Silent Song (Ghostly Rhapsody) (7 page)

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” I said, eloquently. “Was it, you know…?” I trailed off, pinned under his unflinching stare. His eyebrows had shot up and he looked incredulous. “Your mother’s?” I finished.

“Are you alright?” he asked in turn.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” I hadn’t lost a parent, after all.

“Because you’ve not talked to me in six years.” He leaned against the handrail and averted his eyes.

I winced. Those were just the cold facts. The truth. There was nothing I could reply to make it better, no decent excuse, but I had to try.

“I’m talking now.”

“What for, I wonder,” he sighed, defeated. Then, he answered my original question. “It’s from my father, if you must know.”

That busted my sentimental theory.

“It seemed to be very important for you. That’s why I wondered.”

“He saved for over a year to buy it for me, so yeah, it’s special.”

I blinked. “I thought you said it was second hand.”

“It is,” he said with a shrug.

“So it belonged to someone in particular.”

“A random dude who decided to stop playing,” he answered, the beginnings of amusement tingeing his expression.

“It is a really expensive guitar, then?” This was starting to look like a game of twenty questions, and I felt like I had completely missed the point of the conversation.

“Expensive brand, but their cheapest model,” he said, tsking at me. “Not everyone is as rich as you, Princess.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No big deal.” Another shrug and a few moments of silence. Then he said, “Mrs. Goodman.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t because of your shoes,” he explained, smiling ruefully. “Our neighbor is a nosey old lady, and she saw you. Almost called the cops on you, too. And I shouldn’t have brought it up yesterday, much less the way I did.”

Should I breathe easier or feel more embarrassed at having been discovered?

“You could tell who I was from the description of an old lady?” I tried to cover up my insecurity by being playful. Somehow, it didn’t feel as weird as I thought it would be.

He pulled out his cell, an older model, and grinned for the first time.

“Nope. From the pictures,” he said, flashing me the damning evidence.

I withered in dismay and he laughed, a rich, vibrating laugh that almost made me want to be caught at something ridiculous again just to hear it. Almost.

He pocketed the device again once he sobered up. “We should go back. I don’t want to keep you from your world too long.” His words were bitter, but his tone wasn’t. There was a small lingering smile still on his lips when we turned to go back into the building and he stopped me at the door.

“So, see you around,” I said awkwardly. 

“Hey,” he called after my retreating back. “If you want to listen again, you don’t have to stay out. I meant that part, even if it came out wrong.”

A hopeful, insecure tone crept into his voice. I didn’t do hopeful, insecure very well, so I ran off with barely a nod.

***

I left the fire exit and tried very hard not to think about what had happened there. In a way, I guessed, it had not been significant. It had been a short conversation, plagued by more silences than words, and, as far as conversations went, it hadn’t been too deep either. Of course, this only made my feelings harder to understand, because I never became nervous talking, much less talking to a guy, and much less talking to a guy like Keith.

Except, perhaps that’s the issue. I think of him as Keith now, not as the nameless, faceless music I listen to at night and certainly not as the emo-goth-weird kid of school.

Realization hit me as I rushed along the empty corridors to our theater meeting, but I didn’t have time to ponder on the implications.

I burst into our classroom.

“I’m so sorry for being late, Professor,” I said, speaking over Lena’s voice with vindictive smugness.

Mr. Hedford didn’t look too chipper today.

“Not to worry, not to worry. Miss Brighton here was just informing me of the terrible accident of yesterday. It seems we have lost our chance at an original soundtrack…”

The students from younger years, who had not been around during the “accident,” started whispering among themselves, looking devastated. It helped to solidify my own resolve.

“We still have the scores, Professor,” Lena was saying. “I have a friend outside school who can play the piano; perhaps we can get him to help?”

I didn’t wait to find out whether the professor would turn the offer down. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You will play?” Lena gave me a disdainful look, and I could see that she actually wanted me to say yes to free up the role of Lady Windermere for her.

God, she really was a Queen… Keith was right.

“Keith will play,” I said aloud, smiling sweetly at her before turning to Mr. Hedford. “His guitar got dumped, but it’s not broken. I went to talk to him about it, and he’s still willing to be part of the project.”

I said “dumped” on purpose. I wanted Mr. Hedford to realize that it had been no accident at all, but the idea might not have come across. In any case, judging by the bright smile in his usually too pompous face, Lena could kiss her plot goodbye.

Of course, she would try to get him to quit again. Perhaps she’d even try to really break his guitar, but we’d cross that bridge when we got to it. Since she already had her revenge on him for bustling Anna, she’d have to find new excuses or the rest of the group wouldn’t back her. Well, we’d give her no excuses.

Or something.

“That is amazing!” exclaimed our professor. “I must thank you for being late today, Ms. Thorne. I imagine this conversation was the reason for your tardiness?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Good, good. Please, do let Mr. Brannagh know that he’s welcome to come and practice at the auditorium any time, if he needs a place. Now, since we have the decor and the music, shall we start reading the lines?”

Cheering. Wild cheering.

And no amount of death stares from Lena could wipe the smug grin off my face.

“Hey, Alice,” Dave said when the reading was over. “Why don’t we go and get a celebratory drink? The play’s finally under way!”

I hesitated and he hurried to add, “All of us.”

Glancing at the sneering Jack and sullen Lena and carefully neutral Anna, I hid a wince and shook my head.

“Perhaps next time, Dave. I really have to go home today.”

