Authors: Kiki Hamilton
The Last Dance (8 page)
“She was fine.” I tried to ignore the sliver of guilt that speared me in the stomach. I had ignored Ivy because she made me mad.
Because she was confirmation of my weakness.
I
was exhausted when I got home. Who knew how tiring it was to be humiliated all day?
I pulled my math book from my backpack and slammed it onto the kitchen table. Somehow the loud noise made me feel better. I would never have given into my frustration if my mom had been home, but she didn’t get off work as an administrative assistant for the state until five.
I had a ton of my own homework to get caught up on for the classes I’d missed while I’d walked around being Q’s personal secretary. I flipped through the pages of my trig book looking for the assignment and tried not to think of how awkward I’d felt half the day standing next to someone who couldn’t even bother to acknowledge my existence. I was probably smarter than every one of his friends, yet somehow I stood there feeling completely stupid while they all acted like I was invisible.
My cell buzzed and a text came in. It was Mira.
So? How was it hanging with Q all day? Did he mention me?
I laughed as I read the last part. Mira could always do that – somehow make me laugh when it was the last thing I felt like doing.
Humiliating. He thinks I’m his freakin’ secretary.
I set the phone on the table and opened my math book. Our texting conversations usually went on for hours after school. I did homework and nibbled on the carrot sticks my mother had left in the frig for me. Mira watched Ellen on TV and ate Twinkies. She studied vicariously through me. I ate vicariously through her. It was a win-win friendship.
Can’t he write anymore?
His right side was affected, so his foot and hand are messed up. And his speech, I think. He doesn’t talk to me.
I took a bite of my carrot stick then added another line.
But don’t worry – he still thinks highly of himself.
Then I pushed send.
Over the next hour I filled Mira in on the nightmare that was my day. I’m not sure she understood the unpleasantness of the situation. I think she thought just standing in Q’s glow was enough to make anyone happy. Pass the barf bag, please.
I was just finishing up my math when my phone buzzed with an incoming text. Mira was on to Oprah reruns now. I wondered what advice she was planning to share today. I picked it up and stared at the message in surprise. It was from Brandon Chang
.
Do you want to go to the movies on Friday?
MIRA HADN’T HEARD that Brandon and Jenny had broken up either. We spent the next hour analyzing Brandon and his mysterious text, even though I’d known the guy forever. I couldn’t believe I’d agreed to go out on a date with him and while I tried to pretend to Mira that it was no big deal, I was oddly excited.
I
t was just as hard to be back at school the next day. Ollie and CJ were my wingmen though, running interference, but nothing felt the same, now that I wasn’t playing ball. Now that I was a cripple.
I ignored Ivy when she sat down next to me in Calculus first period. I was slumped down in my chair with my arms crossed over my chest, my bad hand hidden. I would have given anything not to be in that classroom—not to be at school.
“Hi.” She smiled over at me and I noticed how perfectly straight her teeth were. Little Miss Perfect here to help Mr. All Fucked Up. I gave her a short nod and looked away to stare at the front of the classroom instead. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the expression on her face change and she scooted around in her chair and stared down at the desk. Good, I thought, giving in to my anger. Better than staring at me.
The rest of the day went pretty much the same. She didn’t try to talk after that and neither did I. In sixth period study hall she went over the assignments for the day and I just listened. She knew it all, anyway.
THE NEXT MORNING Ivy didn’t acknowledge me when she sat down in the seat next to mine first period. I watched her out of the corner of my eyes trying to gauge her mood, but she didn’t even glance my way. She just took notes and when she wasn’t taking notes, she had another page she was working on—drawing what looked like music. Must have been her own homework, I figured.
For second period science we had to break into groups and work with our partners. Luckily, Dick Swenson, an offensive back, and CJ were in class. They joined our group and covered for me. Dick and CJ were joking about an X-rated text that had gone around about one of the cheerleaders, oblivious to how uncomfortable they were making Ivy. She looked around the room as if searching for a reason—any reason—to escape. A guilty twinge twisted my gut. For an instant it was like I was standing outside myself looking back and seeing what Ivy saw. I didn’t like it.
