Maybe because you just called me a failure for the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes and I can’t take it one more second? Yeah, that might be why. I lifted my chin and sniffled. “I’m not crying. I have allergies.” I could not believe that’d I’d let her get to me this badly. I was not a wimp. I really wasn’t.
Her eyes narrowed. “Toughen up, Lily. You’ll never be a success if you can’t take criticism. Do you want me to tell you you’re great? Well, then, be great. I’m not going to prop you up with false praise just to make you feel good. My job is to make you a better pianist, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
I dug my fingernails into my palms and glared at the piano keys. I hated those ugly pieces of ivory. I wished they’d shrivel up into a miserable pile of raccoon dung. How could I ever have enjoyed pounding away at them? It seemed so unreal that I’d actually been the one to beg my parents for lessons in the beginning. Had I known what I was getting into, I would have asked to have my toes amputated without Novocain instead.
“Are you listening to me?” Miss Jespersen continued spewing her rant. “Less than two and a half weeks to go, and you’re still playing uninspired music.”
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw started to hurt.
“You better stop pouting right now or I’m walking out.” She dropped the threat with a smug smile that put me over the edge.
I’d had it.
“Don’t bother. I’ll do it for you.” I swung my legs over the piano bench, stood up, then walked out and slammed the door shut behind me.
Miss Jespersen yanked the door open before I’d made it five feet. “Get back in here, Lily.” Her voice was low and threatening.
I ignored her and strode down the hallway lined with individual practice rooms. When I walked past an open door that had JamieX pouring out of it, I couldn’t stop myself from peeking inside. Rafe was at the drums, and he looked completely cute in a white tee shirt and blue jeans. He saw me at the door, and gave me a nod.
I nodded back, digging my fingernails into my palms to keep myself from falling apart. No way was I going to rush in there, throw myself at his feet and beg him to go to the semi-formal with me and change my life. Although if I thought it might work, I’d consider it.
Chris waved at me in the middle of his singing, and I grinned back. Angel smiled at me, but the other guitar player ignored me, too into his music to look up. Some of my tension eased. Yeah, okay, see? These guys thought I was cool.
The keyboard started up, and I immediately looked over to see who was in my spot. It was a girl with gloriously long black hair, perfect cheekbones, and a willowy body that made her look like a ballet dancer. She was frowning in concentration, and still stumbling over the music. Holy cow. I was much better than she was. Like so much better. And that made me feel so much happier, like maybe I wasn’t some zit in the world of piano playing. Screw Crusty. She was wrong. I wasn’t worthless.
The more I listened to the band, the madder I became that I had let Crusty make me feel so bad about myself.
Miss Jespersen came up behind me and wrapped her fingers around my arm, but I yanked free before she could get a grip. “I’m done,” I told her.
“You’re finished when I say you’re finished,” she whispered, like it was some secret threat too horrible to be overheard by Rafe and his friends.
I turned around to face her. “You don’t own me.”
Her eyes widened in what looked like genuine confusion, but I knew she had to be faking it. Miss Jespersen was too evil to ever be confused. “I’m not trying to own you, Lily. I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me? Seriously? How? By torturing me? I’ve had it with how you treat me and I’m so sick of the piano!” At my words, Crusty’s face darkened. I realized the band had stopped playing and everyone was listening.
Involuntarily, I checked out Rafe. He was watching us, but I couldn’t read his face at all.
“Lily! Stop flirting with Rafe this instant.”
Oh, no. Tell me she didn’t just say that. Heat flared into my cheeks as Rafe’s expression morphed into surprise. He surreptitiously peeked at the keyboard player, who was frowning at me.
Crusty leaned into my space, her breath like stale wind on my face. “You do not have time for boys,” she said. “Get back to the practice room. Now.”
I heard Angel snicker, and humiliation washed over me. How could Crusty embarrass me like that in front of them? Private torture was one thing, but in front of them? It was too much. Unforgivable. “Get away from me,” I hissed.