He stands up like he’s going to walk me to the door, but I can’t take fake politeness right now. “Don’t bother,” I say, stalking past him with my eyes on the floor. I let myself out and walk stiffly to my car, willing myself not to run, and fumble through my bag with shaking hands until I find my keys.
I drive home with dry, unblinking eyes and make it all the way to my room before I lose it. Maeve knocks softly and enters without waiting for an invitation, curling up next to me and stroking my hair while I sob into a pillow like my heart just broke. Which I guess it did.
“I’m sorry,” she says. She knew where I was headed, and I don’t need to tell her how it went. “He’s being a jerk.”
She doesn’t say anything else until I wear myself out and sit up, rubbing my eyes. I’d forgotten how tired full-body crying can make you. “Sorry I can’t make this better,” Maeve says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone. “But I have something to show you that might cheer you up. Lots of reaction on Twitter to your statement on Mikhail Powers Investigates. All positive, by the way.”
“Maeve, I don’t care about Twitter,” I say wearily. I haven’t been on there since this whole mess started. Even with my profile set to private, I couldn’t deal with the onslaught of opinions.
“I know. But you should see this.” She hands me her phone and points to a post on my timeline from Yale University:
To err is human @BronwynRojas. We look forward to receiving your application.
Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
Bronwyn
Friday, February 16, 6:50 p.m.
I’m sort of seeing Evan Neiman now. It snuck up on me. First we were together a lot in big groups, then smaller ones, and a few weeks ago he drove me home after a bunch of us hate-watched The Bachelor at Yumiko’s house. When we got to my driveway, he leaned over and kissed me.
It was … nice. He’s a good kisser. I found myself analyzing the kiss in almost clinical detail while it was happening, mentally congratulating him on a stellar technique while noting the absence of any heat or magnetic pull between us. My heart didn’t pound as I kissed him back, and my limbs didn’t shake. It was a good kiss with a nice boy. The kind I’d always wanted.
Now things are almost exactly how I thought they’d be when I first imagined dating Evan. We make a solid couple. I have an automatic date for the spring break dance, which is nice. But I’m planning my post-Bayview life on a parallel track that has nothing to do with him. We’re an until-graduation couple, at best.
I applied to Yale, but not early decision. I’ll find out next month along with everyone else whether I got in or not. It doesn’t seem like the be-all, end-all of my future anymore, though. I’ve been interning for Eli on the weekends, and I’m starting to see the appeal of staying local and keeping up with Until Proven.
Everything’s pretty fluid, and I’m trying to be okay with that. I think a lot about Simon and about what the media called his “aggrieved entitlement”—the belief he was owed something he didn’t get, and everyone should pay because of it. It’s almost impossible to understand, except by that corner of my brain that pushed me to cheat for validation I hadn’t earned. I don’t ever want to be that person again.
The only time I see Nate is at school. He’s there more often than he used to be, and I guess he’s doing all right. I don’t know for sure, though, because we don’t talk anymore. At all. He wasn’t kidding about going back to separate lives.
Sometimes I almost catch him looking at me, but it’s probably wishful thinking.
He’s still on my mind constantly, and it sucks. I’d hoped starting up with Evan might curb the Nate loop in my head, but it’s made things worse. So I try not to think about Evan unless I’m actually with him, which means I sometimes overlook things that I shouldn’t as Evan’s sort-of girlfriend. Like tonight.
I have a piano solo with the San Diego Symphony. It’s part of their High School Spotlight concert series, something I’ve applied for since I was a freshman without ever getting an invitation. Last month, I finally did. It’s probably due to residual notoriety, although I like to think the audition video I submitted of “Variations on the Canon” helped. I’ve improved a lot since the fall.
“Are you nervous?” Maeve asks as we head downstairs. She’s dressed for the concert in a burgundy velvet dress that has a Renaissance feel, her hair in a loose braid threaded with small jeweled pins. She recently got the part of Lady Guinevere in the drama club’s upcoming King Arthur, and she’s gone a little overboard getting in character. It suits her, though. I’m more conservative in a scoop-necked jacquard dress with a subtle gray-and-black tonal-dot pattern that nips in at the waist and flares out above my knees.
“A little,” I reply, but she’s only half listening. Her fingers fly across her phone, probably arranging yet another weekend rehearsal with the boy who plays Lancelot in King Arthur. Who she insists is just a friend. Right.
I have my own phone out, texting last-minute directions to Kate, Yumiko, and Addy. Cooper’s bringing Kris, although they’re having dinner with his parents first, so they might be late. With Kris’s parents, that is. Cooper’s dad is slowly coming around, but he’s not at that stage yet. Yumiko texts Should we look for Evan? and at that point I remember I never invited him.
It’s fine, though. It’s not a big deal. It was in the newspaper, and I’m sure he would have mentioned it if he’d seen it and wanted to come.
We’re at Copley Symphony Hall, in front of a capacity crowd. When it’s my turn to play I walk onto a huge stage that dwarfs the piano at its center. The crowd’s silent except the occasional cough, and my heels click loudly on the polished floor. I smooth my dress beneath me before taking a seat on the ebony bench. I’ve never performed in front of this many people, but I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be.
I flex my fingers and wait for a signal from backstage. When I start, I can tell right away it’s going to be the best I’ve ever played. Every note flows, but it’s not only that. When I reach the crescendo and the soft notes that follow, I pour every ounce of emotion from the past few months into the keys beneath my fingers. I feel each note like a heartbeat. And I know the audience does too.
Loud applause echoes through the room when I finish. I stand and incline my head, absorbing the crowd’s approval until the stage manager beckons me and I walk into the wings. Backstage I collect flowers my parents left for me, holding them close while I listen to the rest of the performers.
Afterward I catch up with my friends in the foyer. Kate and Yumiko give me a smaller bouquet of flowers, which I add to the ones already in my hands. Addy is pink-cheeked and smiling, wearing her new track team jacket over a black dress like the world’s unlikeliest jock. Her hair’s in a choppy bob that’s almost exactly like her sister’s except the color. She decided to go full-on purple instead of back to blond, and it suits her.
“That was so good!” she says gleefully, pulling me into a hug. “They should have let you play all the songs.”
To my surprise, Ashton and Eli come up behind her. Ashton mentioned she’d be here, but I didn’t think Eli would leave the office so early. I guess I should have known better. They’re an official couple now, and Eli somehow manages to find time for whatever Ashton wants to do. He’s wearing that moony grin he always has around her, and I doubt he heard a note I played. “Not bad, Bronwyn,” he says.
“I got you on video,” Cooper says, brandishing his phone. “I’ll text it once I make a few edits.”
Kris, who looks dashing in a sports jacket and dark jeans, rolls his eyes. “Cooper finally learned how to use iMovie, and now there’s no stopping him. Trust me. I have tried.” Cooper grins unrepentantly and puts his phone away, slipping his hand into Kris’s.
Addy keeps craning her neck to look around the crowded foyer, so much that I wonder if she brought a date. “Expecting someone?” I ask.