“Oh. We’re just talking.”
He nudges my shoulder but then doesn’t move it away. “No. I mean, that’s what I’m telling you. I hate performing, playing the violin in public.”
“Really? But . . . you’re amazing.”
He shrugs. “I like playing, don’t get me wrong. In my room. Or during practices with just the orchestra. But I hate concerts. All those eyes on me while I offer them bits of my soul. It stresses me out.”
“Wow, bits of your soul?” I tease, but I understand what he’s saying. It’s why I’ve never learned to play the guitar or write songs, even though I’ve wanted to since the first time Charlie offered to teach me back in ninth grade. It’s just too much . . . me. Articles for Empower are different—?parts of my mind and opinions I need to say because I can’t say so much else. But music . . . it’s raw emotion.
He shrugs. “I go out for first chair because it’s something I feel I should do, you know? I’m at the performing arts school because my parents like the academics there too and it’s good for college transcripts. I’m capable of first chair. Therefore, I do it.”
“What do you want to do?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Honestly? Study history. Maybe teach it one day. I really love Ms. Cabrero’s class. She has fun with it, you know?”
“For real? Charlie’s mom was a history teacher before she became a principal.”
Immediately, I wish I could take back the comparison. Why am I talking about Charlie right now? Lucky for me, Alex just smiles and nods.
“I like the stories,” he says. “The way one event can influence the next hundreds of years, the way we can just . . . know these lives that were lived and how much we’re changed by them.”
“Wow.”
“That’s the actual reason I come to the cemetery sometimes. I mean, I do like the quiet, but you’re right: it’s about the stories, lives already lived. It makes me feel . . .” He trails off, eyes going distant.
“What? What does it make you feel?”
He locks his eyes with mine. “Brave. Not so alone.”
My throat thickens and all I can do is bobble my head in agreement.
“What about you?” he asks, leaning closer. I could graze his forehead with mine if I moved an inch.
“What about me?”
“Do you like singing? Is that what you want to do?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I do like it. I even love it sometimes, but I feel sort of like you do. The performance part of it is hard for me. That’s why I never go out for concert solos or big roles in the musicals.”
“You should,” he says. “I’ve heard you sing. You’re incredible.”
My stomach flutters. “Well, you’re incredible at violin too. Doesn’t mean that’s what we’re supposed to do. I think you’d make an amazing historian.”
He smiles.
“But,” I go on, “I don’t know what else I’d do.”
“Your Empower articles are really good. What about journalism or writing books or something like that?”
“You read my Empower articles?”
“Every single one since the day you started it.”
“Really? Owen thinks they’re ridiculous, like it’s all this big joke.”
Alex shakes his head. Then he reaches out a hand and smoothes a lock of hair off my cheek. He doesn’t tug on it, or run his finger down its length. Just tucks it behind my ear. Goose bumps break out on my arms and I can’t tell if I like them or not.
“They’re not ridiculous. They’re you, Mara. That one about the double standards and sex last year? I sent it to my sister. She loved it, made all of her friends read it. And everyone in school talked about it for weeks. It was important.”
