Untrained Eye (28 page)

“Tell me what’s wrong. You mad ’cause Kevin wasn’t punished?”

He looked at me with a set of muddy brown eyes and sighed. “He’s
in observation. Nobody wants to be in observation.” He smiled. “Good enough for
the dork.”

He glanced at the others strolling toward the dorms. The rule was
that they had to be silent but their whispered chuckles and gossiping floated
on the air to us. It felt great to see.

“Miranda.” Jed hitched up his shoulders and let out a long breath.

“You didn’t get her drunk again did you?” Last time she’d played
so badly the next day that Renee had covered her with the excuse of a migraine.
Half a terrible performance and Jäger and the principal were not happy.

“No.” He said it like it was a bummer. “She’s getting real
stressed out. The guys who come in and visit are promising her some top places
or stuff.” He shrugged. “I don’t get a lot of what she talks about.”

“And you’re worried about her?”

He nodded. “Yeah, she’s so caught up in how she
needs
to
make it big that she doesn’t think straight. She is practicing like crazy, too
hard.” He sighed. “Not that I’m important enough to listen to.”

“You want me to talk to her?”

He smiled up at me. “If she wasn’t so pig-headed, I’d say yeah . .
. but . . .” He shrugged again. “She’s hot but sometimes she’s mean.”

“Yeah, that’s women for you.” I sighed—a big sigh, which made him
snigger at me. “Adorable one minute, bee in their butt cheeks the next.”

“Miss Locks doesn’t seem like that.” He gazed at her cleaning the
kitchen. “She’s cool.”

That she was.

“I like Professor Worthington too. You seen her?” He smiled.
“She’s even hotter when she’s angry.”

I folded my arms, covering up the fact I flinched at her name. I
had to think fast. “That’s why she keeps shooting daggers at me. You sneaking
in her block to Miranda?”

Jed shrugged. “She’s mad
all
the time.”

He had her nailed there.

The flash of the Rolex entered my mind again. “If you are there .
. . keep an eye on them, will you?”

Jed raised his eyebrows, nonchalant but there was a twinkle in his
eyes. “Like spy?”

“Yes. Worthington, Owens, and Miranda.” I met his eyes. “If you’re
gonna be a nuisance, at least be useful to me.”

He saluted. “You got it.”

“Leave Miranda to me.” I don’t know why I sounded so confident but
if Jed felt better with my tone, I didn’t care. “Now get, before they kick my
butt ’cause you’re out past curfew.”

He saluted again and turned to leave. I was proud of how far he’d
come since I arrived.

He sighed, turned, and met my eyes. “I hope one day I get to marry
someone half as cool as you.”

Didn’t that smack me right between the eyes. There he was
dribbling over my two feisty blondes and he wanted to marry someone like me.

“Take a ticket and get in line, kid,” Frei shot from somewhere
behind me.

He opened his mouth but Jessie called out to
him about Miroslav. He grinned at Frei, winked, and hurried off to join the
group.

I chuckled, closed the door, and dragged my feet back to the sofa.
I had no idea why entertaining eight students was so tiring. Maybe it was the
healing before it. Frei had let out the pool and had started on the dishes. I
went to help but got shooed.

“You telling me that a big, clumsy ol’ thing like me is considered
cool?”

“That’s how you see yourself, Lorelei.” She washed up. “Don’t
think others see you that way.”

“I know what they see, my size, then they think freak.” Okay, so
not everyone. The folks in St. Jude’s had been amazing, Renee and Frei too.

A dishcloth hit me smack in the mouth as I yawned.

“You are special. I’m paying you a compliment. Suck it up.”

I peeled the cloth off me and spat out the soap. “Special?”

She put the dishes away, wiped up, and headed to the drinks cabinet.
“Yes, Jed was right. We’d
all
be lucky enough to find someone who is as
cool as you.” She dropped the ice into her glass. “You want it on a postcard or
what?”

Was that her first whiskey? I dropped the cloth on the kitchen
counter. “You been guzzling that all night?”

“Funny.” Her voice was level as usual. “Suck it up.” She slumped
into her seat and winced.

I was in front of her before she had chance to peek open an eye.

“It’s nothing. Just the flip-flop.”

“Up.” I pulled her to her feet, and she sighed. She fiddled with
the swimsuit underneath her t-shirt then rolled the shirt up and showed me her
back.

“What kind of a flip-flop was it?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.” She glared over her shoulder at
me. “It was plastic. Like
all
flip-flops.”

“Funny, ’cause you look like you got run over by a cheese grater.”

She wagged her finger in the air. “That’s why.”

