Chapter 9 Harper #2
My maybe had been built on beautiful music floating on air, not solid ground.
I’d been smart to protect myself that night after all.
Even if Orion wasn’t the manwhore Aria claimed him to be, we were too different.
Guys like him didn’t date girls like me.
In stories, maybe, not in real life. Not in places like Castle Hill Academy.
I’d almost let my guard down. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to make that same mistake twice.
Not here. Not when this place was doing its best to chew me up and spit me out.
“It’s only been five days,” I told the girl in the mirror. “Pace yourself.”
I splashed cold water on my face, took a deep, steadying breath, stood up straight, and walked out.
***
Dr. Langford was ten minutes into explaining the lab for today, when I finally made it to chem.
“So glad you could join us, Ms. Bennett.”
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“Page twenty-one in your books,” Dr. Langford said. “Chapter three on your iPads. Galvanic cells and Nernst equations. Enjoy.”
The class got busy, talking in low murmurs. I pulled my iPad from my bag and flinched when I felt Orion’s soft touch on my arm.
“Hey,” he said in a low voice. “You all right, love?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” he said. “You look—”
“I’m fine.” I pulled up chapter three on my device. “Do you want me to read this? It looks like we have to build a simple battery with zinc and copper, then measure its voltage—”
“Forget the bloody lab.” Orion leaned closer. “About Saturday night…”
“What about it?”
“Well.” He suddenly seemed nervous. “I thought it was quite lovely before we were so rudely interrupted, and I was wondering…” He cocked his head. “Are you sure you’re all right? If it’s because of Elowen, I’m sorry. I should have—”
I kept my eyes on the screen. “You don’t have to be sorry. I get it.”
“Get what?”
“Look, I’m not going to give you a hard time about it or expect anything. So don’t worry, you’re off the hook.”
“Off the hook?”
“Yes. We can forget the whole thing ever happened.”
“Maybe I don’t want to forget it happened.” His nervous smile returned. “Look, I’m bungling it. You may have heard, I don’t normally do this—”
“Look, Orion, you don’t have to make nice or pretend. It’s just been made abundantly clear to me where I stand in the social order of things, and I’m not interested in playing Richie games, okay?”
His brows came together, and for the first time since we’d met, he looked truly angry. I sort of loathed that it had to be this way, but if he hated me, so be it. It was better—
“Who?” he demanded.
I blinked. “What?”
“You said it was made clear where you stand. Who made that clear to you?”
A fluttering in my stomach, like a hundred butterflies taking off at once.
Same as when he’d put his jacket on me at the bonfire, and I’d been enveloped in the clean, masculine scent of his cologne and soap and the lingering heat of his body.
Now the feeling came again, from watching Orion’s handsome face turn threatening and protective.
His smile morphing to a snarl. His twinkly eyes darkening with menace.
Dammit, this is not how this was supposed to go.
“No one,” I said, looking away. “It’s just the Academy in general. It’s pretty obvious how it all works. The caste system. You said it yourself…”
“Harper. Tell me.”
His stare was unrelenting, and the commanding tone in his voice nearly had me obeying. But I wasn’t a snitch. I cleared my throat and recovered my sense of self. No, stole it back from this guy who had the ability to break through my defenses more easily than anyone I’d ever met.
All the more reason to build them higher and stronger.
“Just leave it,” I said. “I’ve got too damn much on my plate. I’m your lab partner and that’s all. That’s all I’ll ever be. Okay?”
“What? Why?”
“Because it’s better that way.”
“Says who? Harper, what happened?”
“Nothing. Everything. I’m…” I shook my head, willing my stupid eyes not to betray me. “I’m just done, okay? I’m fucking done.”
Orion stared at me, a thousand thoughts playing over his features. For a moment I thought he might protest or tell me flat-out that this was unacceptable.
But he didn’t.
“Fine,” he said finally. “If it’s what you want.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Should I read the lab instructions?”
Another pause. His jaw ticked.
“Orion?”
“Sure.”
So I did. All business. He and I, lab partners.
Just like I wanted.
All the while, Orion simmered next to me, a live wire throwing sparks, or a pot about to boil over. He flexed his fingers again and again, and when the bell mercifully rang, he gathered his things and stalked out.
I dragged myself through the rest of the day, feeling like an exposed nerve, dreading piano class where Wolfe would call me up to play Für Elise.
There, I tried to find some of my usual fire and spirit, but I sat hunched in my seat, feeling small and insecure and hating how Rhode Island had doused me with one cold bucket of water after another.
Professor Wolfe strode in wearing jeans—against CHA professor dress code—motorcycle boots, a Pink Floyd T-shirt, and a kind of long black tunic, open in the front and worn like a jacket. Without greeting or preamble, he started calling on students. Mercifully, I wasn’t one of them. Orion was.
“Mercer,” Wolfe said. “Where is your sheet music?”
“I don’t have it,” Orion said, steadily meeting Professor Wolfe’s gaze. “I don’t need it.”
“Very well. Be my guest.”
Orion sat down, laid his hands over the keys for a still, silent moment. Then he began to play the Nocturne. It was a short piece, but far more complicated than anything we’d heard from the other students. When it was done, the class started to break out into applause.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Wolfe said, quelling us with outstretched hands. He looked at Orion. “Flawless, technical perfection. And you may as well have been a robot. Or a player piano. Take your seat.”
But instead of returning to his seat, Orion turned back to the keys and began to play a few soft notes, then a slow, climbing of scales.
“What are you doing?” Wolfe said. “I told you—”
Orion kept playing. I didn’t recognize the music until it took off and then it came to me: Chopin again, Ballade No. 1 in G minor. A piece that started slowly then erupted into a rainstorm up and down the scales.
“That’s enough, Mr. Mercer,” Wolfe shouted over the sound.
But Orion didn’t stop. He kept playing through the highs and lows, his hands a blur, the music pouring into the room and over us like a beautiful tempest about to break free.
Finally, Wolfe grabbed the piano’s lid and slammed it down.
If Orion hadn’t snatched his hands away, his fingers would’ve been broken.
Silence then. All the more jarring after the astonishing thunderstorm we’d just experienced.
Orion shot to his feet, knocking over the bench. He and Wolfe stared each other down, Orion’s eyes blazing, his breath coming out hard. I wondered for a second if the two were going to tackle each other to the ground, fists flying.
And then Wolfe laughed.
“That’s what I’ve been waiting for,” he said. “Class dismissed. Except you, Mercer. You stay with me.”