Going to Niveus has afforded me the unwanted knowledge of what is good—expensive—and what is not. Despite the fact that the curtains are old and dark, the dining table and wooden chairs are scratched and worn, and nothing in here is remotely expensive, it feels like it is. It’s nice and homey.
Nicer than I’m used to.
Terrell takes a seat on the green armchair, and I settle on the bigger sofa. He watches me, and under his gaze, I feel naked.
“Tell me about it?” he asks, and the way he does almost makes me think that he actually cares. People normally say this to further the conversation, not because they really care, but his face looks interested in my answer. Today was particularly crappy, though. Mr. Taylor wasn’t in, so I couldn’t use the music rooms outside of class time.
“I don’t like complaining about school usually, because I guess I’m lucky I even go there. I just…” I pause, trying to think whether it’s even worth going into. I usually block out the bad and move on. I never really talk things through with people, just kind of hope things’ll get better on their own, which they often don’t.
“There’re a lot of rumors spreading about me,” I start.
Terrell nods. I wonder if he’s heard them too, like Dre has. Or seen the pictures, or the video.
“Do you know who’s spreading them? Why they might be doing it?”
I shrug. “No clue.”
He nods again. We sit in silence, the conversation complete.
“How’s music for you these days?” he asks, which reminds me that I’m supposed to know who Terrell is.
“I’m applying to a few decent colleges for composition,” I tell him.
He perks up, interested again.
“Like?”
I hesitate. “Juilliard is my first choice. And I’m trying to go for one of the scholarships.”
He whistles. “That’s tough.”
I nod. “Yeah, it is, but my teacher, Mr. Taylor, is helping me. He went there.”
Terrell smiles at me. “Got a piece you’re working on?”
“There’s this one I’m going to send in for the audition, but I keep getting stuck on it. It was so clear in my mind over the summer.”
I think everything going on at school is blocking the flow.
“Maybe you need another pair of ears on it,” Terrell suggests. When I don’t say anything, he pulls at his ears and smiles. “My ears are always available.”
He lets go of them and I realize how big they are. It’s kind of endearing.
Only Mr. Taylor and Dre have really heard my piece, and Dre only did because I was lying next to him and started humming the tune.
I blink hard, erasing the memory.
“Thanks. That would be great.”
There is a silence, where Terrell just stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. It makes me nervous. I look around his living room again.
What if he’s seen the video?a voice whispers. What difference would it make if he has? He’s still talking to me, isn’t he? Doesn’t think I’m a burden because of it, like everyone else. I need to stop thinking about these possibilities.
“And you? What are you planning on doing after high school?” I ask, feeling really hot.
“Nothing too interesting, probably gonna try to find a job.”
I haven’t heard a response like that in so long. I used to think like that too.
