I was at the bus stop the next morning. Alone. Sure, I was half an hour early, but still! I reached into my backpack and pulled out a small cleaning cloth. I pressed it to my nose and inhaled deeply. Valve oil, cork grease, and a sharp, citrusy tang mixed in my nose and I wanted to cry. But I just carefully tucked the cloth back into my bag. My throat tightened, my eyes brimmed with tears, and I got cold.
No, no, I won't let myself think like that. Not here, not now, not ever. I hugged myself and just waited for someone to come along.
I heard a door slam. I quickly righted myself and looked bored, messing with my nails. I glanced in the direction of the noise. I saw a trombone case as mentally facepalmed. "If it isn't my favorite trombone player!" I remarked sarcastically. "And that French Horn player is the best looking person I've ever seen!" West called. I wondered if I had just imagined it, or if West wasn't being sarcastic.
I laughed as he approached. He tripped on that stupid uneven patch that he tripped on every single day. He dropped his trombone case heroically. "Just graceful. You could be a ballerina!" I teased. "Says the bull in the china cabinet!" West retorted. "What?" I asked. I hadn't heard that phrase in forever. "The tuba player in the cymbal shop." West sighed. "Oohhhh." I facepalmed. I can't be so old fashioned.
I heard another door slam, but ignored it. West and I were too busy trading insults. "Dumb and dumber!" West grinned. "That makes you dumbest!"
"Alright, Santa!"
"Was that a fat joke?"
"Nooope, not at all!"
"You jag!"
Someone cleared their throat. "Lay off, West. She's taken." I knew it was Brad. Nice acting. "Hi, Brad." I said, waving. "Wow! You listened to me!" West walked over to him and slapped him on the back. Brad nearly dropped the trumpet case he held. That looked like it hurt.
West elbowed Brad and Brad glared. Whatever the heck they were talking about, I had a feeling I didn't want to know.
"Soo, ice broken?" West asked. "Nope." Brad and I answered in unison. I glanced sideways at him. He shrugged. Okay, total weirdness overload.
"Well, break it!" Wes announced. I stayed where I was, Brad stayed where he was, and we were both happy. West wasn't. "No, that won't work! You-" he pointed at Brad, "Go over there. Closer, closer, okay, that's better."
Brad was literally inches from me. He settled down and boredly whipped out his phone. He opened Flappy Bird and proceeded to smash records, by my standards. More kids joined us on the corner. I moved closer to Brad, trying to look happy. I just felt...awkward, I guess. Brad didn't look any more comfortable.
I heard a couple of creaks and groans, so I jumped up. Brad locked his phone and shouldered his backpack. I grabbed mine and my overly large case. We shuffled onto the bus after it screeched to a halt in front of us.
I went to my usual seat and Brad sat in the one across the aisle. The horn case took up too much room for two people to fit comfortably. It suddenly occurred to me that I owned a phone. I sighed inwardly. I have such a pitiful social life that I forgot I had a phone. Great move, Trumpet.
Brad noticed the sudden appearance of my phone. "What's your number?" He asked, pulling up a new contact. I rattled it off shakily. I am surprised I even remembered it at all. Brad did some typing. My phone lit up with a text.
In all of its elaborateness, Brad's text said:
hi
I smiled and saved the number into my phone. I wonder if the cults can tap phones. Of course they can! They could probably pull up footage from twenty different angles of people kissing in an alley. It has happened before.
Finally, we arrived at school. I grabbed my giant block of misshapen wood and fought heathens to escape the bus. Brad was waiting for me on the sidewalk outside. "Thanks for waiting." I told him.
"Anything to get rid of the cults." Brad said. I cracked a smile. Brad rolled his eyes and started toward the door. Something in his walk, something about his stature, I don't know, but I wanted to follow him wherever he went.
Brad graciously got the door, trumpet case and all. "Why thank you, Mr. Gaites." I said with exaggerated formality. Brad grinned. "Tis no problem, Miss Danger." A dark look flickered across my face. "Don't call me that."
"Relax, Trumpet. I was joking!" Brad backed off. I sighed. Brad really pushes my buttons sometimes. All the time.
We walked down to the Band Hall in silence. That awkward silence. Lovely. After stashing our instruments, we headed back out. Brad had slipped his hand into mine and I smiled. I really hope it looked fake.
And guess who happened to be outside the Band Hall as Brad and I were leaving? The other Riley pursed his lips and we walked past, laughing about something stupid. I felt Riley's brown eyes burning into the back of my head. I knew he was mad. Like, MAD mad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Life happened, and I turned around and boom, it was lunch. I went to the cafeteria and nervously waited for Brad. About five minutes later, his blonde head showed up. "You still wanna learn to play, right?" I asked. He nodded. "Let's go." He grabbed my hand and we set off toward the Band Hall.
I swear there were cult spies everywhere. Everywhere. I knew it anyway, but I could feel it now. Their eyes on my every step. I could feel the hatred of the 'affection' between Brad and I. I was almost relieved when Brad shut the practice room door.
We practiced buzzing again for a while. "I think we've gotten that down. Can you teach me to hold it?" Brad asked after the millionth drill. "I guess." I said, taking the horn out of the case. Brad set the mouthpiece on the stand.
"Okay. You see how I'm holding it? My left hand is here, on the valves. The pinky goes in the ring." I instructed. I placed the French Horn in Brad's lap. I held onto the bell as he curled his fingers onto the valves. I moved his pinky into the ring.
"Feels...strange. Your pinky doesn't go in the ring." Brad murmured quietly, mindful of my ears being so close. "Well, it does now." I smirked. All the while, I was gently cupping his hand and placing it in the bell. "Please, don't drop it."
Brad nodded and wiggled around until he was comfortable. He was still holding it right, with one exception. "Brad. Pinky. Where does it go?" Brad's pinky went into the ring.
I moved him around. "Okay, that's good." He got up and put the instrument in the case. He turned to look at me and I was standing too close. Our noses touched. His brilliant blue eyes probed my soul.
He didn't move away, like I'd hoped. Did I really? I didn't even know what I wanted anymore. Brad brought his hand up and brushed some hair behind my ear. I felt the heat flood into my cheeks and a small smile played on my lips.
Brad touched his lips to mine. I nearly jumped away, but I didn't. I kissed him back. He slipped his hands into mine and grasped my fingers tightly. The warmth of the feeling I had pressed against him was like nothing I've ever felt before. I melted away into Brad's arms, greedily and desperately needing his touch.
I don't know what raw passion feels like, but this would be my closest guess. My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest and my stomach tried to take up contortionism. I gripped Brad's fingers tighter, pressing my body closer to his, hungering for his warmth, needing it...
Why did I like this so much? I-I hate him, right? This is purely business, right?
"Oh, woah! Ooooo-kay!" A voice that wasn't mine or Brad's. "This is awkward! Really, really bad!" I knew it was West. West. West.The worst possible person. I nervously jumped away from Brad, really really fire truck red. Brad just shrugged. The heat of the moment was frozen in place, pure arctic white and freezing.
"At least we know you two can sure fake things, huh?"
No comments:
Post a Comment