized just how damn much I missed you.”

I shiver. I can’t help it.

“I missed you too, Kyle.” There’s no point in trying to be angry. I’m not feeling it. The look on his face and what he said, I can’t feel anything but sad that I allowed my aunt and uncle to convince me to stop speaking to him. And I think I should be the one to apologize.

The door thumps open and Professor Jenkins walks in. He clears his throat, scrunching his salt and pepper brows. Then he clears his throat again. “I see you two have met. Excellent. Excellent. Sorry I’m late.” He pulls some music from his briefcase and hands it to each of us. “Have a seat, and let’s go over the piece I’d like you to play.”

Kyle winks and sits at the piano he was playing moments before. I take the one across from him.

The piece of music is kind of a letdown.
Sonata in F Major, K. 533/494: III. Rondo.
Allegretto.
Written by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Arranged for two pianos by Grieg.

“Let’s take a look at the first page. You’ll see the title, and arrangement. Are you both familiar with this piece?” Professor Jenkins asks.

“Yes,” Kyle says.

Professor Jenkins glances at me.

“I am.”

“Excellent. Want to run through it once?”

Kyle lifts a shoulder and grins. His face is easy to read. It’s saying,
I’m game if you are.
I can’t help but meet his grin with one of my own.

And I’m thinking,
Game on
.

“Absolutely,” Kyle says.

Kyle and I run through the piece with Professor Jenkins several times. He gives us lots of pointers, advising us on the more difficult sections. The first run through, Kyle plays piano one and I play piano two. Then we swap. Piano one is my favorite. The music is so fast my fingers almost have to float above the keys. But Professor Jenkins ends up giving Kyle piano one. I’m bummed, but I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter. Playing with Kyle at the Winter Gala is almost a guarantee I’ll receive another year of scholarships. At least that’s what Professor Jenkins told me. That’s the important part. Screw my pride.

“Alright, you two. That’s a good start.” Professor Jenkins nods at each of us. “Get in plenty of practice. Let’s meet back here. Same time. Same place. Next week. I expect to hear great progress fron the both of you.” He stands, grabs his briefcase, and walks to the door. “I think the two of you make a great duo.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Kyle and I say together as he leaves.

Once the door clicks closed I turn to Kyle. He’s watching me, but music fills the room. It’s the same piece I heard him play earlier.

“I wrote this for…” He pauses, clears his throat, and looks down at his hands.

I stand beside him, waiting for him to go on. Now that he’s done playing games, we can really talk.

“So, seven years?” he begins. “What have you been up to? Besides becoming an amazing pianist.” His brilliant blue eyes find mine. “Never would’ve guessed.” His eyes shift back to the piano keys. “I thought you wanted to be a doctor.”

I can’t help the laugh that leaves my throat. Nor can I help my need to be closer to him. Without realizing what I’m doing, I move close.

“Have a seat.” He scoots so I can sit beside him.

I slide in beside him, placing my hands in my lap. My heart pounds in my throat. So many questions, thoughts, worries, and desires. They fill me up so I can barely think.

He glances at my lap and smirks. “You’ve got doctor’s hands.”

I lace my fingers together, listening to the music, letting his words sink in. “I wanted to be a doctor up until I watched a video of a woman giving birth.” I can’t help the shudder that races along my spine. “After nearly passing out, I realized it wasn’t my thing. Too much blood.” I shrug. “My aunt and uncle bought me a piano, made me take lessons. Turned out I was good at it.” I meet his eyes. “I love it.”

He nods as though he understands. It’s obvious that he does. “I love it, too.”

“Is music your major?” It feels so weird to be talking to him like this. Having a regular conversation, like the last seven years never happened. Except as soon as I think it, the past seven years rush back, and my stomach turns with grief.

He doesn’t seem to notice the sudden agony coursing through my body.

He says, “No, my father always wanted me to get a business degree. Music is my minor though. I couldn’t give it up.”

His words send bile to my throat.
His father.
The same man who went into my house, shot and killed my parents, and then talked to me like I was nothing. My hands begin to shake. It’s hard to breathe. “Cool.” I swallow and blink several times. The room is tilting. Pain serrates my heart, and I want to scream.

It’s happening again. I haven’t had an attack like this in a couple of years, but I can feel it coming on, like riding a bike, I can’t forget. I know how it works. First the overly fast heartbeat, my breathing coming in and out like I’ve just run ten miles, a tightness, the sound of water whooshing over my head. It’s a panic attack—a bad one. I jump to my feet. I won’t lose it in front of him.

Kyle grabs my hand. “Wait.” He must see something of what I’m suffering because he asks, “Are you okay?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. My teeth are like a concrete wall, holding back all the agony inside my body. If I open my mouth, everything—all the pain, the hate, the anger—will spill out. I pull away from his grasp.

In the past, if I were feeling this kind of agony, I would run
to
a piano room, not away from it. But Kyle is here. And I can’t be near him any longer.

I try to be polite and wave, but I can’t even look at him, see if he noticed. If I don’t get away I’m going to pass out, and I can’t do that in front of Kyle. I’ve done plenty to embarrass myself in front of him already.

As I climb the steps, I realize I forgot my music.