Gone From Me (4 page)

5

Maddie

Interpersonal Relationships

A door slams and I blink, sitting up. “
Wha—” I rub sleep from my eyes and work to focus on Gina. She’s still wearing her slinky black dress, but her makeup is smeared and she has bed-head.

“Why did you leave the party?” she asks, gingerly sitting on the edge of her bed, grabbing a fluffy
cream teddy bear from the rumpled covers and squeezing.

I don’t answer. Warning bells are flashing
behind my eyes. Something’s wrong. “Gina,” I stand and move to sit next to her. “Are you… okay?”

She waves me away. “Yeah.” I notice her
lashes are wet. She sniffs and lies down on her side. “I asked for it.” She rolls over, facing the wall.

I stand there, unsure whether to comfort her or leave her alone. My homeschooling days haven’t prepared me for real interpersonal relationships. I’m not sure what she thinks she asked for, but I’m terrified for her.

I’ve been sheltered since I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They aren’t old-old, in their late 50’s, but they act old. “Technology is not our friend” is my aunt’s motto, while my uncle always says, “Remember the Titans.” Neither saying makes any sense to me. They own one TV and one DVD player. All they watch are sitcoms from the sixties and seventies like
I Dream of Genie, The Brady Bunch,
and
Bewitched
. Occasionally my uncle will watch old movies. His favorite is
Remember the Titans
. He says it's “Because it’s a story of true friendship combined with football, and there’s nothing better.” Sometimes I watch TV with them, but mostly I prefer to read the dusty classics tucked away in old boxes, or practice piano.

Finally I whisper
to Gina, “Can I get you something? A coffee?” I hope that sounds appropriate. I’m astonished at the gnawing worry in my gut. But it’s there, and I’m concerned. Just because I hurt doesn’t mean I want anyone else to. 

She turns over gently. I see she’s crying. “Why do you care if I’m okay?”

I realize she’s flinging my words from last night back at me. My first instinct is to agree and walk out. But she’s hugging the teddy bear so tightly I feel sorry for it.

I sigh and sit on her bed. “I think it’s because you and I are meant to be friends. And friends care about each other. If you’re
sad, I want to help.” My voice sounds more calm, more sure than I feel.

Two enormous tears drop on her pillow. “You mean it? You don’t think I’m outrageous?” I force back a snort at her choice of word. She’s the epitome of
outrageous with her crazy outfits, hair, and makeup. Even her black boots scream
outrageous
. She seems to know it though, because she eases one hand from the stranglehold she has on the bear and picks up the edge of her dress.

I force myself to smile. “I think your outrageousness is going to be one of my favorite things about you.” My hands are tucked into the end of my shirt, but I feel like I need to comfort her somehow. I
grab a tissue from the table situated between our beds and hand it to her. She takes it and wipes her eyes, then blows. When she’s finished she chucks the wadded tissue toward the trash. It lands on the end of her bed. She reeks of alcohol and cigarettes.

“You
wanna talk about it?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath, yanks off her boots, and lies back down. “First I need to sleep off this hangover.” She pulls her covers up and rolls over.

“’kay,” I say softly, surprised I’m not hung over. At least I don’t think I am. I’m tired, and it feels like I have grass growing on my teeth and tongue, but it’s nothing a shower and some toothpaste won’t fix. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

Today is
the first day of classes. I feel like I should remind her about going. But she seems so broken. I can’t bring myself to speak the words.

I quietly pick up my towel and bathroom necessities, pulling on a pair of fluffy pink slippers. I grab my keycard and open the door.

As I’m leaving, Gina whispers, “Thanks, Maddie.”

She didn’t call me Maddelena.  “You’re welcome.”

There’s only one other person in the bathroom. She gives me a curt smile, takes her stuff, and walks out. The black and white checkered floor is wet. Most of the shower stalls are dripping water. I step inside one, close the bright white curtain, and set my stuff on the ledge. Then I pull off my slippers, hang my shirt on a hook, and turn on the water.

Icy liquid sprays my body. I quickly adjust the faucet, wondering who would be crazy enough to shower in cold water. Within seconds the water warms and my body relaxes.

I wet my hair and squirt shampoo into my hand, then massage it into my scalp. As I’m rinsing, I close my eyes. And Kyle is there, as though he’s been waiting. His smile, the one he gave me last night, lights his face, turns my knees to jelly.

I shudder, and my thighs seem to light on fire.

From the way he acted last night, the promise he made to save himself for me hasn’t been honored. I try to ignore the way my heart beats when I think about him. If I’m honest with myself, I hoped he’d be here. Despite everything his father did, I’ve missed him.

After showering I scour my teeth, paying close attention to my tongue. I dress in jeans, ballet flats, and a black tee. Brushing through my hair, I whip it in
to a messy bun and apply lip-gloss to my dry lips.