He looked convinced, albeit crestfallen.

Ouchy. Okay, never mind. Don’t let that look guilt you. I need to be home; it isn’t even a lie.  And I can’t afford to go out. There are lines to read, homework to do…

Except, without realizing it, I was walking a very familiar path that didn’t take me home. It was taking a side trip through a crooked neighborhood, which had seen much better days, past abandoned yards and fences with the cozy, white paint peeling off the swollen wood. 

It felt different in the dim afternoon light, not as scary as it did by night, but much more lonely and pitiful. It was quite sad that Keith had moved away from our area and into this depressed street, but even I knew better than to ask why sometimes.

When I arrived at his house, I forced myself not to jump into the yard and not to hide against the wall.

I will go around to the driveway and up to the front porch, and then I will ring the bell…

Come on, ring the stupid bell!

Taking a deep breath, I punched it in and the electric buzz echoed beyond. A light came up in the hall and I gripped my bag with both hands to try and hold myself in place.

I shall not bolt, I shall not bolt…

Then, the door opened and I decided I didn’t want to start running for the hills after all. Keith stared out at me, hair held back in a high ponytail and a crooked smile in place.

“Hey,” I said when he remained silent a bit too long. My voice came out shaky, but it snapped him out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into.

“Hi,” he said, stepping to the side to let me come in. “I’m glad you chose to come.”

I shrugged and tried for a lighter tone. “I didn’t want your grandma neighbor to sic the cops on me.”

“Or worse… the psycho ward.”

“Stalkerish is
so
not psycho,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.

“It is in the movies.”

“Of course. Because Hollywood does such great research.”

That made him laugh again and I laughed along, surprised by how easy it was.

“Come on in.” He closed the door behind me and motioned me through a small foyer, down a short corridor and to his room.

“Your father?” I dallied a bit at the door. Taking into account that two days ago I’d have been caught dead before talking to this guy, entering his room felt awfully intimate.

“At work. Should be back in another couple of hours, right in time for dinner.” He half turned and gave me a funny look. “Are you worried I might jump you?”

“No!” I replied a bit too fast and he snorted. I entered his room, just to prove that I wasn’t intimidated. “I just thought I should say hello to him, that’s all,” I tried to amend, still gripping my bag with one hand.

“Stay around for a couple of hours and you will,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sorry, the amp and rack are here. Still, if it would make you more comfortable, you can sit in the living room… It’s not as if the house is too big for the sound to reach you.”

I finally had gathered the resolve to come here. I wasn’t giving up my front row seat.

“What’s wrong with the chair?” I asked, all flippancy, crossing over and dropping down with all the grace I had learned in my Princess days.

Something screeched and hissed and I jumped away fast as lightning, brandishing the bag like a clubbing weapon in front of me.

Shame colored my cheeks and my hand started to shake. Keith’s laughter refused to be held in any longer, and he cried from the force of it. I could have sworn I saw a big fat tear welling up in the corner of his eye.

Then, still grinning, he took my bag from me and hung it on a hook beside his door. He held out a hand for my jacket, mirth barely in check. 

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“You could have told me about that
thing
.”

“Sparrow? He’s big enough to see. Unless you’re too busy sashaying, I guess.” He laughed again. Hard.

I glared daggers at
Sparrow
. The big, black monster looked back with the same amount of lost love from his new perch upon the table.

“He hates me,” I said, a tad childishly, giving Keith the jacket without taking my eyes off the beast.

“You almost killed him.”

“I hadn’t seen him!”

“He’s a twelve pound cat, how could you miss him?”

“He’s black! He blends in!”

He shook his head, smiling, and plopped down on the bed, cradling the guitar in his lap. I stayed upright.

“What now?” he asked, watching my more than reluctant expression.

“If I sit down, he will attack me.”

“You are scared of a cat?”

Okay, it sounded ridiculous.

In my defense, it was a big cat. Gathering my courage and moving slowly, I pulled the chair away from the table and sat down in slow motion. Keith didn’t look at me, busy tuning the strings, but the damned smile never left his lips. Damned blush never left my face, either.

I tried to relax by looking at his room, as if that could tell me more about him. It wasn’t big—the whole house was quite small. It wasn’t very masculine either, at least not in the way I had come to expect from Ray, Dave, or the other guys I knew. No comics, no magazines, no sports pictures, no porn posters. No personal TV, no videogames. Just the bed and the wardrobe on one side, the study table and a small bookcase on the other. The table was neat, no strewn papers around, just a closed laptop and a cat. The books on the shelf were mostly school stuff, but I also spied several titles on musical theory and a couple of classic books anyone in their right mind would use as a sleeping formula rather than as bedside reads. The only personal detail, really, was the guitar, with its cables and its amp—and what I guessed was the “rack,” the small red thing he’d taken to school on the first day.

The room felt almost… Spartan.

I turned to him, ready to face his knowing smile once more and to ask him why his room didn’t feel his at all, but the words caught in my throat. He was waiting, looking at me in silence from under too-long bangs. When he saw that my attention was back with him, he started playing.

I’d thought he’d go for the
Lady Windermere's fan
theme. After all, it was the one thing we had in common and what had brought me into his house, as far from my element as a fish out of the bowl. Instead, the melody that he started picking was slower, darker. It wasn’t made of the shadows where evil lurks, though. It was the dark of closed eyes, unlit rooms. Intimate kind of dark.