A/N: Ok, I made a mistake and posted this the first time before previewing it. OOPS. I hopefuly won't be doing that again... Sorry to those of you who read this in underlined italics! Thanks for reading!
Chapter 2
Somebody Hit the Lights
Awaking to a blaring alarm clock, I groaned at the cruel machine that had stolen the last glimpse of my dream. There had been a boy, a pale beautiful boy… I shook my thoughts out of my head, realizing that my overdose of literature had somehow sunk into my subconscious mind.
I folded my blankets back and let my feet slide off the bed in search for the floor, shuddering at the unbearable cold that had all but put frost on my mirrors in the night. I hated New England winters. It was never warm enough to put any feeling into my bones. Not even the steaming hot shower could warm me on mornings like this.
A few minutes later I was stumbling around my kitchen in a semi-conscious stupor, trying to wrap my mind around the concept of school.
Ugh. School.
I hurried out of my house with few words passed between the rest of my family, wrapped in a stylish parka I had purchased precisely for the below-freezing mornings I had grown to know so well. Much to my chagrin, not only was my car buried under three inches of snow, but a freezing rain during the night had left the entire vehicle covered in a sheet of ice that blurred all the windows and made it nearly impossible to even open the doors. Finally, after chiseling some ice off with my house key, I was able to yank open the drivers side door and retrieve a legitimate ice scraper. Fifteen minutes later, I was rubbing my hands in front of the pathetic little heaters in my car as I waited to turn at the traffic light down the street.
I drove my friend Samantha to school everyday, which was possibly the only reason I managed to force myself into the cold morning each day. She probably was wondering why I was running later than usual, but I didn't care. I wasn't in any hurry to get to school. The only place that called for my speed was the coffee shop around the corner where at steaming hot cup of mocha flavored coffee was waiting with my name on it. As I pulled into Sam's driveway, I continued warming my frigid fingers in front of the dashboard while Sam waddled out to the car, slipping on her frozen driveway with a mock attempt at balancing. The door opened and Sam flopped onto the seat with a heavy breath of relief.
"Coffee," she said without any formalities.
"Coffee," I agreed, and we backed back out onto the road.
"So," I began, "How was your vacation?"
"Oh," Sam said casually, "I finally read those books, the Twilight series," she said, brandishing the third one in front of her face before shoving it back into her bag.
"Oh yeah, I read them too," I said, trying to sound as blasé as possible. If I had any hope of retaining my composure throughout the day, I could not allow my mind to drift back into the book-induced zombie-Tessa episode.
Unfortunately, Sam didn't need any preemptive to go off on her rave about the books. "Oh! You did? I just love them, don't you? I haven't finished them yet, don't tell me what happens! Don't you just love Edward? I do. I really think he's a better choice for Bella than Jacob could ever be…" And I zoned out.
Keeping my attention firm, I convincingly ignored Samantha all the way to the coffee shop, where she continued her monologue, until we both had coffee and I had an excuse to change the subject.
"We have band first today, do you think Mr. Culvert will let us keep our coffee in class?" I asked as we walked back out to the car, warm drinks in hand.
"Who cares! I don't," she exclaimed bravely. "I could care less what that man wants of us now. I mean, recall how our concert went last week? If he thinks he can boss us around after that joke of a performance, then I will gladly take a seat in the office, with my coffee. Did you do that ridiculous paper he assigned us over vacation?"
I hadn't. One of the many things that slipped my mind in my mental absence.
"No," I said, starting up the car and pulling out onto the street.
"Well, I wouldn't worry about it," Sam said, brushing off the subject. "I'm not going to do mine, though I suppose he'll let you turn yours in later today."
He would. Mr. Culvert always took the opportunity to seem more casual with the students in band, giving them his e-mail address, staying late to chat about favorite songs, all a distraction from the fact that he was a horrible teacher. Since he started working at Hardgrave High School, the performance level of the band had deteriorated to the point where we didn't want to perform anymore, because it was too embarrassing. The last concert had been the biggest joke of all; I had actually urged my family not to come so as to preserve their musical taste, but of course they did anyway, and afterwards they didn't say a word to me, in an attempt to avoid stating the truth: we sounded terrible.
The rest of the ride was quiet, as Sam decided to read her book, and I opted to turn up the radio rather than struggle to force a conversation that didn't revolve around Twilight.
