Chapter 3
chapter
three
Harriet
A few months later…
I’m on my laptop, sitting on the floor leaning up against the sofa in one of the many rooms at Atticus and Vivian’s house. Mansion… whatever. I’m sending a chat request to one of my former professors.
And by “former professor” I actually mean “favorite professor.” Which is really saying something, because as a self-proclaimed serial student, I have had a lot of professors. For a lot of different topics. Over a lot of years and a lot of universities.
Hey, you can judge me for my academic dalliances all you want, but if you were me, you’d probably do the same. I have a sizable inheritance that means I don’t have to work, and I love learning. So why shouldn’t I indulge myself?
My point is this: in all my years of being a student, one professor has stood out as my all-time favorite.
I’ve taken every online class he’s offered.
I would happily take in person classes if he offered them, but he doesn’t.
I love listening to him talk. I love hearing his ideas.
I would climb inside his brain and curl up in there if I could – metaphorically speaking, of course.
So, am I hot for teacher?
Um … yeah, pretty much. Alas, the professor of my (occasionally naughty) dreams is very professional and would never behave inappropriately with a student or a former student.
And I gotta admire that kind of stern, uncompromising morality.
I wouldn’t be reaching out to my professor now if I didn’t really need his help.
While I wait to see if he’s available, I send a text to my little brother.
ME: What’s up, dork?
STEVEN: Hey sis.
ME: Are you working?
STEVEN: Always.
ME: Working on a new song?
STEVEN: Yes. But I can’t see it yet.
My brother, Steven, is on the spectrum and has synesthesia. He can see the music he composes, and it comes to him in colors. I can’t say that I understand it, but the seven million followers he has on Youtube clearly get it. I mean, I understand that he’s talented. Like ridiculously talented.
His music is amazing, even to my untalented ear.
Our parents put both of us in piano lessons when we were younger, and Steven took to it like the proverbial duck to water. Meanwhile I think I still remember how to play chopsticks. Probably. At least, I’m sure it would come back to me if I needed it.
STEVEN: They’re moving forward with the lawsuit.
ME: I figured. I’ve got an idea. Dare I say an ace up my sleeve?
STEVEN: It’s not illegal, is it?
ME:
STEVEN: Harry, I’m serious.
ME: Me too. I don’t do illegal things.
ME: Okay, I don’t do BAD illegal things. And honestly, speeding shouldn’t count. And that time I walked out with a mug from that restaurant was totally an accident. So that shouldn’t count either.
STEVEN: Yet, they do, in fact, count.
ME: I’ll keep you posted on my idea. Let me know if you need me to talk to your lawyers again.
STEVEN: I know how to talk to people.
ME: I realize. But other people don’t seem to know how to talk to you. At least not respectfully.
STEVEN: Thanks.
ME: Vivian says hi.
STEVEN:
“How’s he doing with the lawsuit?” Vivian asks.
“He’s stressed and it’s clearly affecting his ability to produce.
” I sigh, trailing my fingers over the keyboard, wishing I could give my brother a big ol’ bear hug, but knowing that he’d prefer a text or two even if we were in the same city right now.
“He hasn’t put out a new video in two weeks.
Aside from doing a few mashups of early ones. ”
“I hate that he’s having to deal with this. It’s completely frivolous,” Vivian says.
Atticus comes into the room carrying canned sodas for me and Viv. “What’s frivolous?” he asks.
“Harry’s brother’s lawsuit,” Viv says.
“Why don’t I know about this?” he asks, taking a seat next to Viv. Immediately he puts a hand on her thigh. If he’s within reach of her, he’s touching her. Like she’s his lifeline.
Watching them together, seeing the way he looks at her, always stirs a pang of yearning within me. I want what they have. I want to be that for someone.
I wave my hand in Viv’s direction. “You’ll do a better job of giving him an overview. With me, I’ll get lost in the minutia.”
“Basically, this has-been pop star is suing Steven for copyright infringement because of some chords in a song he had out like nearly two decades ago.”
“So old,” Atticus says with a roll of his bright green eyes.
Viv giggles and elbows him. “Not all of us age as well as you.”
He kisses her forehead, then turns to face me. “How can I help, Harry?”
