Her eyes roll, but she obeys. When I tap her shoulders, she lets out a loud exhale. “What now?”
“Tense, Junior. So tense. Relax your shoulders.” I squeeze her shoulder, giving it a little massage until I feel the muscle relax. “Elbow over toe. Wrist straight. Good. Now relax your right arm. Good. Now let’s hear it.”
She plays a few notes, and I explain to her how I would do things. Her irritation is still evident, but she’s less hostile. We carry on until Mrs. Weston arrives.
“Everyone, quiet down,” Mrs. Weston says in greeting as she hurries into the room, her white hair coming loose from her tight bun. “I want to run through Fauré’s Pelléas et Mélisande, Op. 80, a couple of times before we’ll allow Alister to do his solo.” She winks my way and then brings order to the room.
We play through the music—easy for some and challenging for others—until it’s almost the end of the hour, and Mrs. Weston motions for me to do my solo. When she told me about it yesterday, I listened to it on the way home from school. After working on my sculpture, I practiced a bit. My memory is incredible when it comes to music, so hearing it a few times was all I needed to feel the piece she wanted me to play. Of course, I keep the sheet music in front of me, but I rarely look at it.
I get into position, and my eyes flutter closed as Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst’s Grand Caprice on Schubert’s “Erlkönig” begins to play from my violin. When I play music, much like when I sculpt, my mind goes to a numb, quiet place. Nothing exists except soft colors and warmth. I often wondered if it was what people called a “happy place,” but that wouldn’t be true. I’ve come here before when not at all happy. I think it should more aptly be described as “my safe place.”
A few parts of the song require me to glance at the sheet music, but only to reiterate what I already know. I play through the entire song easily, even after the bell rings. No one in class moves as they allow me to bring the song to completion. As soon as it ends, I stop abruptly and pack away my instrument.
The class claps, but I ignore them to focus on gathering my things. Carrie stops me with a hand to my arm.
“Hey, Alis,” she murmurs. “That was really good.”
“Thanks, Junior.”
She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, as though she’s considering her next words, before exhaling sharply. “Do you think you could show me more techniques?”
“Sure thing, sis,” I tease, earning an eye roll from her.
“See you around then.” She waves her fingers at me before scurrying off through the front door of the classroom.
I grab my bag and case before giving Mrs. Weston a nod on my way toward the back classroom door. The hallway that leads to the gymnasium is darkened. As soon as I step out, I sense his presence.
His condescending words don’t come like I expect. “That sounded complicated.”
“It wasn’t.” I shrug, trying to keep my eyes off the way his T-shirt stretches across his sculpted chest. Enemies aren’t supposed to be hot.
“Too complicated for them.” He nods toward the orchestra room. His thumbs move up and down beneath his backpack straps in an almost nervous way that also sets me on edge.
“I’m not them. I’m better.”
He barks out a laugh. “Not for the next hour you won’t be.”
I bite on my tongue as I start down the hallway toward the gymnasium. Canyon falls into step beside me, assaulting me with his stupidly delicious scent. I try to ignore him, but he makes my blood run hot for a multitude of reasons.
“Your arrogance can only get you so far,” I grumble to him.
“That’s rich coming from you.” He flashes me a sardonic grin. “Mr. Big Head.”
“How did you know my dick was big?” I ask, feigning astonishment. When he grunts out a curse word and flips me off, I say, “You just leave yourself open for these things, don’t you? They’re perfectly served up for me.”
He grabs the door to the gym and opens it, allowing me to go first. My heart foolishly skips in my chest at the gallant, gentlemanly way he opened the door for me. I don’t think he even realized he did it. I’ll be damned if I call him out for that, though, since I clearly enjoyed it a little too much, and that could be used against me.
“I’m not intimidated by your flirting and sexual innuendo, Sommers.”
I bite my bottom lip, winking at him. “Then I’ll have to dial it up a few notches, bro. When you’re begging for my dick between your lips, remember this moment. You started this war. I’m just going to win it.”
Canyon
I was right.
Without my cleats and gear, I am faster.
What I wasn’t expecting was for Alis to up his game. The bastard can run faster and harder than anyone on my football team—ex-team now—and that includes me. Since I beat his time yesterday, I haven’t been able to do it again.
Doesn’t stop me from trying.
We’re both panting and dripping with sweat by the end of practice. Coach Davies calls it for the day, but Alis and I are nowhere near finished.
“Again,” I rasp out.
Alis grimaces but nods. We find our marks and count down together. On “go,” we both tear off down the track. With everyone gone and no one to time us, we just race. Over and over and over. Even after the sun disappears behind the bleachers as twilight chases it away. My quads and calves are on fire, but I’m not giving up.
Unfortunately, neither is he.
It’s not until it begins to truly get dark and my lungs feel like they’re collapsing that I realize we’ve been out here for hours. There’s a person in the stands watching us. When I glance up and see Naomi, I cringe.
Fuck.
“Babe,” I croak out, but my throat is too dry to make the sound carry.
After my asshole behavior yesterday, I promised to take Nae out to dinner after school since it’s her only day off.
I’m such a dickhead.
“Goddammit,” I mutter as I wobble over to my empty water bottle.
“Did you forget something?” Alis doesn’t sound one bit winded, unlike me, which only adds gasoline to my fire.
I glance at where he motions to Naomi. As though I’d forget about my damn girlfriend.
“Go home, Wonderland.”
“Maybe your daddy will read me a bedtime story.”
My fist flies through the air before I can even think. I expect to connect with his jaw, but Alis ducks just in time and shoves me. Stumbling back, I fall hard on my ass, making my teeth snap together painfully. He launches at me, his features twisted with rage, as he straddles my stomach.
“Don’t. You. Ever. Hit. Me!” he screams, his fingers gripping the front of my soaked shirt and yanking me toward him so our noses nearly touch. “Ever.”
The storm of fury and shame and fear in his bottomless dark eyes catches me off guard. All I can do is stare into his haunted gaze. I sit up more, which basically forces him into my lap. We’re both panting and boneless from our running. It probably looks bad the way he’s sitting on me, but the only witness is Naomi, and she knows better than to think there’s anything wrong about it.
“Your dad hit you?” I blurt out as though I care. I don’t.