Softly, he said, “I don’t want you to get hurt, Savannah.”
I stepped out of his touch. “You’ve mentioned that, Nathan. But you’re the only one who’s managed to hurt me lately. Despite everything we’ve already talked about, you claim to know my feelings better than I know them, and demand action from me.”
“That’s not what—”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing, Nathan, and it’s not fair. Being my friend doesn’t mean you’re director of my feelings. I … I need to go. Look,” I took a deep breath as I paced toward my coat, “I don’t want to put all kinds of stress on you before your recital in a couple of weeks. Just … we’re fine, right?” I made myself sound convincing enough.
I knew how emotional Nathan could get, and his performance nerves were always all over the place. I cared about him enough in that moment to want him not to blow his final task in school.
“Yes. Savannah …” He dropped his arms and met me at the door, his eyes pleading.
I shook my head. “Don’t say anything, Nathan. Please. We’ve both said enough. Let’s just get through the end of the semester in one piece, okay?”
He nodded, swallowing hard as he looked to the floor.
Without another word, I zipped my coat and left Nathan’s apartment. When I reached the front steps, I was grateful for the rain. Closing my eyes and tilting my face to the sky, I let the cold, grey water wash over me.
It was only a few blocks down Huntington Ave back to the conservatory and my room. I set off through the rain, trying to clear my mind. Nathan. Gregory. It was all just … too much. And as much as I loved walking in the rain under normal circumstances, even that was becoming too much. The rain was coming down in sheets, and it was getting cold.
Ahead of me, turning onto the block and walking quickly, I saw a man in a black overcoat with a black umbrella and matching hair. From behind it almost looked like ... it was.
I ran, my feet splashing up dirty rainwater, and ducked under the umbrella.
Gregory came to a shocked stop, and I heard the rain pounding against the fabric of the umbrella.
“What are you doing?” He had to shout to be heard.
“Trying to get out of the rain!”
A gust of wind blew the rain at us, almost horizontal, and the umbrella nearly collapsed. Gregory looked around and then grabbed my upper arm in his right hand. “Come!” he shouted, then pulled me toward the next building an underneath an awning.
By the time we got under the awning, his umbrella was in shreds, the fabric completely torn from the wire spokes. He looked at it in frustration for a second, shaking it, as if giving it a stern look or a strong lecture might force it back into shape.
Finally he tossed it aside. I wrapped my arms across my chest, my teeth chattering. My coat had soaked through.
The rain was coming down harder now. Hard enough I could hear it rattle off the awning and the nearest cars, a roar of a sound. Behind us, the walls and windows were covered with signs reading Boston Shawarma: Lamb, Kebab, Hummus, We Deliver! To both sides and our front, a wall of rain, almost completely blocking the view of the street.
Right in front of me … his face. Rain still dripped from his hair, past his sapphire eyes. Eyes that were fixed on me. I couldn’t hear my heartbeat over the pounding of the rain. But I could feel it, rushing in my ears. Because he brought his hands up, cupping my face. As he did I reflexively raised my hands, placing them flat on his chest, as if to hold him back.
“Why didn’t you have an umbrella?” he asked.
I swallowed. I didn’t know how to answer that. So I told the truth. “I don’t like having to prepare for rain.”
He shook his head, just slightly, and his mouth quirked up into a grin, one eyebrow raised. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a loud, hearty belly laugh. Without thinking, I shifted my hands to both sides of his face. And I stretched up and kissed him, hard, on the lips.
Gregory froze. For maybe a quarter second. Then his arms instantly wrapped around me, one hand slipping through my soaked hair and gripping the back of my head. Our lips and mouths were open, working together, his tongue touching mine, and I let out a low whimper.
I heard a bell ring as the door to the Shawarma place opened toward us, and I pushed, hard, shoving back away from him.
Three girls … students from the conservatory … stepped out of the door. One of them groaned, looking out into the rain. “We’ll never make it without getting soaked,” she said.
In between the girls and me, Gregory just stood there. Staring at me with those eyes that grabbed my heart and twisted it in knots.
I shook my head just slightly then backed out from under the awning and into the rain.
I turned and ran.
Savannah
I don’t know how the rumors started, but they made quick work of spreading. Somehow, someone heard my shouting match with Gregory the week after spring break. God, I shouted at a teacher. What was that about? Marcia came back to the room one day and joked that she was checking to see if I was still alive after going a few rounds with the insufferable cellist. From there, things only got more speculative when Nathan and I stopped talking. A few girls in class whispered to me things like, Is it true? Are you dating a teacher? All I could do was thank God no one had seen that kiss.
In spite of myself, my eyes wandered to Gregory Fitzgerald every four minutes or so throughout our final exam in his music theory class. I’d taken enough practice tests and studied what I knew he expected out of us, and planned to get through the exam with little to no argument from him. Analyzing the notes in front of me wasn’t the challenge. It was, as Gregory drilled into us all semester, fairly straightforward on a face-value level. The challenge was ignoring the holes Nathan was staring into the back of my head. Him and the others.