And that right there? The way he jumps in to help automatically, because what’s important to Viv is important to him, even if he only learned about it ten seconds ago? That’s the stuff of fantasies.
I just wish I had a something I needed help with. Instead, I shrug and try to make a joke. “Unless you can somehow make this one previous professor of mine appear so I can speak to him in person, I don’t think anything.”
“What professor?” Atticus reaches over and grabs his own laptop.
Wait. What?
Can Atticus actually help? I guess it can’t hurt.
“He was my music theory professor. Just brilliant and I think he could help. He knows more about this kind of thing than anyone. And if he could help me understand music theory, then he’d be the perfect expert to help explain it to the jury.”
“But?” Atticus asks.
“He’s a complete recluse. Like no one knows where he lives. He responds to emails. Sends in his video lectures, but the lectures are only ever of his hands on the piano or his notes.”
“Give me his name and I’ll see if I can do any deeper digging.”
I rattle off the name just as my laptop chimes, letting me know my chat request has been approved.
“Oh! He’s online!” I type out my greeting, thanking him for accepting the chat.
“If he’s online right now, I can probably track his location,” Atticus says already tapping away on his own computer.
I turn slowly to look at him. I blink. Twice.
His brows raise. “What? I might be technically dead, but I can still hack computers.”
“You are a beautiful man!” I yell. “What do you need?”
“Let me see your laptop,” he says.
I jump up and sit on the couch next to him so he’s squished in a Viv and Harry sandwich.
His fingers fly over my keyboard, opening applications and programs I didn’t even know I had. Then he hands me back my laptop and the typing begins on his own.
“Keep him online,” he says, nodding to my laptop.
“Right.”
Harry725: Have you given any more thought to my request to meet? I know you value your privacy, and I’m not trying to intrude. I could just really use your help.
PROF_JACE: Meeting is impossible, I’m afraid. Can you detail what the assistance is that you need?
I sigh and mentally shake my professor. I can’t help but wonder if he would be willing to meet if he knew how into him I am. Or maybe that’s why he’s not willing to meet me.
That’s a wince-inducing thought if there ever was one.
Of course, there are plenty of people who just don’t do well in person. My brother, for example.
Hoping I haven’t already scared off Professor Jace, I offer an olive branch.
Harry725: I’m pretty sure I know why you’re in hiding and I get it.
PROF_JACE: There’s no possible way you know why.
Harry725: I have a brother who I believe is similar to you.
PROF_JACE: Doubtful. Harry, please tell me what you need.
Harry725: My brother is in trouble. Someone is claiming he stole their music, but he wouldn’t even know how to do that. He’s a savant, of sorts.
Harry725:
PROF_JACE: I’m familiar with his work. That’s your brother?
Harry725: Yes.
PROF_JACE: Someone as talented as your brother will be able to explain his creative choices.
Harry725: But he shouldn’t have to. My brother is on the spectrum. He doesn’t have the skills to deal with the stress of the lawsuit and I’m worried.
PROF_JACE: Is that what you meant when you said he was like me? You think I’m on the spectrum?
Can you hear someone’s annoyance through a messaging app? Because I can totally hear Professor Jace’s biting tone in my mind.
Which is just great. I need his help and now, apparently, I’ve offended him by implying that I think he’s on the spectrum.
I take back everything I ever said or thought about wishing I could meet him just so I could flirt with him in person. Because if this is an indication of how that would go, I’m screwed.
But … I do still need his help!
After a second I start typing again.
Harry725: I’m sorry if I over-stepped.
PROF_JACE: It’s fine. But I am not on the spectrum.
Harry725: I know how you understand music composition and structure. I think you could break down the issue and the lawsuit would be dismissed.
PROF_JACE: Let me do some research. I’ll be back in touch.
Then he disconnects.
“Fuck.”
“Holy shit,” Vivian says.
I glance over at her. “What? Did I not keep him online long enough? Were you not able to track him?”
Atticus blows out a slow breath. “I was able to track him.” He slowly turns his laptop to face me. The screen has a bunch of stuff I don’t recognize or understand. But then there’s a map with two blinking dots. Two dots that are surprisingly close together.
“Harry, your professor is here,” Atticus says. “In Screaming Woods.”