Chapter Thirteen
TWELVE YEARS AGO
I FEEL LIKE I’M going to cry.
Dr. Kendrick surveys us from where he stands near the whiteboard, his blue eyes bright with a kindhearted mischief.
This must be entertaining for him, watching all of us stare at him in various stages of confusion, or in my case, distress.
We’re barely a few weeks into the first semester of my cohort’s sophomore year and his Twentieth-Century Theory and Composition class is already starting to break me.
Whatever he just talked about for the last hour made no sense.
The stuff he wrote on the board, the examples he passed around? Fucking forget it. It doesn’t even look like music. It looks more like the blueprint of a building than anything else, which I guess is the whole point considering the topic, but it doesn’t help me understand it.
“What questions can I answer for you?” Dr. Kendrick asks.
The whole class looks at him. The silence is deafening.
“Right, so I know this is entirely new for most of you, which is why I’m pairing you up to complete this next assignment.
Over the next four weeks, I want you to compose a piece of music for two instruments, using the twelve-tone matrix we just discussed. ”
I choke back tears. Next to me, Rebecca inhales a small gasp.
Dr. Kendrick paces at the front of the room with his hands behind his back.
“Let’s see—Rebecca, you work with Anthony.
Blake, you’re with Chloe. Nick and Siobhan…
” As he adjusts his tie and continues pairing off members of our class, I prepare myself for what I know is about to come.
There are not that many people in this class.
Somehow, I already know who my partner is going to be before Dr. Kendrick even has a chance to finish with “Celia, you’re with Oliver. ”
I wrench my gaze from my notebook filled with desperate scrawling to look at Oliver.
He’s across the room from me, looking uncharacteristically disheveled from how I remember him last year.
He’s not in a full suit this time; he’s wearing a plain white sweater that looks especially soft with a pair of dark denim jeans.
His hair is still a mess, but I can’t blame him for that.
I’ve also been running my hands through my hair in frustration all day.
We hold each other’s gaze while Dr. Kendrick lays out the specifics for the assignment and when it’s due.
I hear the key bits—one month, two instruments of our choosing, look to Arnold Schoenberg for examples—but mostly I wonder what Oliver sees in me in that moment.
Can he see how stressed and tired I am? Does he see the same dark circles that I do when I look in the mirror?
Does it register that I’m one minor inconvenience away from having a total breakdown?
It’s impossible to say for sure with that cold expression on his face.
It takes me right back to the last time we spoke to each other—the end-of-year concert, when he was so rude to my family.
I’d hoped I could make it through this school year with minimal Oliver time, but it seems I’m not that lucky.
The stress of it all—the intensity of my academic workload, the fact that I have to work closely with him for the next few weeks on my weakest subject yet—causes tears to rise to the surface as I pack up my things.
Swallowing hard, I force them down. I do not have time to cry right now.
I find Oliver waiting for me in the hall after class. In that moment, I decide to treat this like I’m ripping off a Band-Aid. I march right up to him and steel my spine.
“Hey, so,” I start by way of greeting, “I feel like we should get started on this soon. I don’t think this will be an easy assignment.”
“Nothing is this year,” he mutters, to my surprise. I had no idea he felt the same way about our classes. He adds, “I have a piano session tonight until six, but I could meet you after.”
“Sure. I’ll be in Rebecca’s dorm for the study group.”
He blinks. “Oh.”
The same study group that I invited him to join last year, which he declined by icing me out entirely. I wasn’t worth the words then. Seems like I’m still not worth it now.
“So, yeah, that’s where I’ll be,” I reply coolly. “You want to just come by there when you’re done with piano?”
For a second, something in his face changes. He goes from the usual aloof expression to something else, something much more open. It’s in his eyes—a softness, almost a sadness, that’s distinct and unusual for him. It startles me enough that my heart skips a beat.
But then his expression shutters as he matches my indifference. “Right. I’ll come to Rebecca’s dorm when my lesson is over.”
Then he turns on his heel and leaves me standing there, even more confused than I was a few minutes ago. That’s saying something, considering I nearly cried in frustration in class. But I have no idea what just happened. Was Oliver Barlowe almost… vulnerable with me?
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I don’t have time for this. My stupid professional writing class starts in ten minutes.
Rebecca, Anthony, Blake, Chloe, and I are all bordering on delirious.
We’re jammed into Rebecca’s single-suite dorm; I’ve taken up residence on the floor next to Anthony and Chloe, while Rebecca and Blake sit cross-legged on the bed.
There are open bags of Cheetos, Takis, and some kind of weird chickpea chips that Chloe brought strewn around the room.
I think each of us has consumed at least two high-caffeine sodas over the last couple of hours.
A haunting, melodic chant in Latin emits from the CD player on Rebecca’s desk. Next to it is a big stack of CDs, all borrowed from the library. We’ve been rotating different ones, testing each other and ourselves to name the piece, the major work, composer, and historical era.
I look at the notebook next to me. For this one, all I wrote down was ??????
Anthony hauls himself up from the floor and hits pause on the player.
