Keira walked back to her safe, normal, lamp-lit room. On the bed, her history book waited. When she reached for the cover, it was smooth and hard beneath her hand. Solid. Normal.
It was the only time Keira could ever remember feeling relieved to open a textbook. With a sigh, she settled down and started to read.
? ? ?
“He might not be working today,” Keira warned Susan. In front of them, Take Note’s glass door shone in the almost-warm March sun. “It’s not like he told me his schedule or anything.”
“I know. But if he is here, I can force you to flirt with him. And if he isn’t, I can still tell my flute teacher that I looked for some music. It’s win-win, really.”
Susan opened the door and Keira stepped in behind her, scanning the shop for Walker. Her shoulders fell when she saw Mr. Palmer sitting behind the counter, a catalog open in front of him and listening to the classical station on the bent-antennaed radio.
You will not be disappointed that some random guy isn’t here. Keira gave herself a mental slap. She shouldn’t have come. She shouldn’t even have told Susan about Walker. She should be home practicing, like the rest of the people who were applying to Juilliard.
Mr. Palmer’s wrinkled face, all jowls and disapproval, softened when he caught sight of Keira. “Oh, hi,” he said. “You need help?”
“No thanks—just looking today.”
Susan headed to the far corner of the store, disappearing behind a stand of instrument cases and special cleaners for brass and ivory.
Mr. Palmer made a gruff noise somewhere between a grunt and a cough. “Well, don’t be getting things out of order,” he warned her.
“We won’t,” Keira promised, following Susan.
Susan stood in front of a wobbly bookcase stuffed with bound music. Her lower lip was pushed out into a pout. “I’m never going to find anything in here,” she complained.
“You will,” Keira promised. “Because I’m going to help you. Come on.” She lowered herself to the floor and grabbed a stack of music. “Let’s get started.”
The two of them flipped through the pages, laughing quietly over some of the stranger pieces—the idea of “Flight of the Bumblebee” on the saxophone was beyond ridiculous.
“Hey, this might be something.” Keira leaned over to show Susan the plain white cover with the name “Syrinx” and a flute on it. “Listen.” She flipped the book open and began to whistle the melody. It was simple and haunting.
“Do you really think I can play that?” Susan wrinkled her nose. “It sounds . . . hard.”
Keira gave her a pointed look. “You can play it, you’ll just have to practice. It’s not that you’re not good enough, Suz, it’s just that you want the flute to get better all by itself.”
Once upon a time, Susan had matched Keira’s practicing minute for minute. But then Susan had discovered French club. And guys. And all sorts of other things that took up her time while Keira still logged hour after hour on the piano.
Before, they’d talked about going to Juilliard together. Now Susan talked about going to a school near Juilliard, so they could visit each other. Seeing how fast Susan’s dream had evaporated only made Keira cling more tightly to her own, afraid that all her hard work would vaporize if she so much as looked away from it.
Susan tugged at the end of her braid. “I know I don’t practice enough. You’re right. Sometimes I wish I could give up music—focus on my grades and French club and hope that’d be enough to get me into a decent college. I’m not ever going to be a pro. Not like you will be.” She took the book out of Keira’s hands. “But you know my parents would kill me if I ended up at a state school, and I need the extracurriculars.” She looked down at the music. “At least this one sounds pretty. I’d better go pay before Mr. Palmer accuses me of illegally memorizing music or something.”
“I’ll put the rest of it back,” Keira said. “That way, if I mis-shelve something, he won’t blame you.”
“He’d still blame me,” Susan said, ducking her head as she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. “You can’t do any wrong according to him.”
Keira turned back to the bookshelf, listening to Mr. Palmer’s grumpy exclamations as he put aside his crossword to ring up Susan’s music. The grumbling increased when Susan pulled out a credit card instead of cash.
“Hey.” Walker knelt down next to her.
Keira stared at him. His unexpected presence made the world feel suddenly unsteady, like she’d stepped onto a boat without realizing it.
“Where did you come from?”
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “It all started when my great-great-great-great-grandfather became dissatisfied with the options available to him and decided to go make a new life for himself.” His accent made the words dance.