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I walked over to him, laughing quietly. “Wow,” I said “You look like you've just seen a ghost.”

Cameron smiled shyly, letting out the air that must've been trapped in his lungs. “I'm
crazy
nervous right now,” he whispered, tugging on his silver collar. The two of us had color-coordinated; him in a white suit and silver shirt, me in a white dress with silver trim. Even though we matched, he looked a zillion times better than I did — better than anyone.

I punched his shoulder, happy I'd finally made contact with him. Also happy that my fist had connected with pure muscle. “Don't be,” I said. “Even though hundreds of eyes are going to be on you, at least you'll know you'll have all of their attention.”

“That makes me feel a
lot
better,” Cameron said sarcastically. He looked outside of the curtain again, his breath catching when he'd seen the crowd. Then he glanced back and suddenly grabbed my arms. “My dad and Mila are here!” he cried.

It took me a while to respond, what with his hands making my body feel all tingly and melty inside. Finally I blurted, “And they've seen you play. They should be your biggest help out there.”

Cameron nodded, letting go of my arms (unfortunately). He adjusted his collar again and then stared down at me. “Are
you
nervous?” he asked, biting his soft, pink lip. That gesture alone made me want to jump his bones.

I shook my head even though I knew I was more nervous than he was. “I'll be alright. It'll be done before you know it.” Yeah, after a whole century. When I saw him wince and clutch his stomach as if holding in the butterflies, I touched his arm. “Hey, just imagine us in the music room all those days. It was no problem then so it should be no problem now, okay?” Great advice. Why couldn't
I
take it?

Cameron nodded his head, gazing at the floor as he clutched his stomach. “Okay, I guess I can do it,” he said, looking back up at me. “I'll just stare at you the whole time and picture us in the music room.” Then he smiled and walked away.

Then I was alone, eyes wide, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. Not only would I have the audience staring at me, but now I had
Cameron
staring. I was so stupid sometimes!

Anjolie

We'd ended up playing five songs; one with the whole group at the beginning, three paired-off performances, and then a final group performance. It had gone like this:

Song, number one. All of us performed an ancient song from the seventeen hundreds, Cameron on piano, Armando on drums, me on harp, and the rest singing. It had gone pretty well and no one messed up, which was a plus.

Song, number two. Dave and Tanya sang
a capella
with pure harmonies. It was cute the way they sang at each other, but you could tell that both were trying to out-sing the other. I couldn't be happier when it was over.

Song, number three. This was a performance with Armando and Hudson. They'd performed a tribal song, Armando slamming on the drum set with his thick drumsticks, Hudson belting her heart out in a different language. It was a very poignant performance with a lot of soul and tons of heart.

Song, number four. Cameron and me. There were no vocals in our performance, just plain old instruments. It sounded pretty good to me. The melodies were harmonious and fluid like waves in an ocean and both of our fingers were flying. Cameron had apparently memorized the song because his eyes were on me the whole time. I'd messed up once because of that. It was a tiny flub but to me it sounded like I'd ruined the whole song. But finally it was over.

Then we finished off with song number five, playing a piano medley I kept forgetting the name of.

After we'd finished, the crowd swam out of the auditorium like fish, excited to receive the ballots and vote. The rest of us were free to skip last period and go on home.

“You did an
amazing
job,” Cameron said, catching my elbow when I'd walked by. He'd ditched the suit jacket and unbuttoned the first few buttons on his silver shirt. He looked like a supermodel.

I shrugged nonchalantly even though I was ecstatic. “It's over,” I said, turning and facing him. “You did an awesome job, too. You memorized the whole thing?” I asked.

He nodded. “It's easier that way. Sometimes if I stare at the sheet music too long, it all blurs up. Better to memorize, you know.” He pointed to his forehead for emphasis.

“I don't disagree,” I said, folding my arms. “I memorize my stuff too.”

“Exactly,” he said.

We stood there for a few moments, looking around awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. I was angry at myself for not finding a good conversation topic. When the silence became too crippling, I said, “Silver looks
great
on you,” without even realizing it.

Cameron's head jerked back, surprised at the compliment. He smiled, too, hiding a blush. “Silver looks great on me, too? And all this time I thought you were the only one who could pull it off,” he said, slyly.

I shrugged. “What can I say, silver is my thing,” I replied with an arrogant smile.

Cameron laughed, nodding his head. Then I saw his eyes move upward and look over my head with a smile. I swiveled around and saw Mr. Sloane and Mila, his maid, making their way over to us. Mr. Sloane held Mila around the waist, which was odd, considering she was the family maid and all. But I didn't dwell on it too much.

“Yeesh, kid, you were great out there!” Mr. Sloane said, grabbing Cameron by the shoulder and pulling him into a hug. “Your fingers were like lightning, I kid you not.” When they pulled apart, Mr. Sloane's eyes landed on mine. “And you, my dear, are stunning, both on the harp
and
in person.”

I blushed a little, grateful for the compliment. “Thanks, Mr. Sloane. I really appreciate that.”

“Wasn't she great, Mila?” Mr. Sloane asked, smiling widely at me.

Mila stared at me with her eyes narrowed. “She was great,” she said curtly with a hesitant smile. I could tell that by the look in her eyes she was trying to figure me out. I adjusted my dress neckline, just in case.