I was glad she had gotten it. I was lost. “Why what?”

She headed to the medkit. “I skidded against the wall.”

Great. Yesterday when she was saving me. “Least I can do is stick
some cream on.”

She handed it over and I tried, gently as I could, to smother the
stinging wound. Now I was touching it, I could feel how much pain it was giving
her. Not so long ago, I could have helped her heal. “I don’t like not being
able to help you. I feel inadequate.”

“Welcome to the human race, Lorelei.”

I frowned. “Considering you just thought I was marriage material,
that honeymoon sure wore off quick.”

Frei snorted with laughter. “Don’t ever let Renee hear you say
that.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why? She got issues with marriage
along with everything else?”

Yowch. Snappier than I’d intended.

“Something like that,” Frei mumbled. She tensed as I hit a raw
patch that looked all kinds of green.

“Ah don’t worry about it, she’ll yell, I’ll freak her out, and
she’ll sulk.” I nodded, wondering where all the hurt had billowed up from. “She
does enjoy sulking.”

“She’s a great person. Don’t think about her like that . . .
please.”

I stopped dabbing the cream for a second. “So you keep saying.”

“Because it’s true.” She tensed again as I placed a gauze over the
wound and taped it on. “I have a tendency to bring out the worst in people.”

“No,” I said to Frei, signaling to her glass. “That brings out the
worst in people. You ain’t unpleasant to spend time with.”

She raised her eyebrow as she stowed the medkit away. “As pleasant
as sandpaper on skin.”

“It’s a compliment. Suck it up.”

Her laughter rumbled up and burst from her lips as she picked up
her laptop. She took a seat in her chair. I sat on my sofa and found my page in
my current read. Inside was a German phrase book I was attempting to figure
out.

“Don’t let anyone in CIG hear you. They will think I’ve lost my
touch.”

“Nah, although it’s scandalous that you keep showing your ankles.”
I waved my book in the air as she stared at me. “Historical. English ladies
didn’t go showing ankles to just anyone you know.” What was so romantic about a
bunch of bone attaching a shin and a foot?

“Good to know in case I ever attend a ball, Lorelei.” Deadpan,
monotone. She flicked her flip-flops off and put them on the coffee table. “I’d
rock a gown though.”

It would make some picture. Frei strutting into a period ball with
her spiky blonde hair. “Imagine the poor soul who tried making me a dress.”

Frei snapped her eyes to mine and laughed, loud, free and full of
life. I liked her that way. I knew Renee would too.

Chapter 32

MUSICIANS CAN BE strange creatures. There’s an intensity that
flows through their veins. Is it any wonder when they spend their lives
striving to play a perfect piece that anything less than perfection becomes
offensive to them? I was lucky that I only ever played to amuse myself. I
wasn’t a musician. To me a musician was somebody who devoted their time to
stirring others’ souls to joy with their music.

When I spent time with my violin, it was a sanctuary, a way to
unblock myself and release all I felt inside. I felt for musicians, like
Miranda, who had to rely solely on performing for others. By Jed’s words, it
had stopped instilling her with peace and joy a long time ago.

As I snuck into Renee’s building, I followed my gut instinct and
headed to the second floor. A young kid, maybe ten or so years old dawdled out
of the room in front of me, head to chest, tears dripping off her chin.

I heard somebody call out to them about having a pathetic bow
technique and that they would never amount to anything.

“Nice teacher,” I muttered to myself. The voice had been young,
female.

I dropped to my haunches in front of the sobbing kid, hoping I
looked like a friendly face. “Do you enjoy playing?” I asked, trying to ignore
the pang of hurt and sorrow from her.

She nodded. Tears dropped down onto her shoes.

“Do me a favor. I want you to go back to your room and find your
favorite piece. You have one, right?”

She blinked and then smiled, a watery smile.

“And do you know it by heart?”

“Yes, Miss,” came a little reply.

“Then shut your eyes and play it. Forget her and let every bit of
love and joy you have into it. Play the piece just for you.” I smiled at her.
“Forget the mistakes, forget technique, just play.”

She bit her wobbling lip.

“It’s your friend. Don’t let some mean snob tell you no different.
She ain’t no better than you are.” I took the kid by the shoulders and gave
them a squeeze. If I hugged her and somebody saw me, they would either think
I’d gone soft or think I was planning to abduct her. Space was a good idea.

“But . . . Miranda is the best.”

I shrugged. Miranda’s attitude stank. “She still gotta pee. Ain’t
nobody better or worse than you, just different.”

My attempt at philosophy earned me a snigger. “Thanks, Miss
Samson.”

