Nobody in Particular(35)

But when Rose and I spoke at the rugby game, she told me some things about her life that made me feel weirdly seen. She knows—even more than I do—what it feels like to be hated by people you’ve never personally hurt. But it’s more than that. She feels like she was given this incredible opportunity by life, and that she’s screwed it up beyond repair, and she doesn’t know how to become the person she wants to be. If anyone can relate to the frustration of feeling like you’ve fallen short of all this potential you had, it’s me.

Suddenly, something’s wrong. I snap out of my thoughts, wrench my hands away from the piano, and whip around.

I knew someone was behind me. It’s Rose, leaning against the doorframe on her left side, a weird look on her face.

I want to die on the spot as I try to figure out a way to explain myself. Nothing instantly comes to mind.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” Rose says in a cheerful voice. “I was enjoying that.”

Her voice bounces off the high ceiling with the same vibrating richness of the piano. And there’s something about her posture right now, how she’s resting her weight on the door all casual and careless, that makes my mind foggy again. She’s teasing me in that way she always does, her voice warm and her eyes laughing, with a tiny edge of legitimate mocking that stops it from tipping into cheese.

Right now, I realize we’re totally alone. We’ve been totally alone a few times before—ducking into my bedroom so I can dump my books before dinner, or watching a movie, or just hanging out and talking—but it’s never felt weird like this.

“Sorry,” I say, like an idiot.

“What for? It sits in here like an ornament. It’s a waste, don’t you think?” She kicks off the wall and crosses the room as carelessly as she stood. “Snapping up something that was made to produce music, just to own it. So that you can lock it up in a silent room no one ever enters, where it won’t do anyone any good.” She reaches my side and, towering over me, she presses middle C. She’s really, really close to me.

“Well,” I say, swallowing. “I don’t think even the top players in the world earn the kind of money to buy something like this.”

“Isn’t that exactly the problem?” Rose murmurs, almost to herself. “Anyway. You’re probably the best thing to happen to it in years. Don’t stop.”

I don’t think even the king himself could pay me enough to go back to playing alone with just Rose in the room. Not like this. So, I pretend I didn’t hear her. “Did you ever learn?” I ask.

“Oh yes. I got quite proficient.”

“Really?”

She nods, and gestures to the seat. “May I?”

I should get up, right now. There’s only just enough room for two on the bench. But I apparently lose my grip on reality, because instead of doing that, I shuffle over. And instead of asking me to move, she squeezes in beside me so she’s pressed firmly against me, shoulder to hip. And instead of leaning away, I take a deep breath and hold steady. So does she, but when she breathes out through her nose, there’s a shakiness to it that makes me wonder if this is too close for her. Maybe I made her uncomfortable when I didn’t stand up? But then I realize she’s probably just nervous to perform. If anyone can relate to that feeling, it’s me.

Clearing her throat, she takes her pointer finger and starts stabbing at the piano. A few notes in, I realize where I recognize the tune from. It’s “Heart and Soul.” And a simplified version of it at that. Of course she isn’t taking this seriously. She never is.

I fight to keep a straight face as she glances at me. “Don’t you know it?” she asks. Oh, right. It’s a duet.

“I’m familiar,” I say wryly, and I jump in with the bass line.

Rose shoots me an indignant look and swats at my left hand with hers. Her skin brushes against mine as she does. “Hey, one finger, please,” she says. “You’re showing me up.”

There’s something about the sheer ridiculousness of playing with a single finger on this particular piano that becomes too much for me before long, and I can’t stop myself from breaking out into giggles.

“I can’t see what’s so funny,” Rose says. “We’re making something beautiful together.”

“I’m sorry, did I ruin the moment?”

“Less apologizing, more majesty.”

“It’s hard to be majestic with one finger, Rose.”

“I’m managing it just fine.”

Suddenly, Rose stops playing. I trail off and give her a questioning look.

“I can’t remember the rest,” she says ruefully. “It’s been about five years.”

“Eh,” I say, waving a hand. “Quick refresher course and you’ll be playing concertos in no time.”

Rose lifts her knee and shifts so she’s angled toward me on the seat. “Could you teach me?”

“To play concertos?” I ask. “Oh, sure. Give me an hour.”

She holds out a hand for me to shake it. “And in return, I’ll teach you a triple axel.”

I stare at her hand for way too long before I take it. “Deal. Is that hard?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Was it hard for you?”