“You are
beautiful
, do you know that?” Mr. Sloane asked, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Like borderline angelic, sweetheart.”

“Dad,” Cameron said, looking uneasy about his dad's compliments.

But Mr. Sloane continued talking. “You should model,” he said, pointing at me with narrowed eyes. “In fact, I've got an opening for you. Have you heard of Midnight Models?”

I nodded my head. Who
hasn't
heard of Midnight Models? That agency had the skinniest, prettiest, handsomest, sexiest models in all of California. It was an honor to be a part of that agency.

“I want you in my agency,” Mr. Sloane said, pulling out his phone and typing in some information. “Can you do it?” He didn't wait for my response. “Great. I'll have one of the managers contact you. We photograph every day, but Wednesday nights are usually the biggies. I'd love to see you there, cupcake.” He didn't wait for my thank you. He'd already focused on Cameron. “Anyway, Cameron, Mila and I are heading to her sister's wedding up in Croatia. I'm her date.” He smiled at her. “Her previous date flaked — what a loser — so I'm dutifully taking his place. We'll be gone until Sunday night, so don't do anything stupid!”

Cameron nodded his head, giving him the thumbs up. “Won't do anything stupid,” he said.

“Good boy,” Mila said, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She slapped her hands on his cheeks. “You are a dream child, you know that?”

Cameron grinned underneath her hands. “I try,” he said.

Mr. Sloane smiled and motioned for Mila to follow him, but she just focused her gaze on me. “I want to speak to Anjolie, sir,” she said, nodding at me. “I just have a few questions. That's all.”

She wanted to speak to me? For what? Was this about the time where I'd made dinner for Cameron and his friends? Did I end up leaving something there? Did she not approve of me or something? Thousands of thoughts ran through my head as she led me to a secluded area backstage.

“You played lovely tonight, Anjolie,” she said, squeezing my arm warmly. “And you are indeed stunning. The thing is, that has me wondering…”

“Wondering what?” I asked nervously as I watched her rub her chin pensively.

“We had a great time making that dinner for Cameron and his friends, yes?” she said, smiling happily at me. “Honey, I thought we'd bonded. But now, as I look at you, I'm glad we didn't.” Her voice took a cold turn.

“W-what do you mean?” I asked, startled at her new tone.

“You're one of the Gray Eyes,” she said, glaring at me with her piercing eyes. She pursed her red-lipsticked lips, frowning at me as though my being a Gray Eyes was a shameful thing.

“I—I don't… I mean, yeah, I'm a Gray Eyes,” I said, wondering how she'd known. I mean, to me, she was just a house maid — nothing special. She sure wasn't a Gray Eyes either, and she definitely didn't belong to the royal family. So how was it possible that she knew about me? About the Gray Eyes?

Mila sucked in her breath, shaking her head. “I should have known,” she said. “You see, I've been studying Gray Eyes for a long time now, ever since my first boyfriend of two years told me he was one.” She fiddled with the ring on her middle finger. “He'd told me he was a Gray Eyes right before he robbed me and hospitalized my own father. He'd told me he'd
had
to do it. It was his mission, or whatever. Ever since then, I was on the lookout for any and all Gray Eyes.”

I tried to gulp down my fear, hoping this wasn't going to turn into a preamble for my fatal death.

She went on. “My ex-boyfriend had told me the signs,” she explained. “He said that the Gray Eyes had, well,
gray eyes
. He also said they look magical — angelic — when the time comes to do missions.” She snorted. “That explained why he'd suddenly transformed from a scrawny, pale boy to a strapping, beautiful man.

“Then he told me that he had to leave and that I shouldn't find him. I thought it was romantic — that he didn't want to put me in danger. But no, no, no. He actually betrayed my family and left my father for dead.” She glared deeper at me. “My father would have died, you know. If it hadn't been for me. I called the
policija — meaning the police, in Croatian — and then, next thing you know it, they arrested my ex-boyfriend. He was murdered in a jail fight ten years later.”

Murdered in jail? How come that suddenly sounded so familiar to me? Where had I heard about this occurrence?

“His death was four years ago. About the time when you were a freshman, right?” Mila asked, stepping closer to me as if our conversation could be overheard by the walls and props.

I nodded my head, unable to open my dry mouth. Suddenly, everything was making sense. I didn't want to listen to this anymore.

But she continued on, seeming to be unaware of my discomfort. “Did you know who he was, Anjolie?” she asked, her voice piercing.

I didn't respond. She was going to tell me anyway, I already knew that.

“He was the previous boss — before you
.” She pointed at me for emphasis. “He'd been in charge for all of his life and I'd gone and gotten him killed. But what was I supposed to do? He'd almost killed my father! I wanted justice!” She sighed, shaking her head and staring at the floor. “You kn
ow, I probably should hate him. He'd gone and ruined my life. I'm a
maid because of him! But… but I don't hate him. I loved him way too much to hate him.” She suddenly looked back up at me. “And, surprisingly enough, I don't hate you. I hate Cam — but I do
n't hate you. Do you wanna know why?”

My mouth cracked open. “Why?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper.

Mila stared at me for a while, her strong gaze melting into softness. She sighed long and slowly before surprising me with a full-frontal hug, pressing me close to her body. “Because I think he was your father,” she whispered.