There are dark circles under my eyes. I put on some concealer and brush on a little mascara. My normally caramel eyes are flecked with green. Sometimes, depending on my mood, they get darker. Today they’re almost almond in color. I know why.
Kyle
. It isn’t just my encounter with him last night. It’s more than that. It’s the feelings I’ve worked so hard to bury. I’m of two minds. I want to know him again. I want to be his friend, and more. But I shouldn’t. His father is evil.

My aunt’s words,
“bad men raise bad kids”
repeat like a broken record in my thoughts. Is he here because of his father? Is he out to get me? I used to hear my aunt and uncle whisper about Chief Hadley, especially when I was younger. They worried he would come after me, try to silence me. Because I know what I saw, and he knows what he did. But in seven years I haven’t heard a word from him. Kyle quit trying to contact me after six months.

And it was for the best. It’s still the right thing.

Remember your latest promise
, I tell myself, lifting my shirt, touching the iris tattoo.

Faith
. In others, and most especially in myself.

But it’s hard. My eyes fall on the kanji symbol. The tattoo I got when I was in a dark place emotionally.

Hate
.

Over the last year I worked hard to push the emotion out. I believed myself calmed down. But seeing Kyle has brought
back all the hate for his father. It eats at my insides. I won’t ever stop hating him. Not until justice is served. Not until I see him pay for what he did.

Kyle is the son of a murderer
. It’s better if I stay away from him, avoid him. I take a deep breath. At least he didn’t seem to recognize me.

Didn’t he
? I wonder, recalling the way his eyes flickered.

I push that thought away, letting go of my shirt and pulling at a tendril of hair
on either side of my face. I give my reflection another once over and put away my makeup. No sense dwelling on it, on him. It won’t do any good since I’ve promised myself I won’t speak to him again.

I’ll attend my classes, and spend my free time p
racticing.

Avoid.

Avoid.

Avoid.

Right
, I think, trying to convince myself to be brave.

Finished, I
sneak into my room careful to be quiet. Grab some sheet music and my iPod, a secret gift from my uncle, and carefully close the door.

6

Maddie

Several Beats

The sun beats down as though it’s desperately trying to elevate my mood.

It’s still September, and there’s a slight chill in the morning air. Bellam Springs has three seasons
: Summer, Winter, and
Fring
, which is the two weeks between Summer and Winter where it’s almost like Fall and Spring combined.
Fring
. My mother made that word up when I was little and it stuck. I kind of like it. 

That’s what today feels like
, a beautiful
Fring
day. I hurry into the cafeteria, punch my code into the console, and grab a bagel, cream cheese, and a glass of orange juice. The smell of coffee and bacon fill the room and I debate bacon. But the line is long and I don’t have time. I want to practice the piano an hour before my first class.

There’s a tiny round table in the corner near one of several large windows, and I sit. After I smear cream cheese on half a bagel, I take a bite. The air is crackling with anticipation. It’s my first day of college. I’m giddy. I feel grown up.

The cafeteria is packed. People are in groups, just like the high schools I’ve seen in the movies, and I’m surprised. One long table is filled with kids, all chatting and laughing loudly. I can’t help wondering what they’re talking about.

I take another bite of bagel and put my ear buds in. Scrolling through my music, I find the piece I’m going to practice—
Nocturne No. 2 in E
—and press play. It starts out slow, whimsical.

As I listen, Kyle walks in. His hair is wet and rumpled. Like he got out of the shower and shook it dry. He’s wearing a tight blue t-shirt that accentuates every muscle
in his arms, chest, and abs. His jeans sit low on his hips. The two who were with him at the party last night flank him. They look hung over, but still beautiful. I wonder if they stayed the night with him. And if they did, what they did. I think about his offer to join them, and what that would’ve entailed. My cheeks get hot. I look away, taking another bite of my bagel, but I can’t keep my traitorous eyes from his body.

The music playing in my ears speeds up, and so does my heart.

Kyle glances over, his eyes locking on mine, and a smile spreads across his lips.

He remembers me. And I realize I’m really excited. All the times we hung out together—in his room, in my room, listening to music, talking about what we wanted in life, rushing through homework—it bubbles up and runs over. I’ve missed him terribly.

He whispers something to the girls and then strolls over, leaving them to fend for themselves. My heart leaps. Butterflies escape, spread their wings and flutter lightly in my stomach. What will he say? I can’t help but notice the way people in the cafeteria watch his movements. He’s like one end of a magnet. Everyone is drawn to him.

Including me.

I sit up straight and pull out an ear bud.

“Hi,” I say when he’s close. My heart skips several beats.

“Hey.” He places both hands on the edge of a chair and leans forward. I can smell his aftershave and a hint of vanilla... his shampoo? “Didn’t I see you at a party last night?” He licks his lips and I’m mesmerized. “What’s your name?” he asks.

