Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“And he told you to avoid me?”
The long-suffering look Cody gave me wiped the smile from my face.
“Sorry, I was just kidding. Please tell me why you’re upset.”
“You’re the one who should be upset,” he muttered, managing to slip past me and continue toward the music building.
I had to jog to catch up yet again. Why did all my roommates have such long legs? Well, except Evan. He was about my height. “What do you mean?”
He kept his eyes on the ground, his hands in the pocket of his jacket. Finally, he said, “I didn’t hear you.”
I spoke a little louder. “I said, what do you mean?”
Cody shook his head. “Not now. Last week. Aaron told me you had a nightmare.”
Oh. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “Did he tell you what it was about?”
“No. He just said you were upstairs in the room next to mine.” Cody’s voice was so low I could barely hear him. “He said you shouted, and I didn’t hear it.”
I still wasn’t seeing the problem. “It’s okay. Aaron and Diego did, and they came running.”
“You were right next to my room.”
“So? I’m okay. People came to help. You probably didn’t hear because you were listening to music.”
“Exactly.” His voice was bitter.
Was he mad at himself? “You couldn’t have known a friend would have a nightmare in the empty room next to yours.”
“Because I had my headphones on. Like always.”
“You’re a music major—you’re supposed to listen to music.”
“I’m majoring in audio production, and I’m supposed to fucking hear if someone’s screaming in the very next room.”
For Cody, it was a long sentence, but it made my chest ache. “I’m fine. I think it’s great that you’re always listening to music.”
He cocked his head to the side doubtfully. “Why?”
“Because we need music. Hearing it makes us feel better. Like, say, if a friend let me listen while he practiced. That would make me feel better.” I said that as if unaware that we were a hundred yards from the music building.
“I have to practice,” he muttered, not getting that that was the point.
“I know. Can I listen?” Perhaps being direct worked better than hints with Cody.
“Why?”
“Because I’d really like to.” I jumped back in before he could say something. “Don’t say ‘why’ again. Just say ‘sure.’ Please?”
His light blue eyes stared right through me, as I waited somewhat less than patiently.
Finally, he spoke. “Sure.”
Grinning, I walked with him toward the building.
Cody’s manner changed as he led me through the hall of the music building. It was like he was standing taller or something. More confident, perhaps. This was his turf, and it showed.
We went up two flights of stairs to a hallway with little rooms the size of cubicles on either side. Through a small glass panel in the door, I could see that some were empty. Some had students practicing a variety of instruments, and some held pianos.
He led me to one with a piano. It was a small room, and Cody went in first, sitting at the piano and sliding to the right. He patted the bench next to him.
There wasn’t a lot of room, but I set my book bag down on the floor and settled onto the bench next to him. The piano looked old but pretty, with its dark, glossy wood and shiny white keys. I smiled at him, eager to hear him play.
He seemed torn about something. “Do you like classical?” he asked at last.
“Yes—if the only other option is country. Are you going to play something classical for me?”
“I was thinking about a duet.”
“With me?” The surprise in my voice echoed around the small room.
“Unless you think we can fit a third person in here.”
Okay, that was pretty funny. “What do I have to do?”
He tapped a key that was on the far left side of the keyboard. “Just press that one when I tell you to.”
Gingerly, I pressed down on the key he indicated. The keys looked nothing like the cheap plastic ones on an electric keyboard one of my foster parents had had.
There wasn’t any sound.
“Harder,” he ordered
“Oh.” It was a nice low note. I played it again. “How’s that?”
“You’ve got natural talent,” he said dryly, and I laughed.
“So when do I press it?”
“I’ll tell you.”
He put his hands on the keys and hit a dramatic chord that filled the room and made the bench underneath us vibrate. It was followed by more notes, his fingers graceful and curved as they danced across the keys.
It sounded amazing. Like a full orchestra, but it was just him.
“Now,” he said.
It took me a second to realize it was time to play my note. I hit it, holding it down. And then the song resumed.
Mesmerized, I watched his hands fly across the keys, until he said “now” again. This time, I hit my note quicker—and unless I was mistaken, in time with the music.