The immediate silence feels strange. We’ve spent the last two hours submerged in music of times long since passed, and now I’m having trouble comprehending the fact that we are in New York City and that things like Cheetos even exist.
“I don’t think I can do any more,” Anthony complains as he rubs his eyes. “All this shit sounds the same now.”
“Yeah, I think we maxed ourselves out,” Rebecca replies with a groan. “If I hear Iesus Christus one more time I might lose it.”
“Did anyone get that last one?” I ask.
“I think it was Hildegard von Bingen. Her In Evangelium,” Chloe replies.
“Oh god, duh.” I stretch out my legs and let them fall across Anthony’s lap now that he’s sitting with his back against Rebecca’s bed.
There’s a soft knock at the door, to which Rebecca yells, “Come in!”
Oliver appears in the open doorway. He looks like he did earlier in class—messy hair and all—except his sweater sleeves are pushed up past his elbows. His eyes go straight to where I’m half draped across Anthony.
“Are you ready to go?” Oliver asks of me.
“Hello to you, too,” Rebecca chides.
His gaze flicks to her, then to everyone else in the room as I pull myself up to stand. “Sorry. Hey.”
Blake snorts. “Were you in your studio lesson just now?”
“Yeah.”
“How is it?” Chloe asks as she peers up at him and fiddles with her blond braid. “Being a double major, I mean.”
“It’s fine.” Oliver sighs. “Hard, I guess.”
“How’d you convince them to let you do it?” Anthony asks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Oliver fidget impatiently while I pull on my shoes and collect my stuff. Selfishly, I take some comfort in seeing that Oliver is kind of an asshole with everyone. It’s not just me.
“I applied and asked like anyone else would,” Oliver replies flatly.
Anthony mutters a sarcastic “sure” under his breath.
I look up just in time to see Oliver scowl; it seems he did not miss Anthony’s implication that he gets special treatment.
An awkward tension settles over the room, so I basically push Oliver out the door while calling out my goodbyes to the rest of the group.
“Where to?” I ask once we’re safe in the hall. “My dorm is just down that way—”
“Actually, I have an idea,” Oliver says, effectively cutting me off. He walks so fast I’m basically jogging to keep up with him. “Let’s make a quick pit stop at Shakespeare & Co.”
This is not what I expected him to say. I stop walking in surprise, my voice incredulous as I ask, “The bookstore?”
He stops, then turns to look at me, eyes bright. “Yes. Trust me.”
I don’t—but I go with him anyway.
Half an hour later, Oliver dumps a bag of booklets onto the desk in his dorm.
Like Rebecca, he has a single suite, but on another floor.
Unlike Rebecca, his room is sparsely decorated.
There’s nothing on the walls, no posters or pictures taped up like the room I just left. It almost looks like a prison cell.
“Where did you get this idea?” I ask as I eye the space with caution.
“My piano instructor,” Oliver replies. “I was telling him about the serialism assignment, and he said we could practice sudoku puzzles to help us understand the matrix process. That’s what he did when he was in his undergrad.”
That’s the errand we just got back from—a quick trip to the bookstore down the street, where we bought six different sudoku puzzle books.
It was weird seeing Oliver outside the halls of the school.
Like my brain couldn’t comprehend the fact that he could exist anywhere else—but there he was, striding down Broadway, head held high as we walked side by side in silence.
“My titi does these.” I pick up a booklet and lean against the desk. “She’s, like, really good at them.”
Oliver only nods as he arranges his notes and textbook on the desk. When everything is set up, he cracks open a sudoku booklet and leans over to study it. I notice how big his hands are then, how long his fingers look spread out across the papers. No wonder he’s so good at piano.
“This makes sense to me,” he says after a long beat. He looks up at me then, eyes bright and a hint of a smile on his face, and I’m acutely aware of how close we are. “What do you say, Celia? Shall we try it?”
I’ve never heard him say my name before. It sounds beautiful coming out of his mouth, the way he took the extra care to say it correctly. I feel myself smiling back at him without even thinking about it.
“Let’s do some damn puzzles, Oliver.”
I may be a proud person, but I’m not too proud to admit that Oliver’s suggestion helps me more than I ever expected. Four weeks later, we turn in a piece for piano and violin using a twelve-tone matrix. We receive full marks on the assignment.
FAMILIA GROUP CHAT
TODAY 6:01 PM
Madre
6:01 PM
Hija it looks like there’s a storm coming your way. Are you safe at the house?
Rosa
6:13 PM
omg you guys it’s literally just going to rain
Padre
6:16 PM
Rosa por favor be quiet. Celia listen to your mother
Amanda
6:44 PM
it’s already starting to rain in the city
Madre
7:00 PM
I know. Celia do you have supplies
Rosa
7:10 PM
what kind of supplies does she need for rain? she works inside all day
Padre
7:16 PM
Flashlights in case the power goes out
Rosa
7:17 PM
we have those on our phones
7:18 PM
mom can never figure out how to turn hers off
Amanda
7:19 PM
lmao
Madre
7:25 PM
Celia please answer us when you can. Love you hija