19. Nick #2
The green in Nick’s hazel eyes pops, and those forearms?
Whew. Almost as nice as his hands. Almost. Especially now that I know what they can do.
He squats to check one of the microphone cords on the stage floor and I grip the armrests.
Take me straight to horny jail, I’m gonna get twenty-five to life for barking like a feral dog.
The man sits on a piano bench all day, his ass has no business looking that good.
I have no idea what my face is doing, but Mal turns to me and bursts out laughing.
“Shut up!”
“I didn’t say anything.” He scoffs.
My finger draws a circle. “Your face is very loud.”
Mal schools his features. “Continue.”
“I’m sorry. We weren’t …” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. If I come clean to anyone, it’s Mal. He might not understand why I pretended to date Nick, but he wouldn’t do that I’m-not-angry-just-disappointed thing.
I can’t force the word out.
It doesn’t stop the lie from tasting sour on my tongue, though. “We weren’t keen on telling anyone at first, because of the distance. Plus, it’s Conservatory. Everyone would find out soon enough.”
“And once Conservatory’s over?” His brows shoot up, deepening the lines on his forehead.
When Mal coached me in high school, I hung on his every word.
I thought he knew everything. A rollercoaster- y drop feeling hits me.
He wasn’t much older than I am now. But I can’t imagine myself counseling students the way he counseled me.
The realization lodges in my throat. “Mal, I—” I inhale, though it’s shaky.
“How did you know what to say to me when I was younger? How were you so sure about everything?”
“Everything?” He laughs. “Not even close. I didn’t know much back then. Hell, it feels like I know even less now, but that’s part of getting older.”
“Very reassuring,” I grumble.
“You know what I was sure of?” He holds my gaze. “You. It was easy to believe in you, June. Once you decide to go after something, it’s only a matter of time before you get it.”
I’m not sure I deserve that unwavering faith, but I really want to try. “It doesn’t feel that way anymore.”
“Because the older you get, the less certain you are. I envy the kids who think they’ve got it figured out.
But I’ll tell you what.” He pats my arm, his hand warm as he gives it a squeeze.
“I never once thought of your determination as teenage bravado. You’ll figure out what you want after Conservatory’s over, and you’ll go after it. ”
The rock in my throat is the size of a boulder after Mal’s words. I want to say more, to at least thank him, but Nick drops into the chair on my other side. I settle for a grateful smile, and Mal returns it as the house lights dim.
My focus shifts to the stage, but lots of campers still have their phones out. Rows of kids share screens with people beside them. I won’t go full Patti LuPone and rip phones out of their hands, but the back of my neck prickles as they stare intently at their screens.
I rest my hand casually, palm up, on the armrest next to Nick. I worry he’ll tease me, but he slides his hand atop mine. The dim lights thankfully hide my dorky smile. “How was Don’s PT appointment?”
Nick inhales, but the Jazz Ensemble begins their warmups. “I’ll tell you later. But, I invited them out to dinner with us next Friday.”
I smile at Nick as the students perform. Worry sits heavy at the creases of his eyes, but he sounded lighter talking about dinner.
We sit through the concert, and I do my best to concentrate on the music, but every cell in my body is attuned to the man next to me.
I wish, for the millionth time, that I didn’t have dorm duties tonight.
Rather than sitting next to each other in auditorium chairs, I could be using Nick as my own personal chair. So unfair.
We can’t even squeeze in time alone before the curfew headcount, because dorm duty includes manning the sign-in sheet for the dormers at the dance. After every Friday concert, the Conservatory holds a dance in the Student Center for the campers, though only the dormers are required to attend.
The Student Center has been refurbished since my day.
Gone are the puke green carpets, replaced with dark tiled floors.
A juicery—of all things—counter is laden with snacks.
Even the tables are new, though they’re pushed up against the walls to create a makeshift dance floor.
Campers filter in from DPAC, laughing and chatting.
I stand at the front door, Nick beside me, as the dormers sign in.
He leans in, whispering, “Good luck not getting roped into a TikTok.”
I raise a brow.
“What? Happens at River Valley all the time. These kids are persuasive.” He laughs. All the students love him. He’s so great with kids, probably wants a big family.
Where the hell did that thought come from? Ugh, my mother. Her words from yesterday still wriggle around in my brain.
Some of the dormers are late, having gone back to their rooms to change out of concert attire, but eventually everyone’s accounted for.
The dance floor remains awkwardly empty.
Most kids gather in small circles near the outside, glued to their phones until Ryan jumps on the floor and a few of the dance track kids follow.
Naomi, the resident DJ, plays a slow jam and more campers slink out, shuffling in pairs, each an arm’s length apart. Some things don’t change.