I watched her scurry off and turned back to the classroom. Now to
bring Miss Smart-ass back down to earth with a violin bow.

Miranda was alone when I entered the state of
the art rehearsal room. Angst and anger rumbled around her. If I could have
seen her aura, it would have been crackling and rumbling like a storm cloud.
She turned to see me and a flash of rage pulsed from her eyes.

“You’re not meant to be in here.”

I took a seat at the edge of the small stage and folded my arms.
She couldn’t go and tell anybody because I was between her and the door.

“I think you should leave.” Her tone was too much like Renee’s and
my temper soared to the surface.

“Last I checked, you were a skinny excuse for a student and I was
the staff member.”

She glared at me. “I’m more important than the likes of you.” She
flicked her hair back with arrogance. One thing I’ve learned is that folks who
put on that kind of show rarely feel worth anything.

“Why, ’cause you can play a fiddle?” I asked, using Nan’s name for
it.

“It’s a
violin
.”

“Same difference.” I shrugged. “It’s not like it’s hard. It’s not
even a proper skill. You can’t build or buy nothin’ with a hunk of wood and
strings.” If my last dig hadn’t gotten to her, I was sure that would get her
riled.

“Excuse me?” Miranda shoved her nose in the air. “I doubt you can
even read let alone music.”

Wow, I didn’t have a lot of admiration for Jed’s taste in women.
“Even a child can play them. I bet you’re not even playing something original
for the gala, are you?”

She glared like she would impale me on her
bow. Easy to reel in.

“Classical musicians have about as much originality as a fast food
joint anyhow.”

Miranda slunk onto one hip. I was getting through, good. “You’re
comparing incredible artists with people in a burger joint?”

How superior. “Yeah, both of you are just following what somebody
showed you. Someone else did the creating, they were the genius. You ain’t
doing nothing a computer program couldn’t.”

“And what about expression?” Her voice shot up an octave. I tried
not to smile.

“Big deal. Loud, quiet, fast, slow . . . burger has ketchup, mayo,
or plain . . .”

I half wished I could take a picture of her without the camera
blowing up ’cause she was a beautiful color purple. “I mean fiddle players . .
. you’re all pretty predictable, right. Who doesn’t play the
Chaconne
when they want to pretend they are good?” I shook my head. “Like a production
line.”

I’d seen when I walked in that was the score she had. She sucked
in her chin, stomped up to me, and thrust her violin into my hands.

“If you’re so clever, you play it.”

“Easy . . . music?” I smiled a sweet smile at her.

She ripped the stand up, slammed it down in front of me, throwing
the music my way. I held the violin upside down, for comic effect, as she shot
a sneer at me.

The glint in her eyes was enough. I’d played the piece in Serenity
a lot. It wasn’t my favorite piece but it was a test. It made you work
technically, it tested your stamina. It also looked impressive. I turned the
violin around the right way. I gave a nice ear-grating bow just to make her
wince.

“Ready?” I asked, ignoring the fact Renee had just wandered into
the room. Did she have a tracker on me or something?

“This oaf thinks she can play Bach.” Miranda sniggered, a snide
smile on her face.

Renee nodded and took a seat to the side.

Not wanting to look at her, I focused on the music and started to
play.

Miranda’s jaw dropped as I caressed the strings. The thing about
Chaconne
Partita Number Two in D
was that it resembled a workout. It tested
strengths in both hands, it got harder and harder and finished with a flourish.
The ultimate showpiece. It lasted fifteen minutes too, so any weakness was
gonna show up.

There were sections to it and I learned to play them all by heart.
By the time I got to the last section, I stopped pretending I was reading the
score and closed my eyes. I savored the sound, the release, and let my heart
take over. Every note resonated with all I felt.

I finished and opened my eyes.

Miranda stared like I’d grown a moustache and Renee was dabbing at
her eyes.

There was a strange connection between her and me playing the
violin. I couldn’t explain it but the music seemed to dance around her in quiet
moments when we talked.

I missed that. I missed that bond. Well, at least the bond I
thought had been there. She was a stranger now, so distant, so hostile.

Would I ever be able to have the energy or be willing to try and
bridge the gap again?

I couldn’t do it by myself. I was in no man’s land ready to sound
the retreat and just accept she weren’t the friend I’d thought she was.

Still, I missed her smiling at me, dumb as it sounded. I missed
her real accent, the joy in her eyes when she found me funny.

A wave of melancholy hit me as I kept my gaze locked with hers. I
wondered if I’d just chosen to see what I needed to in a tough time and
forgotten all the misunderstandings, the hurt, and the confusion that had come
with knowing her.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” Miranda asked, her voice
a lot more respectful now.

