In Harmony(4)

I was a senior, but almost all my friends at Fenbrook were juniors for three very good reasons. Firstly, my father made me start high school a year early. My friends were in the year below, but that meant they were my age: twenty-one.

Secondly, being juniors meant they weren’t stressed out by final year recitals or performances. That was annoying, sometimes—it meant they all wanted to go out drinking while I wanted to work (to be fair, that had been the case even in my freshman year). But the advantage was that we didn’t talk about work the whole time as I would have done with other seniors. Being with them was an escape. Except for Dan, my recital partner, none of them were musicians for the same reason.

Thirdly, I’d started Fenbrook a semester late. The other freshman students had already formed tight-knit groups by the time I arrived and I was a year younger than all of them. I pretty much hunkered down and didn’t speak to anyone for the rest of the year. It was only when the next year’s students started that I came out of my shell a little and made some friends.

So that was me. The final year, geeky musician amongst a group of vivacious, beautiful dancers and actresses. The odd one out. The straight man, if you will. I loved them all, and I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

Natasha was asleep, or close to it, slumped down with her head on her hands. I got a triple shot Americano for her, a latte for me and carefully sat down. She didn’t move.

I pushed the coffee nearer to her sleeping head. Her hair was almost the same shade of chestnut as mine, only hers was always soft and wavy and sexy when she let it out of her dancer’s bun, while mine was a frizzy mess.

The smell of coffee caught her nostrils and they twitched like a rabbit’s.

“...and then we decided to get married, so we’re moving to Mexico,” I told her.

She sat bolt upright. “WHAT?!”

Despite my worries, I smirked. “Nothing. My life’s as boring as always. You can go back to sleep.”

She shook her head. “Karen, it’s too early in the morning for tricks like that.” She sipped her coffee and closed her eyes in bliss. “How’s your lullaby?”

I stiffened. “It’s not a lullaby. Brahms composed all sorts of things apart from—”

“Okay, okay, how’s the Brahms?”

“Awful.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. I know you—you’ll be amazing as always.”

“Amazing isn’t good enough. It needs to be perfect, or I let Dan down. I let everyone down.”

“You have months until your recital.”

She was right. It was still winter, and I wouldn’t face the hell of the recital until spring was taking hold (Fenbrook has a short final year, to give us an extra long summer break before we hit the real world). I had two months and change, but that isn’t as long as it sounds when you’re trying to get something absolutely right. I knew how fast those weeks would burn away as the date crept closer, and while everyone else was just trying to graduate, I’d be trying to impress the scout for one of the best orchestras in the world.

“You’ll be fine. This is what you do.” She tried to stifle a yawn and failed.

“Why are you so tired?” I asked.

She looked at me guiltily and I saw her flush.

“Oh,” I said delightedly. “How is your billionaire?”

“Millionaire.”

“Same thing.”

The previous summer, Natasha had been propositioned by Darrell, a rich guy who wanted her as his “muse.” She’d danced for him at his mansion and they’d wound up in some sort of breakneck romance full of hot sex.

And tears.

One night in my apartment during winter break, aided by Chardonnay and candlelight, she’d told me how she’d been self-harming for years, unknown to everyone but her roommate. She’d been wracked with guilt over something that happened when she was fifteen—something she still didn’t feel ready to tell me about. Darrell had found out and it had nearly killed their fledgling relationship. He’d had his own issues, too. They’d wound up helping each other and, eventually, had worked things out. As far as I knew, Natasha hadn’t gone back to cutting herself—she certainly seemed happy.

“Darrell’s okay. Sort of at a loose end. You know he quit his job?”

I nodded. I didn’t know the details, but I knew his job had been some sort of soul-sucking, bad karma thing in the defense industry and when it came between them he’d told the company where to go. I tried to imagine what that would be like—to have someone who cared so much for you that they’d give up their whole career: I couldn’t.