I blink several times
, open my mouth and close it, trying not to look like a trout. My bagel drops onto the napkin.

He doesn’t know who I am.
I can’t believe it.
Am I really that forgettable?

The girls he left behind have sauntered up next to him. They aren’t twins but they are dressed alike
: white button shirts undone to their belly buttons with crisp collars, navy miniskirts, over-the-knee navy socks, and black, super high Mary Janes.
Their shoes say slut
, I’ve decided.

One of the girls drapes a hand through Kyle’s arm.
She glares at me before smiling brightly at Kyle. “Let’s eat,” she coos.

Trying not to gag, I stand. “No. Sorry. I thought you were someone else.” I pick up my music and my iPod and move to leave. “You’re welcome to sit here, if you want,” I say and skirt around them.

His smile falters, but only for a second. “Thanks.” As I walk by he makes a point to grab the girls’ asses. They squeal and giggle.

Yeah, he’s a jerk. I didn’t check his shoes, but I’m sure they scream
jerk
.

Because you were too busy staring at his gorgeous face and beautiful body,
I think, disgusted with myself.

I huff. He probably had on really expensive shoe
s. Pretentious asshole shoes. I’m tempted to turn back and look, but I don’t. It’s better if we stay as far from each other as possible.

Kyle

As soon as Maddie leaves I ditch the girls. Last night was fun, but that’s it.

“Thanks again. S
ee ya around.” I pat them both on the back. This is always the awkward part.

Baby grabs my arm. “Wait. I
—Let’s do it again sometime.” She winks.

I smile. “
Laters, Baby,” I say flippantly. Turns out she goes by Baby thanks to that book,
50 Shades
of whatever. I know enough to know it’s being made into a movie and that the main character says that to his girl.

Baby smiles but won’t let go.

I have to pry her fingers from my arm. The girl is way too needy, and not nearly as into girls as her girlfriend thinks. I feel kinda bad for Beth. At least she knows what she wants. “I had a great time.” I squeeze Beth’s hand. Of the two I like her best, which is sad because Beth is shooting daggers my way. While we were in the moment she seemed to enjoy herself. Guess that’s changed.

The girls sit at the table where Maddie sat only moments ago. My heart lurches
, and that makes me angry.

At least that’s what I
keep telling myself. Every time I’m near her, my body proves I’m lying. And it irritates the hell out of me.

I
grab some bacon and a slice of cheddar. Slap the ingredients between two pieces of toast and eat as I make my way over to the piano rooms.

My music professor
asked me at the end of my freshman year to play a duet for the Winter Gala this year. I’ve got to practice. As it is I’ll probably only get in an hour this morning.

Maddie

The practice rooms are in the basement of the Fine Arts Center. My shoes skim down the stairs. The padding echoes off the walls. I push open one of the heavy double doors, and am rewarded with one of my favorite sounds.

Music.

It’s loud and soft.
Heavy and light.
Staccato
and
legato
. Classical and jazz. Rock and roll. It’s the sounds of every emotion that ever existed, all bottled up in individual rooms. I make my way down the hall slowly.

This is my church.

My home.

The best place in the world.

I stop in front of a door and peer inside. It’s empty except
for a piano and a bench. My breathing slows, my heart settles. The door closes behind me with a click. My body unwinds. I place my music on the stand and sit.

Another
breath.

Nothing exists but the keys
, the way they press against the strings and form a sound. Beautiful or angry. It’s there because of me, tattooed in the air because I created the sound with the press of a finger.

I scoot the bench, adjust
my butt, and begin.

Scales first. I start at middle C. The left hand plays down and the right plays up
in synchrony. Without skipping a beat I move to the next set of scales. My breathing keeps time with my hands. I rock back and forth slightly, allowing my body to feel the beat, my fingers to warm up and adjust to the keys of an unfamiliar piano.

By the time I’m hal
fway through my world shifts and I feel better, right. For the first time in two days, there is no Gina and her sad face, her words shredding the room with hurt. No Kyle and his beautiful smile or his ass-grabbing hands. There’s only this room and these keys and my fingers forming notes. There is only
crescendo
and
decrescendo
,
allegro
and
adagio
. Notes played together in chords.

After fifteen minutes I move on to the piece I
want to play for Professor Jenkins. I’ll see him tomorrow for my piano lesson. It’s an honor to be taught by the Professor and not one of the graduate students, so I want to be prepared.

But as I begin, Kyle’s face fills my mind. It blocks out my peace. Instead of notes I see his
dark messy hair and his light blue eyes.

Slamming my hands against the keys, I stand. The clock on my iPod says my first class starts in ten minutes. I grab my stuff and dash out the door. I don’t even have a pencil.