The first sign was when I pulled into the parking lot, and my usual parking spot was filled. By a sleek black convertible that looked like it had been lifted into the spot by helicopter, more likely than to have been driven there through the salt covered streets. I let out a hearty groan of frustration.
"Would you look at that!" Sam cried out, obviously impressed. "That's a Mustang convertible!"
"Who cares what kind of car it is?" I whined, "It's in my spot!"
"Oh, stop being a baby," Sam scolded me, "There are plenty of parking spaces left. Wow, I guess someone got a nice Christmas present," she said, returning to awe at the shiny black beast before us.
"What do you mean?" I asked as I awkwardly turned my car around in something like a six and a half point turn. Fortunately it was still early, so there weren't many witnesses to this embarrassing event.
"Well, no one I know at this school drives a 2009 black Mustang convertible," she said, "so clearly someone's parents were very generous this Christmas."
I glared at the ostentatious vehicle. I couldn't believe that some people's parents were so willing to spoil their child like that. I drove a 2000 silver Toyota Camry that I inherited from my mother when she decided to upgrade to the more fuel efficient Toyota Prius. It had ninety thousand miles on it and a dent in the front bumper. But I didn't really care about the quality of my car, only that it got me from one place to another.
We pulled up next to the black idol and took great care to open the doors without scratching its precious paint job. As I loaded my arms with bags, books, a French horn and a now luke-warm cup of coffee, Samantha took another minute to ogle at the Mustang that had already made my day bad enough to race back to my bed and stay there.
"Come on, Sam," I called behind me as I headed toward the school building. She gave the car one last wistful glance and followed after me. I tossed the monster one of my best death glares and continued into the school.
The hallways were crowded with laughs and groans, and calls of "How was your New Year?" and "What'd you get for Christmas?" but I just hurried on to the auditorium, my small sanctuary in the hectic building.
In the early hours of the day, the concert hall would have seemed eerily empty, if it were not exactly what I was yearning for all day long. Safely depositing my things in the adjoining classroom, I walked carefully across the dark, silent stage to the light box, then flipped three familiar switches. The room was suddenly illuminated by three rows of overhead stage lights, highlighting my favorite performance space. My French horn and I took our place center stage, and I proceeded to play a series of scales and arpeggios that reverberated through the entire hall and came back to me, the most sweet, wholesome sounds I knew. I segued into the beginning of the piece I auditioned with a month ago, memorized from so many sessions of practice on this very stage.
Suddenly, I was momentarily blinded by the quick illumination of the house lights in the back of the hall. I paused my playing and squinted to see who had stopped my performance of one.
"Sorry, Tessa," Ms. Gordon, the choral director, called from the back of the auditorium where she was opening the wide house doors to the exterior hallway where students were still making their way into the school.
"That's alright, Ms. Gordon," I answered, "I was done anyway."
I leaned over to put my horn back into its case just as my friend Carly shimmied her way past Ms. Gordon and walked down the aisles of the auditorium toward the stage, taking large strides.
"Hey Tess," she said as she took a standing position on the top step of the risers that were set up right in front of the stage. "That sounded good," she remarked, pointing a finger to indicate my horn.
"Yeah," I laughed sarcastically, "I'm sure it did. Just what everyone wants to hear first thing in the morning."
Carly was easily my best friend. The sincere kind, not just a friend that you spend the most time with so you feel obligated to put a title on them. We had known each other for years; years of sleepovers, phone calls, side stitch for overdoses of laughing, sharing movies and music, and receiving the best kind of love I had ever known, the kind only found in that type of friend.
"Whatever," she said, brushing off my grouchiness. "Did you hear about the new family that moved here during break?" she asked.
"No," I said, surprised. "Who is it? What grade are they in?"
"Well, there's four of them," she began, obviously enjoying the opportunity to gossip. Carly wasn't one to chatter about any old thing like some girls are prone to, so I knew immediately that there must be something truly attention grabbing about the newcomers. "There are two guys and two girls. I don't think they're all related though, at least, I think…" she faltered, unsure of her thoughts.
"What do you mean?" I prodded.
"Well," she began again, still uncertain. "I saw them all in the office this morning, and they didn't look anything alike! Well, I mean, I guess there were some similarities, I suppose…" she faltered again, clearly racking her memory for something. "It wouldn't make sense for there to be several different families that all showed up at once, would it?" she asked sheepishly. Without waiting for an answer, she continued again. "Two of them looked a lot older, so they must be seniors. Although, they all looked pretty mature, so I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders at the confounding situation.
