Friday morning. The whole idea of looking forward to a day without work—I'd quit because of dad—was strange since I don't think I'd ever had more than two days in a week when I'd not had to work. For a moment, after I woke up at 7:00, I just lay in bed, thinking of what I could do with all the spare time. Of course, I'd have to come home almost right away, but there was still time, maybe in the evening, to hang out with some of my friends. I could go and see a movie, maybe, later that night!

My door creaked open, and my father's face peered around the edge of the door. He smiled at me, and I smiled back, wondering when it had last been like this. Usually he had been late to work, and he'd still been asleep every morning that I'd left for school.

"I've made your lunch," he said, holding up a brown paper bag, "I wouldn't want my girl to go to school hungry. And you needn't worry about coming home early. Forget what the doctors said. I have friends at the orchestra. I was careless last time," he had the decency to look ashamed, "I admit that, but this time, if anybody notices that something is wrong, I will go right back to the hospital."

I smiled. "I might want to stay after school." Hoisting myself up on my elbows, I said, "You remember what we were talking about a couple weeks ago? Elysees Academy? I found a tutor to help me get ready for the examinations."

I had expected him to be excited. Instead, his face sort of folded in on itself, almost as if he was displeased. I felt the change in mood and sat up straighter, swinging my legs out to one side of the bed.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" I whispered, "I thought you'd be happy. Remember how much we talked about Elysees?"

He looked up at me with so much…I could hardly describe it…betrayed hurt in his face that it made me feel instantly ashamed. How could I even think of leaving him now? We had talked of it before, and even then it was a tentative arrangement…but now, there was almost no chance of it, even if he said that he was fine. I had just told him that I was willing to leave him alone, even when he was in so much trouble. He pulled himself together, however, and faked a terrible smile.

"Of course, Christine, I'm very happy for you," he said, "I know that you can pass the examination. Study hard, and we will discuss it when I come home. I might be late this evening, though, so spend some time with your friends if you like. Have a good day."

He closed the door and left me sobbing into my quilt. My heart was torn, broken into two parts. I wanted to go to France so badly, I thought I would scream. I wanted to go somewhere, to break away from this endless chain of monotony, of sameness. But at the same time, how could I leave my father? He was the only thing in the way of a family that I had left. Without him, I'd never have any place to call my own. I'd never even have anybody to call my own. I couldn't leave him until he was ready. Hadn't I asked him for the same understanding? I sighed and stood up. If I waited any longer, I would be late for school. With the arms of a robot, I started to get ready for school.

Meg, naturally, noticed something wrong the moment I walked into the building.

"I waited for you, but you were late. What's wrong?" she gasped, "My God, Christine, your face is as white as a ghost's!" She shook me on the shoulder, almost as if she was trying to snap me out of my stupor. "Is your father back in the hospital?"

I had to clamp down on the thought that things might be better that way and reprimand myself for even letting the idea come into my head. "No, Meg, I just didn't sleep well last night, okay? Dad's fine."

She looked at me with the look that she had sometimes. The look that said 'you-are-so-full-of-bull-but-you're-upset-so-I'll-let-it-pass'. She shook her head and offered me part of her bagel. "At least eat something, you'll feel better."

I nibbled on the bread, but it did nothing to either calm the roiling feeling in my stomach or in my mind. In fact, it made me feel like I was going to throw up. As we walked along the hall, I casually let the piece drop into a garbage bin.

"So," Meg said, trying to lighten the conversation, "are you happy that another day's here? You get to see Ra-oul!" she sing-songed the last word and slammed her locker door shut, the echo of the metallic clang echoing in my already throbbing head. She looked at my face and sighed. "Come on, Christine, if you can't tell me, who can you tell?" Suddenly, her body tensed up and her smile widened as she looked down the hall behind me. I turned, knowing what I was about to see, and sure enough, Raoul was coming up the hall behind us. But something was wrong with him, too. He looked pale, as if he had not slept at all either, and as he stormed up towards the two of us, he had to stop and collect himself before he spoke.

"Miss Day, may I speak to you in the classroom, please?"

I nodded my assent, and motioned to Meg. Usually, when I had spoken to him, I'd always brought Meg along as a kind of safety net. This time, though, Raoul stopped her with an almost rude gesture.

