Scene 2 #4
I shake my head to say no big deal, but there’s something besides the electric shock lingering in my fingertips. And it makes me look away, because I’m pretty sure my cheeks are starting to speak for me.
Instead, I focus on that mark on his thumb.
“It’s called a port-wine stain,” he says. He’s not looking at his hand, but at me.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s not a big deal,” he says, holding up his arm.
“I’ve had it since I was born.” He pushes up his sleeves farther, and I see that the birthmark runs all the way up to his shoulder, even farther than I thought before.
Instinctively I reach out and touch it, tracing the outline, and when I do, he smiles. His skin is warm and soft.
“It’s beautiful,” I say before I even realize I’m speaking. “I’ve never noticed how cool it is before.”
“It’s always been there; you just weren’t looking,” he says, letting me turn over his arm.
“Is that why you always wear long-sleeved shirts?”
He laughs, and I internally kick myself. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind.” He takes his arm away and pulls down his sleeve.
“In the beginning, when I was a kid, I guess, yeah, I was a little self-conscious about it. But not anymore. Now I kind of like it. It’s different.
” He shrugs. “I guess that’s the thing about getting older.
You realize your differences can be good things.
Not just bad ones. But the long sleeves kind of stuck around. ”
The room is still humming in the wake of his music.
“So if you got into Juilliard this summer, why didn’t you go already?” I ask.
I look up at him, and he’s staring at me with a mixture of calm and confusion. Like he’s trying to figure out what to say but is not too concerned about how long it’s going to take him to get there.
“I guess I just wasn’t finished here yet,” he says.
“With San Bellaro?”
He keeps looking at me. It feels like it did in the wings of the auditorium. Like he can see right through me.
“High school isn’t as bad as you think,” he says.
“I guess, but it doesn’t really seem like your scene. Plus, it’s Juilliard.” I let my fingers wander to the keys. They’re cool, light, so soft. When I press one down, it barely makes a sound.
“Juilliard will be there next year,” he says. “Some things are worth waiting for.” I can feel his gaze on me, and it’s hot, somehow, strong, like the microscope lens that can light a piece of paper on fire just by focusing on it.
Len stands and runs his hand over the family pictures that are propped up in frames on the ledge of the piano.
One photo of my parents and me on the beach on Maui during winter break of freshman year.
I have a pink flower in my hair, and we’re standing behind a waterfall.
I remember getting so many bug bites that day that I had to bathe in a thin layer of calamine lotion when we got back to the hotel.
Len picks up the next photo. It’s Rob’s and my prom picture from last year.
It’s the only one I haven’t been able to bring myself to take down, mostly because my parents would realize it was missing.
In it he’s dipping me like we’re dancing, and I have one leg extended up toward the ceiling.
I’m gazing up at him with this look of adoration.
The same way my mom is looking at me in all those pictures of me as a baby.
He’s looking at the camera with this goofy grin on his face.
I reach up and grab the picture. “That shouldn’t even be out,” I say.
Len nods. “Sometimes old habits are hard to break.” He gestures toward his T-shirt.
He takes the photo out of my hands and sets it down.
His fingertips brush mine, and even without the static electricity I still feel a charge between us.
He’s looking at me, and that little curl has fallen down onto his forehead.
I want to touch it, brush it away. Not pull it, just sweep it to the side.
“Tell me something,” he says softly. He’s leaning so close to me, I can smell his cologne. It’s intoxicating. The electricity isn’t just in my fingertips now but in my entire body. It zips up from my toes through my spine and into my head, where it lingers, making me dizzy.
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “What do you want to know?”
“Would you ever want to hang out without the excuse of a study session?” He looks at me, point-blank, and my stomach turns over so fast, I swear I hear it thud. My hands feel numb and my heart is racing. He’s making me totally nervous. And he’s still so close, our foreheads are almost touching.
“Like a date?” I whisper.
“Something like that,” he says, pulling back just a bit.
He’s looking at me again with that same intense expression that makes me feel terrified but alive all at the same time.
Like he’s seeing something in me that maybe wasn’t there before.
And all at once I want to say yes. The prospect of spending an entire night alone with Len is intriguing.
I want to be close to him, for him to keep leaning toward me in the same way he is now, and for him to brush my fingertips and maybe even—
But I don’t say anything. I just run my big toe back and forth across the carpet underneath the piano, because all of a sudden all I can think about is Rob’s mother outside. It feels like a betrayal somehow, being here with Len, agreeing to this.
“No go?” he says. “Did I botch the landing?”
“It’s not you,” I say.
“So what is it?” he says. He sits down again but this time straddles the bench, facing me.
I take a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
“Which part?”
“What?”
“Which part don’t you know?”
I shake my head slowly. “I just don’t.”
I’m nervous about explaining this to him, but I also want to.
I need to. There’s something about Len that makes me feel understood.
Like he really sees me. Not just as Rosie the girl next door but as something else, too.
Something more. It feels like whatever I would say he’d be able to handle.
Sitting next to him right now, I feel like I could say anything and he wouldn’t judge me. He wouldn’t even blink.
“It’s just been a complicated semester, is all. And I’m not sure I’d be the best date right now.”
“I understand,” Len says. “You guys were friends for a long time.” He nods to the photo of Rob and me.
“It’s not only that,” I say. I want to explain to him that I’ve never really thought about being with someone else, that it never occurred to me there could be anyone else.
I want to tell him that when I’m close to him, I feel things that I never did with Rob and that it scares me.
That it feels like I’m somehow betraying the course of my life just by being here with him.
I want to, but I’m just not ready to say those things out loud.
“I think I just need a little bit more time,” I say.
He looks amused and raises his eyebrows. “That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“It’s just that, you know, patience is one of my best qualities. This one is a breeze for me.” He interlaces his fingers and pushes them out in front of him. He yawns too, although I suspect it’s just for effect.
“You seem to have a lot of good qualities,” I say, gesturing to the piano.
“Funny,” he says, smiling at me, “I was just thinking the same thing about you.” I can feel my cheeks start to turn pink again. It’s so frustrating to be someone who blushes easily. It’s like everything I’m thinking and feeling gets projected right onto my face. No privacy.
“Study time.” I clap my hands together.
“Already?” he says. “Fine, but I need my Twizzlers.” He smiles that lopsided smile of his.
“I thought they were for me.”
“These?” he says. He pulls one out of his pocket, dangling it out like he’s baiting me. “No way.” Then he leans close to me, so close I can feel his breath on my ear. “I forgot to tell you,” he whispers, his words dancing on my neck. “They’re my favorite too.”