Drew and Chantal do the slow dance shuffle as Kaelyn approaches them, a hurt look on her face. It happens in slow-motion, Kaelyn shoving Chantal away from Drew before dumping a full cup of Red Dye 40 punch all over Chantal’s white shirt.
I catch snippets of Kaelyn shouting over the music as Nick and I weave through the thickening crowd. Kaelyn gestures wildly with phone in hand, screaming:
“… fuck is your problem?”
“Altered the audio and …”
“The way you laughed—” Kaelyn breaks off on a sob.
Chantal speaks low, but too fast for me to hear. Except it’s impossible to miss the finger she points directly at me.
A pit opens in my stomach as we finally get to the trio. Chantal spots me, wailing, “But I did exactly what she said!”
Nick follows Chantal’s gaze, alarm and confusion in his eyes when they land on me. My hands wring together, so out of my depth with teenagers and their hormonal antics. Why would Chantal say that? “Chantal?—”
“Don’t.” She swipes angrily at her cheek.
Nick steps in, ordering the crowd to disperse before directing the girls, “Kaelyn, go with Dmitry to the small lounge. Chantal, outside with me. June, you come too.”
Chantal stomps toward the main doors, wringing punch from her long brown hair.
Once outside, Nick sticks his hand out. “Let me see.”
Silent tears drip down Chantal’s reddened cheeks as she sniffs and passes Nick her phone.
I watch over his shoulder, my stomach sinking further with each passing second of the video. Chantal had recorded Kaelyn rehearsing “On My Own” in a practice room. The door’s only slightly ajar, filming Kaelyn’s profile as she studies the sheet music in front of her, a white earbud in her ear.
But Kaelyn’s vocals are so off-key with the music, my mind can’t compute what I’m hearing. It’s like her voice and the piano are in a slap fight. “What did you do to the video?”
Chantal stares at her feet, her now sticky hair covering her face. “With her earbuds in, it sounds like Kae’s singing a capella, so I edited the video, adding the piano underneath it.”
A cold shiver sweeps across my shoulders as I play the recording once more. “‘On My Own’ is in D major. That’s the key Kaelyn’s singing in, isn’t it? What key is the piano in?”
“C major,” Nick murmurs, studying the video.
“And you sent this to everyone?” I try to keep the accusatory note out of my voice, but Chantal’s stunt is downright dirty.
“I didn’t mean to!” Her eyes are wide, pleading. She looks so young. “It was supposed to be a joke. I only sent it to Jiwoo. But she sent it to Drew and …”
“It got out of hand,” Nick finishes for her.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Kaelyn’s the one who deserves an apology,” I reply. “But—why, Chantal? Why would you make the video in the first place?”
“Like you said, to get revenge.”
“What?” I splutter.
“Revenge?” Nick asks at the same time.
I turn to him, needing him to understand. “That’s not what I said. Well, I said that, I guess. But I also said?—”
“To make sure everyone’s eyes were on me,” Chantal cuts me off. “So I figured i-if everyone thought Kaelyn was bad, they’d think I’m good.”
“Shit.” I wince. “Sorry. But … first off, I didn’t know this was even possible. If it wasn’t so mean-spirited, I’d be impressed.”
“Really?” Chantal’s voice trembles.
“I can’t even get music theory classes to transpose 32 bars,” Nick says.
“If it wasn’t so mean-spirited.” I purse my lips.
Nick hands Chantal’s phone back. “Tearing others down won’t lift you up.”
He’s so good at this. I can’t believe I ever thought I could teach.
“You’re right.” Chantal stows the phone back in her pocket. “I needed Drew to see me. For like, one minute, really see me.”
“Oh, hon. Come here.” I throw my arm around her but remain silent. What else can I say? Don’t chase a guy who wouldn’t chase you? She’s fifteen. She needs at least two more broken hearts before even fathoming that lesson.
Nick crosses his arms, sighing as he looks out at the courtyard. “The Conservatory has a zero-tolerance policy for bullying, Chantal.”
Her muscles tense beneath my hug. “W-what does that mean?”
“It’s not up to me. But Shelley will need to be informed.”
Kaelyn and Dmitry step out the front doors, and he says, “I sent Shelley the video.”
Chantal gasps while Kaelyn’s scowl deepens.
“Kaelyn wants to return to the dorms,” he continues. “And I’ll call Chantal’s parents to pick her up. But someone needs to run to the dining hall to get more snacks and drinks for the rest of the dance.”
“June and I will go.” Nick’s voice is too casual, too light.
Cold sweat breaks out at the back of my neck, like I’m being sent to the principal’s office.