"Alone, if you would not mind, Miss Tabin."

Meg, startled, and looking slightly naughtily at me, smiled and nodded. "Certainly, Mr. Chagny. I'm sure that you and Christine have a lot to talk about. I'll see you later, Christine," she whispered to me in an undertone, and, smiling and winking, Meg trotted off down the hall.

Raoul was entirely uncharacteristic this morning. He actually grabbed my wrist in an effort to get me to follow him faster, and I allowed myself to be pulled along simply because I had no other option; I was totally shocked. He pulled me into his empty classroom and checked the clock; we had at least ten minutes until the start of classes. He paced around the room, running one hand through his hair, evidently wondering where to begin saying what he had to say. I waited patiently, but not without a good deal of apprehension. Meg had obviously been expecting a love confession, but his expression was a good deal too troubled and upset to even consider something like that. I felt a dark sense of foreboding, and the troubles that I'd been sensing for the past few days suddenly rained down on me.

My teacher turned towards me with a terrible look. "Christine, this is going to sound odd, but have you ever," he checked himself, and started over, adopting a more gentle tone, almost as if trying to coax a confession out of a child, "Bear with me, Christine. This is very serious; you could be in grave danger." He paced again, hands folded and his expression one of fervent prayer. "Have you ever run across a man named Erik?"

The name was totally unfamiliar to me, especially if he meant a man. I only knew one Eric, and he was my seven-year-old cousin. I shook my head, silently inviting more explanation. He sighed.

"This man would be a good deal older than you, late thirties, perhaps even early forties. He would have dark hair and eyes…and he would be wearing a white or black mask."

An alarm bell shrilled inside my head. Mask…and the mask meant danger…I'd known it all along, hadn't I? And Raoul wanted me to confess to having seen this man, this man who had never done me any harm. How could I be in danger from a man who had only given me a book? After all, in my world, book-givers were always good people. What's more, I thought, anger rising inside of me, I don't quite feel like telling Raoul anything that he feels like asking about. There could be other masked men, after all. Deep down, I knew that I was fooling myself, and toying with something very dangerous, but I did not want to give up my masked man. He was the mystery that I'd been waiting to discover, and even beyond that, something in Raoul's tone denoted harm on the masked man. Without knowing both sides, or even any side to this demand, how could I answer and count on anyone's safety?

I adopted an attitude of careful thought, aware of Raoul's searching glance, and shook my head.

"I've never seen anybody like that around this town. And I usually know, I mean, I work at the only grocery store." I took on an air of naïve innocence. "Well, what's wrong? How could I be in danger from someone I've never seen before?" If a little mockery slipped into my tone, I expected to be forgiven. I had not had a good morning, after all.

Raoul seemed uncomfortable still, even more so, after my lie. He insisted that I meet him after school at his office, and I agreed. Daddy had said that he'd be home late, after all. I had the time.

When I met him in his office (which was really nothing more than a cubicle in the World Language department) he seemed more under control. He offered me coffee from the teacher's lounge, and then escorted me to one of the classrooms that fronted the road, and was brightly illuminated by sun. So illuminated, in fact, that we had to lower some of the shades in order to talk comfortably.

He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, so I decided to tell him what conclusion I had reached during the course of the day.

"M Chagny?" I broke unwillingly into his thoughts. He stared at me confusedly, almost as if wondering why I was there. I had never seen him with such a lack of self-composure. "I wanted to talk to you about the offer you made to tutor me."

At this, his face seemed to relax, and he smiled broadly, the worry lines that prematurely etched and aged his face now fading away. "Absolutely, Christine. Are Saturday mornings still convenient for you? I have already made arrangements with the janitor to let us into one of the spare classrooms, and I have spoken with my parents, trying to find out what information we need this year to prepare for the exam."

I grimaced. He wanted to teach me, and I wanted to learn, but I couldn't do it anymore! "Actually, I wanted to tell you…because my dad is so sick right now, I can't attend the Academy. So getting the tutoring is just…" I trailed off and lowered my gaze, unable to look in his eyes anymore.

