I stare at him, waiting. “You can tell me anything. It’s just me.”
“I know... it’s just... I’m sorry, Nova.”
I frown. “For?”
I can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he struggles to find the right words, fighting not to panic. “When I came back from the bathroom, I saw that the music room was empty. So I went in... and...” He hesitates, but I give him an encouraging look and he continues. “I walked in and it was full of instruments. Guitars, a piano, recorders, even a drum set. They were beautiful.”
I notice the sparkle in his eyes as he talks, the way his eyes lights up thinking about all those instruments. It’s like a little bird discovering it can fly, like watching a rainbow after a storm, like the warmth of the sun on my skin when I pick flowers in the garden.
We sit at our usual table in the back of the cafeteria and I cross my legs on the bench. “And?”
He sits across from me. “And... I tried to play a little.”
My eyes light up. “Did you try the guitar?” I hope he did.
He nods, squeezing ketchup onto his burger. “It was...”
I take a bite of pizza. “How?” I ask with my mouth full.
He chuckles and hands me a napkin. I wipe my mouth quickly. “Come on! How did it go? Don’t keep me like this!”
“Perfect.”
“How perfect?”
“Remember when my milk came out my nose and you laughed all day?” he points to my carton of chocolate milk.
I nod, taking a sip, and he smiles. “That kind of perfect.”
“But your nose was on fire.”
He chuckles, sipping his milk. “I know, but seeing you laugh like that was... I don’t know...”
“Perfect?”
He nods. “Yes. Perfect. I like your laugh and the way I can see the space between your teeth when you laugh. You’re pretty.”
My heart suddenly slams against my ribs so hard it hurts. My cheeks burn and I don’t understand why. This has never happened before.
Vincent raises an eyebrow. “You hot?”
I shake my head, then nod. I don’t even know what I’m doing so I take a bite of my slice of pizza. “A little bit. What happened after you played?” I mumble with my mouth full. I don’t know what just happened to me, but I hope it doesn’t happen again. It was weird.
Vincent pulls off his gray sweatshirt, now just in the Taylor Swift concert T-shirt he bought when we went with his parents in Oakland in February. I have one too—we got them to match outfits. That concert was my Christmas gift, because ever since we became friends and discoveredMineon the radio, I dreamed of seeing her live.
A few months later we even went to see Linkin Park, because Vincent was curious to see them perform.
He gives me a hesitant look before speaking. “Mr. Sheridan came in. He’s the music teacher.”
I nod. “What did he say?”
Vincent shrugs. “I didn’t notice him at first. I was too focused on playing a few chords.”
“And then?” I ask, dipping fries into mayonnaise. I catch him staring at them like they’re some priceless treasure Indiana Jones would risk his life to find.
“When I finally noticed him, I yelled, ‘Oh, fuck,’” he admits, pretending not to feel embarrassed.
I giggle and push some fries onto his plate. “What did he say?”
