Ms. Bernard is ruthless, but I can also tell she has no idea how to properly reprimand me for such a heinous performance because it’s never been an issue before. Her nose twitches, and the wrinkles on her forehead solidify into deeper indents. Eventually, she tells me to practice alone. My classmates are just as shocked as I feel at that moment. I don’t complain. I say nothing as I bury myself in one of the practice rooms.
I worked so fucking hard to get here. I wanted this with every fiber of my being, practiced countless hours at school to audition for Chamber Orchestra, and even managed to get first chair. Pathetic. But instead of practicing, I reprimand myself over andover again. When the bell finally dismisses us, I break out of my self-deprecating inertia. I slip the instrument gently into its case, loosen the bowstrings, and tighten the clasps. Everyone else stuffs away their stringed instruments, lazily and without the careful, deliberate movements I take to ensure the longevity of mine—the one possession I hold dear. I suppose my classmates don’t have the same type of father I do. I suppose they don’t fear for their lives and possessions like I do daily. It’s exhausting.
Lukeman Gray—my dad, if you will—gets off by holding the looming threat of my violin’s destruction over my head whenever I do something to upset him, but that never matters. I usually upset him regardless. Nevertheless, I try not to do anything on the off chance he decides to stay true to his word one day and execute his usual empty bluffs. I’m positive he hasn’t yet because he spent too much money on the damned thing, even when it was the cheapest, decent model one could get. My mom, for all her worthlessness in my life, talked him into it. It was the one time I was ever grateful for her—grateful I have a mom.
I’m cautious while using the strap to carry the case on my bony shoulders. I hug the case to my chest. Only once everyone’s gone do I attempt to leave. Ms. Bernard, however, intercepts.
“Ezra . . . what was that today?” she asks. It’s not cold nor callous, but I can’t help but recoil and feel an immense amount of guilt. Concern laces her eyes as she considers me. My instinct is not to respond, but Ms. Bernard isn’t Thax or my dad. I shouldn’t be rude to her just because I fucked up big time.
“I don’t know,” I say, honestly. Her nose scrunches and the indents along her forehead crease tighter.
Ms. Bernard sighs.
“Is something going on at home?”
My heart thuds against my chest. There’s no way she could know. My chest is tight and every part of me buzzes. Herconclusion was so abrupt that it caught me off guard. I genuinely have no idea how to answer. Though, if I don’t say anything, she’ll assume her suspicions are correct.
“No,” I say, “everything’s fine at home.”
“Areyoualright?” Ms. Bernard questions with narrowed eyes. “If you’re not, you can tell me. I won’t judge. We can get you the help you need.”
“My mind just wasn’t here today. That’s all. I’ll do better on Tuesday.”
There’s a momentary pause. I can see her working on a reply.
“Ezra. Do you trust me?” she says.
“Of course,” I answer quickly.
To an extent. I can say the same thing about everyone. I like Ms. Bernard over so many others—I can admit that. But there’s still this barrier, this wall I put up. There’s only so much trust I can allow and there’s only so much people can know about me. I refuse to let her in on any of it. She may have an inkling, but an inkling is all she’ll ever have.
“A word of advice?” Ms. Bernard sighs.
No. I really just want to leave. I keep silent and study her intently as if I’m interested in her advice.
“You may be one of the best violinists in your class, but I’ve noticed how you isolate yourself. Try to open yourself to your classmates. Make some friends.”
“I have friends,” I interject.
“I know you do. All I’m saying is that to learn and grow, you need to put trust in others. Not everyone is out to get you, Ezra,” she says and purses her lips.
I have genuinely no clue where this came from. My performance today had nothing to do with my trust in others, but perhaps Ms. Bernard can see right through my bullshit. I nod, slip in a thank-you, and get the hell out of the orchestra room. I find myself mindlessly walking to where Conin and Iusually meet after school gets out. When he isn’t there, I peer down both ends of the hallway. He’s at football practice. Of course, he wouldn’t show. And why should I expect him to when I’ve ignored him for the past several weeks?
Deflated, I make the trek back home. The house is silent when I return. Mom’s most likely hiding in my parents’ room and Thax is either at work or hanging out with his stoner friends. Dad, on the other hand, is probably out at some frequented bar. I open the door to my room and let out a long, heavy sigh.
And there, half an empty bottle of tequila in hand, is Lukeman Gray wearing a livid expression.
Chapter 2
Conin
Aweakening ache travels from each shoulder, each bicep, pec, quad, hand, and toe. My ass is on fire, and I will definitely be feeling this sore throb tomorrow, but for now, I’ll let sleep wash it into a cool numbness.
After Dan gave me the okay to go, I left our concluded football practice where I was tasked to put away equipment and push the blocking sleds back into place. I trek home in the waning light of the sun. Days like these remind me why I should have never accepted the co-captain position. Too much wasted time.
Ogden High’s team is far from perfect. We’re a 3A team and haven’t won a state championship in well over a decade, if we’ve even made it that far. News flash: we haven’t. We’ve won our fair share of playoffs, qualifying for regionals only once since I’ve taken the title, but each failure is another regret.
There’s always regret.