Raoul looked at me for a moment, seeing the pain in my eyes and face, and took my hand in a grip so gentle that I didn't even flinch at the contact. His palm was smooth and warm, and I suddenly found myself wishing that he'd hold me, so that maybe his warmth could soothe away some of the pain I felt. But he did not make a move to do that, so I swallowed my disappointment in a silent sigh.

"Even if you are not able to attend, I still believe that you should prepare for and take the test." He placed his other hand soothingly on my shoulder, "After all, if you pass, that is still a very good thing to show your university. The willingness to work hard, even without reward, is admirable. Still," he continued, taking his hands away from me, "this was not what I had intended to speak to you about. But it might be where we begin for today. Christine," he said, "would you like the tutoring? I know that you are going into stage production and dramatic arts, but a knowledge of French would aid you well in that endeavor. Why not let me tutor you?"

I nodded. "I know that that makes sense, but my dad…I don't know…if there's a problem with him, I have to be there for him. I did leave work to do that, after all, even if he doesn't want it." I had to work to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "But maybe, when he gets better, I'll be able to do this."

We were back to the awkward silence again. I thought I remembered Raoul murmuring something about what I had said, but it was spoken in such an undertone that I wasn't really certain. After several minutes, where we both looked down at our hands, Raoul broke the silence.

"Christine," my name was like a melody on his lips, "I care very much about you. As a student and as a young lady," he seemed very awkward, all of a sudden, "and I want do help you achieve the great future that I know you have. Do you remember the question I asked you this morning?"

Well, that was a radical shift in mood! Of course I remembered his question about the masked man. I'd thought about it almost to exclusion of all other things that day. Meg had walked out of the cafeteria without me noticing while I was trying to decide whether or not to tell Raoul the truth about what I knew. I nodded and breathed something in the affirmative, waiting to hear if he had anything more specific to say about the masked man.

"Are you certain that you know of no one fitting the description?" He pressed his question again, searching my face even as I was desperately wracking my brains for an answer. "Are you sure that you have never spoken to or even seen a man like that?"

I decided that an attitude of disbelieving concern would suit best. "Why are you so worried? I told you before that I don't know anyone like that. What is the problem? Who is this man you're so worried about?" I wanted to know so badly that I thought I would strangle the information out of him if he refused to say a word. What kind of danger was I in?

"I…" he trailed off, "I do not know if I should tell you this. Erik is a…bad memory from my past." He sighed and paced, trying to find the words, as I looked on in breathless agony. "Erik murdered my brother."

If I had not met the man himself, I would have thought that my French teacher was a little cracked. As it was, I could finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. This was why Erik had seemed so…different to me. So mysterious, and so powerful. This was where his unspoken strength had come from. Still, what an ungodly coincidence! That the younger brother of the murdered man should come to the same tiny town where the murderer waited.

"Raoul," I said, not noticing my slip-up, "I've never seen anyone like that."

He looked at me, his eyes full of some unreadable emotion. He took my hand again, but this time I wasn't sure if it was for the purpose of comforting me or otherwise. "Christine," he said, his voice soft, "you called me Raoul."

I think that my face spontaneously combusted. At the very least, I felt the flames shoot out. "Oh, I'm so sorry…I really didn't meant to…I'm so sorry!"

His eyes, which I could read now, looked nothing but flattered and hopeful. "It's all right, Christine. I have called you by your first name…"

I shook my head, the earlier drama of the moment now forgotten. "That's different. I'm your student. You're my teacher, for crying out loud! I'm really sorry." Somehow, I didn't think that 'sorry' was going to undo the damage I had done. Something had now been spoken between us as people, not as archetypes, and I looked forward to what he would say with anticipation both excited and terrified.

"Even if you do not need the tutoring," he began, squeezing the hand that he held, "will you at least let me be your friend? I think that with your father the way he is right now, you might have need of one."

He was such a perfect gentleman! And his hand was so warm. I wanted so badly to be hugged, where I could sigh in comfort and security. My father used to hug me all the time, but recently, in the past few months, he'd gotten to be less and less like that. My feet twitched, telling me to take just one more step forward and let him hold me. And I wanted to, so badly.

"How old are you?" the question was out of my mouth before I could consider how rude it was to ask.

He did not seem offended. "Twenty-two."

