Thoughts of Jaxon have me pulling out my phone and opening my message app. There are six text messages waiting for me from Jaxon—all sent during the earthquake. I haven’t opened them yet because at first I was too mad to want to know what he had to say. Then I didn’t want to be around anyone when I opened them. I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, and the last thing I want is for someone watching me to see how I feel about Jaxon—especially when I currently have no idea what, if anything, is going to happen between us.
The first message came in a few minutes after Brit Lit got out.
Jaxon: Hey, thought I’d catch you at art, but you aren’t here. Are you lost? ;）
A few more minutes had passed before the second message came in.
Jaxon: Need a search and rescue? o_O
The third message came in pretty fast after the second one, followed in quick succession by the next three.
Jaxon: Sorry to bug you, just want to make sure you aren’t in any trouble. Quinn and Marc aren’t bothering you, are they?
Jaxon: Hey, you okay?
Jaxon: Getting worried over here. Just looking for a heads-up that those jerks haven’t found you again. You good?
Jaxon: Grace?
I remember the messages coming in during the earthquake and not paying any attention to them. But now that I’ve read them, I feel like a total jerk. Not for not answering them right away, because—earthquake!
And yeah, I definitely don’t have to answer him just because he wants me to. But I do feel guilty for laying into him the way I did in the art studio when he was obviously just worried about me. And for not answering him for so long when he actually apologized in his texts—something—like please—I’m pretty sure the great Jaxon Vega almost never does.
All I was thinking about in that art closet was how embarrassed I was that he was there, arguing with Flint and making a spectacle of me. I didn’t think about the fact that he was there because he was concerned about me and that the fight with Flint happened because he was so on edge.
In my old school, it would be absurd, and probably even a little freaky, to have a guy get so worried about me. But I can’t really blame Jaxon for being legitimately concerned, not when he’s already had to rescue me twice. And not when his last texts came in the middle of a freaking earthquake, which got people so worked up that every teacher I had for the rest of the day took ten minutes out of class time to go over earthquake safety.
If everyone else is freaked out by the quake, it’s hard to be upset at Jaxon for feeling the same way.
Because I feel bad for making him wait so long for a response, I fire off a couple of texts in quick succession.
Me: Sorry, been busy and haven’t checked my phone
Me: You busy? Want to explore the castle with me?
Me: And hey, you never told me the punch line to the joke
When he doesn’t answer right away, I shove my phone in my blazer pocket and wander into one of the side hallways with no real destination in mind for my exploration.
I pass a room where two people are fencing, complete with white uniforms and head masks, and pause to watch for a little while. Then I wander down to the music hall, where a curly-haired boy is playing the saxophone. I recognize the tune as “Autumn Leaves,” and just the sound of it nearly brings me to my knees.
Cannonball Adderley cut an album in 1958 called Somethin’ Else. Miles Davis and Art Blakey played on it, and it was my father’s favorite—especially the song “Autumn Leaves.” He used to play it over and over when he was working around the house, and he made me listen to it with him at least a hundred times, where he described every single note, explaining over and over how and why Adderley was such a genius.
The last month since my parents died is probably the longest I’ve gone without hearing that song in my entire life, and to run across it here, now, feels like a sign. Not to mention a punch to the gut.
Tears flood my eyes, and all I can think about is getting away. I turn and run, not caring where I’m going, knowing only that I need to escape.
I take the back stairs and climb up and up and up, until I arrive at the highest tower. Most of it is taken up by whatever room lies behind the closed door, but there’s a tiny alcove right off the stairs with a huge window—the first one in the castle that I’ve actually seen with the curtains open—that looks out over the front of the school. It’s dark out right now, but the view is still gorgeous: the snow lit up by lampposts and the midnight-blue sky filled with stars as far as the eye can see.
The room itself has built-in bookshelves that go all the way around it and a couple of comfy, overstuffed chairs to lounge in. It’s obviously a reading nook—everything from the classics to modern-day Stephen King fill up the shelves—but I’m not here to read, no matter how much I usually love it.