I’D NEVER BEEN so glad to see a Friday in my life. But the truth was, I was starting to get back into the routine again and didn’t feel as angry. School was school. Nothing was different there. All the kids made a point of acting like nothing had changed, even though everything had changed for me.
I’d tried to be nicer to Ivy, even though I didn’t talk much. I was ashamed of myself the way I’d acted, but apparently she either really held a grudge or just wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type. Because the only talking she did was to answer any questions I had on the assignment. I swear she made a point not to ever look at me—like I was invisible. Maybe it was better if we weren’t friends anyway.
When Ivy sat down in the chair next to mine in science on Friday, I made an extra effort to be nice to her. I didn’t smile, of course, messed up lips and all, but I did say ‘hi’ as soon as she sat down. She didn’t smile either. Just mumbled ‘hi’ as she got her notebook out.
I studied her out of the corner of my eyes as she was taking notes, wondering what went on in her head. She looked just as normal as any other girl in school but she had to have a super-computer for a brain to be able to keep up with her classes and tutor me on top of it all.
The teacher stopped talking and told us to work with our partners. Ivy slid her notebook over so I could read what she’d written about the project and started explaining what we were going to be doing in class. Her handwriting was small and neat. Her voice was lower than I would have expected and kind of husky, like she’d had too much Cuervo. I laughed in my head. As if.
I scooted my little desk over closer to look at the diagram she’d drawn and caught a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like those white flowers in Hawaii—what were they called? Couldn’t remember that either. She was still talking about control sampling when it came to me.
“Plumeria.” The word popped out of my mouth like there was a hinge between my brain and my lips. Great. I couldn’t remember for shit when I wanted, but nonsensical bullshit poured out of my mouth without any effort at all.
“What did you say?” Ivy gave me a WTH? look but I thought I could see the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. So I was right. I grinned at her before I caught myself.
“Your perfume.” Now she was definitely blushing. I was just going to tell her it was nice when the door at the front of the classroom swung open. Laurel glided in to deliver a note to Mr. Pruitt and I froze, my eyes locked on her. I’d heard she’d asked Josh Hendershot to the upcoming Sadie Hawkins dance. She looked great in a pair of tight jeans and a white Eagles sweatshirt, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. My stomach twisted in the way it used to do before a big game.
I’m not sure if it was my devouring stare or if she knew I was in the class, but after she handed the note to the teacher she glanced straight at me. Her gaze shifted to Ivy and her eyes narrowed in a frown, then she turned away as if she hadn’t seen me at all.
Somebody let out a wolf whistle from the back of the room. Laurel turned on her cheerleader smile and tossed her ponytail as she strutted back out the door, one hand on her hip. I was still staring at the spot where she’d disappeared into the hallway when Ivy cleared her throat.
Embarrassed, I looked over to find her eyes on me for the first time since we’d met in Principal Decker’s office. Her eyes were dark and mysterious, ringed with thick black lashes. The kind you could get lost in, trying to figure out what she was thinking. When she looked at me in Mr. D’s office I could see surprise and a wordless evaluation. Now—I saw pity. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
FIFTH PERIOD WE went to the music room and I worked on playing the piano. Talk about death by humiliation. I used to be able to hit CJ in the numbers with a football from forty yards. Now, I couldn’t get my freakin’ fingers to press down on two keys in the proper sequence to save my ass.
After messing up the same three line song for the fifth time, it was all I could do not to slam my hands down on the keys.
“Listen,” I said. My head was pounding and I knew the only way to get it to stop was to close my eyes and relax. “It’s Friday, and I’m toast. Do you think we could skip the piano today?” It pissed me off that I even needed to ask her to take a break, but she was trying to help me and I was grateful. “I’ve got a killer headache and this isn’t helping.”
“Well—” she hesitated. It was obvious she didn’t know what to say.
“In fact, I have a better idea. You must be a piano whiz right?” I scooted over on the bench and motioned at the keys. “Why don’t you play something for me?”
“No, no, I couldn’t.” She looked down at her knees. “That’s not why we’re here.”
