Charlie looks at his fingers carefully and tries very hard to keep them in place. To my surprise, he does it correctly. I just taught him how to properly hold an instrument. I look over at Lisa who is nodding and smiling. My face blushes a bit. Yeah, teaching is pretty cool.
I stand to see if any of the other kids need help when a commanding figure in the doorway catches my attention. I almost trip over a backpack when I catch the intense stare of the one person I don’t need seeing me right now.
Asher.
He is looking through the partially opened doorway, his brows creased and his head tilted ever so slightly. His lips are pursed but not the way he does when he’s mad. This time, he looks thoughtful.
He’s different. Something about him has changed and I’m afraid to find out what it is.
I lower my chin and go back to helping the students. After a few minutes I risk a look back at the doorway to find it empty. I don’t know exactly how I feel about that.
If my mom knew what I was about to do she’d freak out.
If my dad knew what I was about to do he’d cry.
I kinda feel like doing both right now.
It’s a warm October day, warmer than the past few weeks. My park is filled with people who are getting their last bit of sunshine until the cold weather settles in.
I’m here later than I usually am. I like to get to my park before the girl with the wrong violin shows up. Today, however, I paced in front of the chesterfield, staring at my Laura Vigato violin propped up on the cushion, wondering if I should go through with it.
When I left Cedar Ridge in August to come to New York, my mom tried to shove the violin in my arms. I had enough bags to lug through the airport but I reluctantly took it just to make her happy. It has been sitting on a shelf in my bookcase collecting dust since. Except for this morning when it sat on my couch staring at me as if saying, “Make a move. I dare you.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Miss Violin, what kind of move I’m going to make,” I said, pointing to the wooden instrument on my sofa while walking back and forth in front of it, “I’m going to . . . I’m . . . shit!” I exclaimed and then grabbed the violin off the couch, placed it back in the case, and hauled ass out of the apartment before I could change my mind.
So here I am, at Washington Square Park, staring at the brown-haired girl with her ponytail, playing beautiful music. Squaring my shoulder I walk up to her and hold out my hand.
“Here.”
She stops playing at my brash assault on her space and takes a step back as if I am about to attack her.
“Here. Take it.” I say, practically throwing the violin case at her.
She looks back at me with hesitation and shakes her head a little before looking around to see if someone is going to save her from the crazy lady practically throwing a violin case at her.
Okay, she is not going to make this easy. I put the case down on the ground, open it up and lift the violin out of it. The beautiful fir-wood still shines and glistens in the sun.
“I’m giving this to you.” I show her the violin and while her eyes beam when she sees the gorgeous carved fillets of the Vigato, her body falls further back.
My cheeks puff out with air as I think of another way to approach this. I rest the violin at my side and instead of holding out the instrument again, I offer her a hand.
“My name is Emma.”
She looks at my hand for a second before placing her violin and bow in her left hand together and offering me her right in return.
“Allyce.” She says, shaking my hand quickly and then motioning to a place behind where I’m standing. “I’ve noticed you on the bench over there. Why do you always give me so much money? Most people just drop a dollar or two.”