Over the next two days, Keira practiced even more than usual. She ignored the memory of Walker’s smile, playing until her legs went numb from sitting at the piano for so long—until her mind was nothing but a wash of notes and tempos, her only emotions dictated by the mood of the music.
By the time she’d gotten herself back under control, Keira was exhausted. Friday morning, she overslept. Both of her parents left the house early on Fridays, and neither of them had bothered to wake her.
She leapt out of bed and yanked on the jeans and gray sweatshirt that were slung over her desk chair, pulled her hair up into a sloppy ponytail, and raced down the hall. She grabbed her bag and a granola bar, and hoped like hell the car would start. On the third try, after she’d smacked the dashboard in frustration and sworn at the engine, it did.
The halls were silent as she tore down them, praying that her English teacher would understand, just this once. Keira took a deep breath, trying to slow her galloping pulse before she eased open the door.
Her eyes were drawn to the thin shadow that ran underneath the door. Nothing else had a shadow in the fluorescent light. Especially not a midnight-colored one. The shadow on the counter the other night leapt into her head. This cool, dark slash of nothingness looked exactly the same. A horrible, nagging voice inside wondered if she was imagining this, too.
Keira bent down, her long fingers shaking as they closed in on the black patch. Right before her fingertips crossed the edge of the shadow, she felt a sudden jerk on her wrist, like something was tugging her into the blackness. The sensation sent her stomach plummeting.
Keira yanked her arm back as the door swung open, and she barely managed to keep herself from tumbling headlong into the classroom. Without the cover of the door, the shadow that had seemed so solid evaporated into nubby, district-issue carpet beneath her knees.
“Nice of you to join us, Miss Brannon.” Mrs. Garcia towered over her, a piece of chalk clutched in her hand. “Perhaps you’d like to take a seat instead of listening at the door?”
Keira slipped into her seat, ignoring the snickers around her.
“Okay, let’s start with Arthur Miller.” Mrs. Garcia scanned the room.
Keira started tapping out the sweeping opening notes of the Allegretto movement she’d been working on. She was too jittery after her dash to school to focus on a boring lecture about “the changing face of theatre.” She’d catch up later.
Maybe.
After class, she ducked into the bathroom to see how disastrous her hair really was and wash her face. The rough brown paper towels left her cheeks pink. Keira smoothed back her ponytail with damp fingers, hoping that it would pass as “artfully messy.”
Susan bounded into the bathroom and stopped short when she saw Keira.
“Well, there you . . . whoa. You look—are you okay?”
Keira looked in the mirror and saw the black circles that ringed her eyes and the way her water-spattered shirt hung shapelessly from her shoulders.
“Yeah, I just overslept,” she said. “I’ve been working on this new piece of music and—”
“Are you still meeting Walker this afternoon?” Susan interrupted.
Keira closed her eyes. In the hurry of the morning, she’d finally done what she’d been trying to do all week: She’d forgotten about Walker.
“Uh, yeah, I guess I am.” she said. She mentally counted the money in her backpack, wondering whether she had enough to pay for his coffee. Buying the new music had used up most of her cash. She’d have to see if she could scrounge some change from between the seats of her car or something.
“You don’t sound very excited.” A note of disappointment rang in Susan’s voice.
Keira leaned back against the cool, hard porcelain of the sink. “I know. I’m not. Listen, once I’ve paid my debt to him, I really, really don’t have any plans to see him again.”
Susan’s face fell. “One double date wouldn’t kill you.”
“You’re right. The thing is, I don’t want to spend three weeks convincing him that I’m too busy to see him again, afterward. I’m sorry, Susan.” The first bell rang. “You’re going to be late, you know.”
Susan shot a last glance at the clock. “Who cares?” Her voice was glum, but her steps were still quick as she swept past two sophomores, who came rushing in amid a flutter of giggles. With a last, hopeless glance in the mirror, Keira pushed her way out the door.
And crashed smack into Jeremy Reynolds’s shoulder.
Jeremy grunted in surprise and his eyes flashed sparks. But when he realized who had run into him, the sparks turned into a flame-lit smile.
“Keira.” He looked at her hair. “Are you doing the bed-head thing on purpose, or did you oversleep?” He leaned in as he laughed and Keira automatically stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. Something about the way he smiled at her was a shade too sweet.
“Just overslept, actually. Sorry—I’ve gotta get to class, Jeremy. If I’m late, I’ll get detention.”
The second bell rang, as though time itself was trying to get her out of the conversation.