"Well, I'll look out for them," I said. Carly's face immediately lit up with a wily smile.
"Oh, you'll know when you see them," she said enthusiastically.
My brows furrowed in confusion. "Why? Is it really obvious?"
Carly's smile widened. "They're gorgeous," she said, and she giggled an uncharacteristic giggle. Wow, these boys must be pretty darn good-looking to get that kind of reaction out of her.
"Hey you!" I laughed, smacking her playfully on the arm. "You already have a boyfriend! Keep your eyes to yourself!"
"So do you!" she laughed, whacking her arm back at me. Ah. She caught me.
My face immediately fell into a sort of grimace. "Right, about that…"
"Oh no, don't tell me," Carly smirked, "You're already missing the single life."
"Umm…" I stuttered, hesitant to answer. "It's just that, I wasn't ready to be in a relationship! I don't even know how this happened!"
Carly laughed at me, but not with any malice. "Ha! Well, I certainly don't know what event took place that convinced you to say yes, so I guess you're on your own for this one. See ya later, babe." The bell rang, and she ran off back down the aisle, and out the door.
I frowned, still in my frustrated funk, as people began entering onto the stage, instruments in hand. I headed over to my seat in the back corner and plopped down to wallow in my misery.
Three things worth noting occurred during band class. The first was that I consumed my entire coffee in less than three minutes, and burned my tongue in the process, but still felt like a likely candidate to contract hypothermia when I was finished.
The second was that Mr. Culvert tried, and failed, to commend us on an excellent winter concert in the previous week.
The third was that Melissa, the trumpet player who sat next to me, leaned over while I was drinking my coffee and whispered in my ear, "Dude, did you hear about the wicked hot guys that just moved to our school?" at which point I nearly choked on my drink and did manage to burn my tongue. Apparently Carly wasn't the only one who had noticed the newcomers.
The rest of the day was a kind of miserable blur. Gym class presented new tortures for the new year, guaranteed to fill me with delight and enthusiasm for the thrill of exercise. Not.
I didn't see any of the new students that were filling the hallways with the buzz of gossip. Not that I had been looking very hard. I was relieved to return to the auditorium at the end of the day for my independent study, time allotted specifically to practice the French horn. Once again, I took my spot center stage, and let my lungs fill the round, silver instrument with a gust of air that delivered my favorite sounds.
I ran through scales and arpeggios, then progressed to some of my easier solo pieces, then finally onto the audition piece I knew so well. The hall was filled with such a beautiful sound that I was sure would arouse envy in even the most practiced musicians. I was so utterly happy to be alone with my music…
I suddenly opened my eyes, as I had been playing with them closed, and abruptly noticed that I was not, in fact, alone.
There was a boy standing in the shadow of the doorway at the opposite end of the hall. I couldn't see his features, but there was a familiarity about him. This was strange, as I clearly didn't know him. He stood in an odd, distinguished way, like he could stand there all day without any effort, and even standing in shadow, I could tell he was very, very pale. If I squinted, I thought I could see a slight frown on his face, like he was deeply confused about something. I was a little disturbed that he had been listening to me practicing, and unsure of how I should politely ask him to get lost.
I jumped out of my seat as the final bell rang, surprising me, and I stood to leave the stage.
However, I didn't get very far, for as soon as I stood, Barney was walking in the door through which I had been planning to make my exit. I naturally turned to head the opposite way, despite the fact that the door was blocked by the mysterious man, only to find that he had disappeared. Frozen in my shock, I was unable to make an escape before Barney finally noticed my presence and practically skipped over to say hi to me. Skipped may not be the appropriate description. His movements were very awkward as he had recently grown into several extra inches and didn't seem to know what to do with them. Less than a year ago he had been a solid two inches shorter than my five foot seven, but now he was edging toward six feet. His walk lacked a swagger, but an uncertainty to every step made his round figure wobble from side to side. His face was sweet and youthful, and he had warm brown eyes that glimmered when he saw me. I hadn't ever noticed this before, perhaps it was something acquired during my month as zombie-Tessa. Or maybe it was the stage lights.
"Hey Tess," he said softly, like he was still a little shy to talk to me. This seemed very silly as we had been close friends for nearly two years, never hesitating to say anything to one another. Apparently, now that I was his girlfriend, everything was different. I shuddered, unnoticeably, simply from thinking the word.
