Nobody in Particular(73)
“I am pale.”
“I’m taking you to the nurse after dinner,” Rose decides.
“We have the arts performance after dinner.”
“We’ll skip it,” Rose says.
I shove down a mouthful of crème br?lée pointedly, but it doesn’t convince her.
Once the plates have all been cleared, and the headmaster stands to announce tonight’s performance details, Rose runs a fingertip along my thigh under the table, causing a shiver to run along its trail and radiate up and out. My mind fogs over. “Come on,” she says. “We can leave now, nobody will mind. If you’re not well…”
“I can’t leave,” I say, as quietly as I can get away with. “I wrote you something.”
“You … pardon?”
The headmaster takes center stage, and I almost pass out. Here I go. “For tonight’s arts performance,” he says, “we’re being treated to an original piano piece by Danni Blythe. For those of you who haven’t yet had the privilege of meeting Danni, she joined us this year from America, and is one of the most remarkable piano talents Caroline has seen in a long time. And anybody who knows Caroline will agree this is high praise from her indeed.”
Understanding dawns on Rose’s face, as our friends whoop and cheer for me, and Harriet gets to her feet, clapping and jumping she’s so excited. If I thought I was nervous at dinner, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now.
But like Rose said, I have to keep taking the next step forward, or I’m going to be stuck in place. If there’s even a chance in hell of me becoming a soloist one day, I’ve got to let myself be perceived.
Besides—I’ve already been perceived, right? I’ve had my face plastered all over Molly’s socials, and tabloids, and news articles. I’ve been watched, and photographed, and filmed, over and over again, for the whole freaking country to see. People in other countries, even. Today is the perfect example of that. This is just a teeny tiny piano piece—a simple one at that—for one roomful of students.
Still, somehow, this feels a thousand times scarier.
The piano was brought onto the dining hall stage especially for this—I’m surprised its presence didn’t tip Rose off, actually, but she was too busy freaking out about my head to notice anything else.
I’ve sat in this piano seat so many times now, and tonight isn’t any different—other than my aching tailbone. I’m in the ballroom, and no one else is here, and the only people listening are the people crossing the courtyard. I’m safe.
Then I catch Rose’s eye, and she breaks into a grin, and I almost believe what I’m telling myself.
I start to play with shaking fingers, and, surprisingly, I don’t pass out from fear. It helps that it’s an easy song, like I said. Just something I composed a couple of weeks ago, when none of the songs in my repertoire seemed to really capture my feelings. This tune is all Rose. It’s about how much better euphoria feels after you’ve been living your personal hell. How beautiful it is to kiss someone for the first time, and how much more beautiful it is to kiss them when you thought you never would again. How it feels to find someone who makes you into a version of yourself you want to be forever.
At first, it was only going to be for my ears. But then when I was trying to figure out what, exactly, I was going to give Rose for Valentine’s Day with a budget of zero, I thought of this. And I don’t know, maybe it’s cringey, or not enough. It obviously can’t measure up against a brand-new pair of leather skates. But it’s all I’ve got to give.
Then I dare to look out at the crowd, just for a second. I thought I would feel terrified, but no one’s laughing. No one.
I find Rose, who’s watching me with a hand over her mouth. I can tell she’s smiling behind it. As wide as she possibly can. And Molly—the only other person in the room who has any idea what’s happening right now—is watching Rose smile at me.
To anyone else, it probably just looks like Rose is proud of me for getting up here. Part of me knows that, even though another part of me can’t believe that anyone else can hear this song and not know all of my most personal feelings. It feels like I’m standing in the middle of the dining hall, screaming at the top of my lungs that Rose and I are together, and I’m falling for her harder than anyone I’ve ever met before.
It’s the closest I’ll ever come to doing just that, I guess.
And I’m so glad I did it. Because Rose’s face tells me she doesn’t find it cringey or not enough at all. I’ve never actually seen her look exactly like this.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anybody look at someone the way Rose is looking at me right now.
* * *
Later that night, when I’m already in my pajamas, there’s a knock on my door. I’m hoping it’s Rose before I open it, and when I see her on the other side, I can’t help smiling. That is, until I notice the wild look on her face, and how out of breath she is.
“What is it?” I ask, letting her in. As soon as my door closes, she’s up against me, kissing me and steering me toward the bed. I’ve kissed her hundreds of times by now, but these kisses seem intense, and urgent. Starved.
We hit the bed hard enough to bounce, and then I’m stretching out underneath her, tangling my fingers in her curls. One second her bodyweight is pressing down the length of me, and the next she shifts to the side a little. She rests her knee in the space between my legs, and at first I think it’s for balance. Then she shuffles higher, and her knee makes contact with me, and I pause mid-kiss.