Ever the enthusiast.
Pointing at the lines, I clear my throat. “Is Harriet supposed to be in love with Kenneth at this point?”
Mr. D’plume’s brow arches. That’s it.
I try to better explain, flipping ahead. “I don’t mean to criticize Calypso’s performance, but it seemed like she was, um, a little too tender, unless Harriet is supposed to already be in love here. And maybe I’m just being overly analytical, but if she’sin love now, why does she run after their first kiss to debate her feelings a few scenes later?”
Mr. D’plume watches me for a painfully long moment, then he lifts a shoulder.
I blink at him. It’s not exactly like him to avoid discussing a play. I would think he’d want to discuss the one hewroteall the more. “You’re not going to tell me?” I ask.
“It seems like that’s a question for Harriet.”
I stare, dumbfounded. My theater teacher isn’t insinuating anything having to do with my personal love life, is he? Clearing my throat, I force the question out. “Mr. D’plume, you aren’t suggesting there’s anything between Calypso and I, right?”
“I wouldn’t have to suggest that.” He slurps his coffee. “It’s been months since I found out she allowed you into my classroom while she was playing. She doesn’t even like to play in front of me, Mr. Hawthorn. What I’m suggesting is something else. And you’ll just have to do what I’m saying if you even want a chance of understanding what I mean.”
More confused than ever, I roll my eyes up to the stage, watch Harriet’s heart break as Jo leaves. All the anger on her face from their fight shatters away, dropping one glass shard at a time. Her arm remains extended for a long second, then her fingers close, and she draws her hand back to her side in the same instant a tear slides down her cheek. With all the force of someone who shouldn’t be crying, Harriet turns on her heel and glares ahead as she walks in the opposite direction, tears streaming down her face.
When she’s left the stage, Mr. D’plume snorts. “That girl,” he mutters, a rare smile painting his expression. “And she calls this ahobby.”
If she didn’t huff, I wouldn’t have noticed Agatha lingering behind us, her little pissy expression ruining the mood. It looks like she wants to snap something about Mr. D’plume’s laststatement, but she just meets my eye and turns away.
Grateful I won’t have to listen to some insipid remark, I sigh and trail my way back up the steps to find my Harriet, just in case she needs a cashmere tissue for her crocodile tears.
Calypso
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lex says Giorgio and Mrs. Yvon miss me. That’s why I agreed to come to his house. It has nothing to do with him casually mentioning to Jason that he’s fallen back into his obsession with the violin at lunch.
It has nothing to do with not wanting to say goodbye just yet.
I know I barely spoke a word to Giorgio or Mrs. Yvon and it’s a lame reason for him to give, but I don’t much care. Lex is a weirdo. Who knows what his motivations are.
All that matters is that I know what mine are.
The moment Lex closes the door behind us and we’re safe in his warm foyer, I say, “Show me your violin.”
He shoots me a look. “What?”
“I want to see your violin. I’ve never seen a violin before.”
Lex watches me for a long moment, then he rolls his eyes. “All right then. Come on.”
The trek up the stairs to his room reminds me of hot chocolate and all-night hugs. Warmth. Safety. Safety in this house where I know there are things we’re avoiding. His father isn’t home. Lex doesn’t want me to meet his living parent. I can come up with a thousand reasons why, but the place I always land is hard.
He picked apart my mother too well. Like he knows all the signs. Like he’s faced all the same hurt.
I want to ask him about it, about the man he guards me from, about the real reason he doesn’t like his name. With the brief, tender way he mentioned his mother’s passing to me, I know if she held his namesake he wouldn’t mind keeping her memory alive. However she was as a mother to him, she’s too distantly gone now, and nothing drastically terrible taints her memory.
We became “friends” when he broke the contract, when he scared the heck out of me, but it still feels like we’re in an odd place. So close and so far. All at once.
Lex pushes open the door to his room, carefully shutting it behind me once I’ve entered. Hands in his pockets, he starts for the little spiral of a gold-trimmed staircase that leads up into the endless library above.
Excited to discover the secrets—and see the loft nest he mentioned before—I trail him.
It’s larger than expected. The high ceiling in here that lends itself to the second floor isn’t consistent in the hall. What we can see down in the main area pales in comparison to how the bookcases stretch past the room door below and into the space above the hall beyond it. At the far end, beneath a ladder that leads into the kind of loft a barn might have, stands displaying instruments sit.