I broke the link with Renee, turned to her, and put the violin on
a chair. “Prison.”

Miranda’s shoulder’s hitched up. “But you’re a genius, the way you
played . . .”

“I’m just repeating what a load of other violinists could do just
as well. Bach was the genius.” I hated how sad, how drained I felt. “It
wouldn’t matter if I
was
a genius.”

“Of course—”

“No.” My voice wobbled. I took a breath. “Jobs, duty, career, they
just mean you get paid.” I sighed. “Love what you do, sure, but it don’t make
you no better than anybody else.” I avoided looking at Renee. “It won’t ever
make you happy neither.”

“Performance, glory, they make me feel good.” Miranda’s barrier
lowered. The uncertainty clear. I got a flash of why.

“They give you a cheap thrill. Happiness, love, being free, it
comes from inside.” How could I explain it to her without revealing what the
truth of her situation was? “You can’t control what goes on around you with a
violin. It’s a friend, sure, but it ain’t a weapon.”

Miranda shook her head and picked at her sleeves. “It can buy me a
better life.”

I was glad she didn’t know the true weight of her words. It would
buy her a life of slavery. “It buys nice stuff. It don’t mean you’ll feel any
less alone when you have it.”

I could feel Renee’s gaze on my cheek. I kept my eyes on Miranda.

“Building up a wall, pretending you don’t care, it may stop folks
hurting you but take it from me, being lonely is a lot worse.”

She bit her lip. “I can’t get distracted.”

“Kid,” I said, walking over to her. “Your wrist is so bad that you
can’t sleep, you can barely move your neck. Your head is full of so many
worries that you can’t even stand the sight of it anymore.” I sat beside her
and we both looked at the discarded violin. “Your mom would have loved you even
if you’d never played a single note, no matter what they told you.”

Her eyes widened at my words. She’d never told a soul what drove
her.

“How do you know that?” Her voice was quiet enough that I could
hear Renee shifting in her seat.

“Because my mom weren’t around neither. She still ain’t. Although
she got a funny way of showing it, she loves me . . . in her own way.” A
prickly feeling rippled up and down my arms. I felt raw just talking about it.
“Judging by your nice violin, she loved you like all moms should.”

“I used to . . .” She sighed. “I used to feel her when I played.”
She ran her hands through her hair, undoing her ponytail. “It was like she was
with me but I don’t feel her anymore.”

“Try playing what’s in your heart next time.” I sensed the storm
around Miranda weaken. “She’ll be there.”

“It hurts so bad when I play.” She didn’t need to tell me, the kid
was in agony.

“Then rest.” If I’d had my burdens, I would have fixed it for her
but Frei’s words about me not interfering entered my mind. “You’ve been playing
since you could hold a bow. You know what you’re doing.”

“I can’t mess up at the gala—”

“No.”

Miranda frowned, so I nodded at her. “You think like that and
there’s no point you turning up.”

I glanced at Renee. Her eyes unreadable, a stranger.

“Focus on what you can control. If you play when you’re hand is so
bad, you will narrow your chances of success. It don’t mean you won’t succeed
but it’ll be harder.”

“Focus on what I can control,” she mumbled.

I smiled. “Combating scary stress one-oh-one.” I’d learned that
from Renee. “Someone who I care a lot about once told me to think baby steps.
It helps.”

The bell rang.

Miranda jolted into life, gathered her things, and fled like I’d
shot at her.

I sat, staring at a wobbling music stand and trying not to look at
Renee who I swear was burning a hole in my cheek. Not at all awkward, nope.

“When did you get so wise?” There was the accent I knew, her tone.
It hurt to hear it. It hurt and it helped. How did that work?

“Been through a couple of learning curves.” I didn’t dare look at
her. “Don’t mean I know much, just means I get kids with issues.”

“You’re very good with them.”

Was I? Not really. I treated them like I’d treat anybody else.
Kids were easier to reach sometimes. Adults seemed set on shielding themselves
too much.

“You are always so good to be around.” I met her eyes, shocked at
her words. Gray, open, warm, like she cared. “I—”

“Roberta, there you are.” Wonderful. If Renee had a tracker on me,
sure-as-shoots, Owens had one on Renee. I fought not to roll my eyes.

“Do you have a bell on her?” I muttered through gritted teeth.

Renee’s eyes veiled then hardened and I didn’t bother to wait for
an answer. It wouldn’t be nothing I wanted to hear anyway. I stomped out and
headed down the corridor filled with a silent stream of much younger students.
I didn’t want to think why there had been only thirty in my age group to start
the year. Where had the others gone?