Sorry it’s been so long. We just got home. I’m not sure how to respond to your last email. I’m glad you liked my music? No one’s ever said I wrecked them, so I hope that’s a good thing. Are you okay now? Do I need to send the paramedics or a construction crew to repair you? All joking aside, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a nicer compliment. As corny as it sounds, I think music is meant to touch your soul and bring out emotions you didn’t know were there. It does for me, anyway. Don’t tell anyone I said that. Maybe you should delete this email after you read it. Or burn your computer, whatever’s easier.
I laughed. I was definitely keeping the email. If SK ever became famous, toured the world, and won Grammy awards, I could pull this email out as proof that he’d once been just like the rest of us.
How’s the site coming, by the way? Anything I can see yet?
SK
I’d been working steadily on SK’s portfolio site, adding the audio clips that he’d sent me, careful not to click on them as I worked in an act of self-preservation. There’d been enough tears already. SK’s cello résumé was ridiculously impressive and filled with years of performances, awards, and private lessons. As I was formatting it for the site, my mind couldn’t help but stray to the list of accomplishments I’d had to submit when I’d applied to McIntosh two years ago. A lot of good it had done me then, all those years of art lessons and design tutorials. I had to remind myself that even though they’d rejected me, I was still able to use my skills with TLC. A little voice in the back of my mind kept nagging me that I could also use them to get into college too. I hoped.
I attached a mock-up of the site to an open email, fingers crossed that he’d like what he saw. I’d made a point to design the site in shades of brown, per his wacky favorite color, and added, in a moment of whimsy, a stylized version of the photograph he’d sent me from Ireland as part of the header across the top of the main page. I’d changed it to sepia tones and made the grass a vibrant green, the only other color on the page. It wasn’t flashy, but it felt like the perfect combination of dedicated, relaxed, and fun, just like him.
Hi SK,
Glad you made it home safely. Here’s the site so far; it’s almost done. Let me know what you think and if you want any adjustments made. The one thing that’s missing is a photograph of you, if you’re cool with that. Got any you’d like to use?
I wouldn’t use the word corny. I’d say sensitive. Maybe delicate. Touchy-feely?
Emotionally yours,
Tate
Did I really just send an email to a boy with “yours” in the valediction? I put both elbows on my desk and squished my cheeks between my hands. I hoped he didn’t read too much into that and think I was overstepping the boundaries of a professional relationship. I snorted at the thought. We’d already crossed that line, right? Maybe I did hope he’d read more into it.
Tate—love the Ireland pic! Genius. My mom will be so chuffed to see that. (Did you catch my across-the-pond language there?) You get bonus points for the brown. Clearly, you pay attention to details—I like that in a girl.
Alas, the only “professional” photos I have are the headshots from my application to McIntosh, and they’ll never see the light of day. I’ll just leave you with one word—braces. I have some performances coming up soon, though, so I’ll try and get you some action shots. Do you think those will be okay?
Enthusiastically Yours,
SK
I read with wide eyes, unbelieving. We were definitely over the line. He liked that in a girl? My pulse quickened a little as I allowed myself a moment of imagination, wondering what we might think of each other if we met in person. What if I asked him if I could come to one of these performances—you know, for research? What if he said no? That would be embarrassing. What if he said yes and we met and had a completely awkward moment where neither of us said anything, and we stood around looking at the floor? Better to just stick to words.
SK—yes, can’t wait to see them!
Break a leg,
Tate
But ten seconds later, I realized I didn’t want to wait for him to send the photographs. Wondering why I hadn’t done it earlier, I typed his full name into my browser and pressed search. The results included three years’ worth of concert programs from McIntosh, and press releases for the awards I already knew about from his résumé. Bingo. His accolades were interspersed with a handful of links to social media sites; I clicked on the one at the top, hoping to see a friendly smile that matched SK’s sense of humor, and held my breath. When his profile revealed nothing more than a very nice picture of a cello, I exhaled. Bust. The second and third sites were the same. I had to give SK credit for his skills in the area of internet privacy, but I was also a little crushed. My efforts thwarted, I reminded myself that the best things were worth waiting for. And, somehow, I knew that finally seeing SK’s face would be worth it. I could wait.
Chapter 14
The completed survey for Tilly’s website was sitting on my bed when I returned from the shower, wrapped in a towel. I stood over it and peered down, a droplet of water falling from my dripping hair onto the paper. No surprise, it was written in Tilly’s tiny, neat, and perfectly formed handwriting. It was so uniform, it could have been its own font. I was “babysitting” that night, so I tossed the papers in my satchel with my laptop for later.
As I pulled out a T-shirt from the middle dresser drawer, an idea hit me. Why not take Tilly with me? If she agreed, it could be a useful evening in more ways than one. We could work on her site together, and I could make sure she didn’t have any plans to spill my secret. I smiled to myself as I rubbed the towel over my wet hair and threw on my clothes.
Like we’d planned it, Tilly and I opened our bedroom doors and stepped into the hallway at the exact same time.
I sprang. “So, I’m going to ask you something at breakfast.”
“Why don’t you just ask me now?”
“Too much to explain. But I need you to trust me. I realize you have no reason to, but I’m asking you to try. Just play along, okay?”
Visibly confused, but too polite to argue with me, Tilly nodded, and we went downstairs.
At the breakfast table, Blanche sat next to Tilly, both of them sipping from mugs displaying names of universities Tilly was considering. Belén stood at the counter as I took my faithful Georgetown mug from the cabinet and filled it with hot water from the kettle. Blanche patted the place mat at the seat next to her, where a peppermint tea bag lay waiting for me. I flashed her a grateful grin, and she smiled back, her expression feeling like sunlight in an otherwise arctic room. Tilly eyed me over the rim of her Swarthmore mug, looking scared. I winked at her and sat down.
“So, Tilly, are we still on for tonight? You’ll be home in time, right?”
I noticed the grip on her mug got tighter. Belén looked up, brows furrowed and mouth in a frown. I’m sure if I were her, I would have done the same, hearing that Tilly and I had plans for the first time in, well, ever.
“What’s going on tonight?”
I casually sipped my tea. “Tilly is coming to the Schmidts’ with me so we can work on a project together.” When Belén wasn’t looking at me, I mouthed trust me at Tilly, and her deer-in-headlights expression softened slightly.