“Ah, c’mon, Ivy. Playing for a few minutes couldn’t hurt. We’ll call it tutoring by example. Besides, maybe it will help me relax enough that I can try again.” I leaned my head on my hand and gave her my best puppy look. But the truth was, my head hurt so freakin’ bad it wasn’t hard to look pathetic.
She hesitated. We were alone in one of the side rooms off the main choir chamber. Nobody supervised us—nobody would care if she played for the rest of the hour—and she knew it.
“Please?” I gave her a half-smile. I’d been practicing in the mirror and if I lifted the good side of my mouth I looked pretty much normal. Laurel used to tell me how much she liked the dimple on that side. “Play me your favorite song.”
She looked surprised at that request but she grudgingly stood up. It took me a minute to realize she was waiting for me to get off the bench and switch spots with her. I slid over and took her chair, which was next to the wall, while she sat down on the piano bench.
“I’ll just play for a few minutes while you rest your head,” she said. “Then you need to try again.” Again that look of pity. “It gets easier with practice.”
I didn’t argue with her. My head was pounding and I felt sick to my stomach. This day, this week, couldn’t get over fast enough. “Okay – your favorite song,” I said, too tired to care if I slurred my words. “Let ‘er rip.” I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes, not sure what to expect. Suddenly a thought occurred to me and I sat up. “That is—if you have something memorized?”
She smiled then. I think it was the first real smile I’d seen. ‘Lovely’ was the word that popped into my head, like something someone would say in a black and white movie. ‘Corny’ was the word I silently reprimanded myself with. But I was right. She was lovely when she smiled.
“Yes, I have songs memorized.” She kind of laughed like she’d made a joke, but I had no idea what the punch line was so I just nodded and sat back again. Whatever. As long as I didn’t have to do battle with that piano I was happy.
Her hands rippled over the keys making a waterfall of sound. She moved so effortlessly it was as if the piano was an extension of her fingers. It was a small miracle that the wounded beast I had just been beating to death could now sing like a choir of angels. The song she’d chosen had a haunting melody and the notes told a story that didn’t need words. After a few minutes, I closed my eyes again and let the music wash over me. I relaxed for the first time since I’d returned to school.
I
peeked over at Q again. He had his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. It was the first chance I’d really had to
look
at him. He was so peculiar all the time: prickly and rude, then stuck-up and distant, then when I least expected it, he’d be charming and sweet. I was trying to be understanding, given the trauma he’d been through, but it was exhausting being around him. If Mira knew the true Q she’d probably run for the hills.
His sun-streaked brown hair was swept across his forehead and the ends flipped out in cute little waves. The way his head was tilted I could see his Adam’s apple and the defined line of his jaw. He was very handsome. But his cheekbones stuck out like he’d been sick for too long and now that he was relaxed I could see the dark shadows under his eyes and the lines of exhaustion that aged him behind his seventeen years. An unfamiliar twinge went through my chest.
My fingers rippled over the keys and I was surprised at the song that I’d chosen. It
was
my favorite and not one that I had shared with anyone—even Mira. It was a song I had written. But Q would never know the truth. The melody was sad and sweet and hauntingly beautiful in its simplicity. The song filled a place inside me that I didn’t like to acknowledge—an empty place where I hid the things that I longed for. Like true love.
I knew this song well and the notes came to my fingers easily. The music filled the small room and my gaze shifted over to Q again as if I had no control over my eyes. Curiosity killed the cat, I warned myself, but his eyes were closed—he’d never know I was looking at him.
He was wearing a sky blue shirt that made him look tan and healthy. Mira was right. He was gorgeous. Sitting there now, he could be one of those too-beautiful-to-be-true half-naked models they featured in clothing ads for teenagers—except he had a shirt on. But I could tell the chest under that shirt could hold its own with any of those models.
His short sleeves revealed arms that were layered with muscles, even when he was relaxed, but not in a bulky, bodybuilder kind of way. More in a sleek, gazelle-like sort of way. His left hand was resting on his thigh and I was surprised at how beautiful it was, long and slender, with fingers like an artist. He had the hands of pianist. The thought surprised me and annoyed me at the same time. Whatever. Q was a jock and that was the end of
that
story.