"Hey Barney," I said, trying to give the impression that I was very busy and didn't have time to chat. Either I was a really bad actress, or he just didn't get the hint.
"So," he began, sitting down on one of the many chairs that was strewn across the stage. I sat down too, but a couple seats over. He looked disappointed at this action. "How was your day?"
"Oh, the usual," I said casually, "boring. Wish I wasn't here. Time would be better spent sleeping."
"Yeah, right," he said, clearly already at a loss for words. I abruptly decided that if I was going to ever free myself, I had to do it then, and quick. Like pulling off a band-aid.
"Look, Barney," I began quickly, afraid I would lose my sudden lapse of bravery. "I don't really think this… 'you and me' thing is how I want to be right now."
Shocked at my sudden decision, he stuttered, "What, why?"
"I just… I don't want to date you," I said, "Sorry!" I quickly blurted as his face turned dejected. "I don't mean you specifically! I just meant, I don't really want to be dating anyone right now."
The boy still looked like I had punched him in the gut. "Oh," he said, surprised at the rash change in the conversation. "I didn't know… I mean, well, then… why did you say yes when I asked you out?"
"I think there was a miscommunication," I lied. I suppose it could have been a miscommunication, if you considered being completely aloof a miscommunication. "I thought you meant we should go out, like, occasionally, on dates, but not… dating." I put emphasis on the word "dating" in hopes that he would get my drift. The look in his eyes told me he did.
"Oh, okay," he said, clearly trying to salvage something from our short tryst. "So, we could go out sometime?" He looked hopeful.
"Oh, yeah! Sometime," I said quickly, pushing the conversation forward so that I wouldn't have to backtrack and explain myself. "But, you know, I'm real busy right now… with college stuff, and school…" I searched for excuses while waving my hands lightly through the space before me, as if gesturing the large amount of things that required my attention. Finally, I grasped at one piece of truth I could leave him with. "If I'm being honest, Barney, I really just need some time to myself right now," I said calmly, relieved that I wasn't lying through my teeth just to end something so silly.
A look of confusion crossed his face again, and he leaned away from me, withdrawn. "Tessa, we've only gone on one date. It's not like you go out every weekend!" He exclaimed, exasperated. "When was the last time you actually went out with someone, other than me?"
He stared at me persistently while I counted months in my head. It had to have been…
"A year ago," I whispered softly, feeling a light pain in my chest as I made the realization.
"Exactly," He said, raising his arms over his head in concession. "I'm sorry, but, I don't know what you need time for. And how much time do you need?" He was obviously irked now, but he wasn't going to bother me further on the subject. He got up and walked out the door in a huff, leaving me and my French horn alone, hit with my own bullet.
"Yeah? Well, who's to say how much time is enough?" I yelled at his retreating shadow. I was upset now, angry that he had seen through my façade, and upset that he was right. It was true, I was a lonely spinster who didn't want anyone near me!
Sure, it had been a year since I even attempted to go on a date with someone, but I had reasons for that time alone. The last time I had tried to let someone that close to me, it had gone way too far… It became something that I had never wanted for myself, something I was ashamed of. I wasn't myself anymore, I was what a boy had wanted me to be. I needed to be alone, to retain my own person. And now, I was too afraid to go anywhere near that kind of danger again.
I was drawn out of my resentment by a muffled chuckle that echoed across the room. The same boy who had watched me practice was hovering in the doorway at the end of the hall again. His shoulders shook with gentle laughter at my fury, though I still couldn't see his face.
"Hey, you!" I yelled at him, not caring about formalities or manners. I was going to give him something to laugh about…
I bent over to pick up my books and my horn, but when I stood back up, the boy was gone.
I yelled out loud with frustration. What was with the disappearing act?
I rushed off the stage to follow him out the door, but there was no one around. The hall was completely empty. Filled with a new fury, I retrieved my things and rushed out to my car, parked as close as space would allow to the school building. I took little notice that the black mustang that had ruined my morning was gone. I dropped my things in the backseat on the way to the driver's side, and with a turn of the keys, my car came to life, radio instantly playing my favorite station. After a few minutes of deep breathing to calm myself down, I gracefully backed out and drove home, singing as loud as I could the whole way so that I wouldn't have to think about anything but the lyrics of the song.