Five years. My mother had been six years older than my father. Their relationship had always been a strange one to begin with. I looked up into Raoul's eyes then, and found the strength to move forward. Resting my head against his shoulder, I felt all my worries rush to the surface of my mind, and my eyes misted over. I wanted to cry, but when his arms came around me, all of the fears and little worries were purged in the soothing warmth. I sighed and let my eyes close. We stood like that for a long time, and then he drove me home. When he asked if we could go somewhere tomorrow afternoon together, I didn't think twice. Daddy's permission could be asked later. I agreed and smiled before he drove off down the road.

Meg could be proud of me then. I had taken the first step.

Later that night, when my father came home, he apologized for being so curt in the morning. He assured me that he wanted to me accept the tutoring and take the exam. If I got in, he said, he wanted me to go to the academy. I smiled and nodded, saying that my teacher was more than happy to offer the lessons, and that I knew that I could do well on the test. I then went on to tell him that I had a date with someone the next afternoon.

"Oh? Who is he?"

"A new guy at our school." That was easily true enough. "He's older than I am."

"Ah." My father tasted some of the soup that I'd heated up for dinner (I was too tired to cook) and ladled out his own bowl. "Well, that is good for you. I will be going to the studio early tomorrow. I must practice. The state of my performance is shameful. The ensemble will sound terrible with even one out-of-tune violin. My stay in the hospital really interfered with my memorization as well." He glowered, as if all he had to blame was the hospital for forcing him to stay for an unreasonable amount of time. "Just leave a note when you decide to go out and when you plan to be back, all right?"

I nodded to him and took another bite of bread. Of course he'd want to practice more. My father's life revolved around practice and rehearsal. There was nothing, but nothing, that could come before that. Actually, his absence might be best for me, letting me go out with Raoul with no questions asked. There would be a lot of questions, I knew, if he saw whom exactly I was dating (could I say dating?) The word sounded so strange to me. I'd had one boyfriend, and I'd neglected him to the point where he'd dumped me out of sheer frustration. I knew that the rumors he'd spread around the school were enough to stop any other guy from even attempting to ask me out. Oddly enough, I hadn't cared one bit. When I had been with my one and only boyfriend Jeremy, I'd felt as if he was encroaching on my little spare time. Between work, dance, and school, I had little time to myself. And if there is one thing that Christine Day needs, it's time to think and be alone. I am not a social creature by habit. Living with my parents while we toured the United States following the shows made me dependent on them for my amusement and social life. That might not sound healthy, but it was the most wonderful arrangement that I could have wished for. When my mother passed away, I relied on my father. And he filled my sad and lonely hours with such wonderful stories and beautiful songs that I never wished for any other friend. Meg Tabin is probably the closest I have ever come to a best friend. There were other acquaintances that I played with, but true friendship was something that I had never come across yet.

I picked up my bowl and my father's and moved over to the sink. As I washed the dishes, I watched the little orange bottle of prescription pills like a hawk. When dad took one, I breathed a sigh of relief so loud that I hoped he hadn't heard it. When I finished, I left him downstairs, sawing away on his violin, the golden notes soaring around the house and filling it with the old light that it used to have. For a moment, as I walked upstairs, I closed my eyes and was back during those happy years when my mother, her silver throat the perfect accompaniment to father's music, would sing to me each night before I went to bed. Whether it was showtunes or some old Gaelic lullaby (my mother may have been an American singer, but she only ended up that way after majoring in British history—go figure) her voice always echoed cleanly and beautifully around our apartment. It used to make me so sad that I was not a singer. I had hoped, over the years, that her voice would have come to me. But I'd come to terms with that by now. So I wasn't a singer! She wasn't a violinist, like my father, and nor was she a dancer, like me. Together, we made the perfect triangle—the three attributes of the perfect performer. Now, father and I…we were each waiting for the thing that she used to provide. She had been father's accompaniment, and she had been my encouragement.

I wrote a little before I went to bed, but I was very tired. So much had happened that day that I didn't even want to think about it all. There were some things that couldn't be digested right away.

The spring crickets shrilled peacefully outside my window, and even through my closed door, I could hear the sound of my father's violin. All seemed right with the world yet again, but tomorrow, I would have a lot to think about.