Jon Cox rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Nihal.”
“Hey, guys?” Isaac said. He was sitting on the ground in front of the hearth, looking small and folded.
Everyone around the game board paused, and we could hear the uneven licking of the fire again. Trav lifted his pen from his journal, which was open to a spread of staff paper that he’d covered in chord analysis. From the couch, Erik looked up from his phone. He hadn’t set it down all night.
Isaac was picking strands from his bun, pulling thoughts out of place. “I should apologize for the last couple weeks. I don’t know why I took it out on everyone.” He sounded strangled but determined, as if his voice were a solid object that he was trying to cram through the crack of a closed door. “Obviously I think this matters. Not just the music. This.” He swung one of his full-body indications around at us, busy arm and bothered torso and sweeping eyes. “Sharps has been my most important thing for a fifth of my life, which, apparently, means I can get shitty and complacent about it, because—I don’t know. I guess that’s what you do with everything you care about. You forget how to care about it right. So.” He grimaced. “I didn’t say sorry. I’m sorry. There.”
“We should apologize, too,” I said. The Sharps’ eyes fell on me. I didn’t back down. “We should’ve noticed there was something wrong.” I hoped he heard what was behind the words. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I snapped at you, sorry I saw that flash of disappointment from you and didn’t understand what it meant, sorry I saw you pulling away and assumed it was selfishness.
A sigh issued from the last person I expected. “I agree,” Trav said. He twisted the stud in his ear over and over. It refracted the firelight. “This year has been rocky, and to a degree, I think it’s my fault.”
Isaac eyed Trav curiously. “Why?”
“My parents told me they’re coming to watch the competition, and I want them to know what this means.” After a moment, Trav shook his head. “Singing is what makes me feel like I’m here. But I know for most people, it’s the opposite: They’re here because they like to sing. That’s valid. It doesn’t have to be your life’s blood. There is actually more to the world than a cappella.” His eyes twinkled with firelight. “Or so people keep trying to tell me.”
The thickness of the air loosened a bit, and Marcus shifted, and Nihal was holding back a smile. Mama had that serene look he sometimes wore when he forced us to listen to Handel.
“Anyway,” Trav said. “I’ll accept your apology for showing up late, but nothing else. And even that’s—well, I drove here myself. So maybe your dramatics were worth it.”
“What, the whole way?” Isaac said.
“Yes.”
I expected some sarcastic jab about the number of casualties, but Isaac’s mouth pressed into a small and genuine smile. “That’s awesome.”
“Thank you,” Trav said. We were all quiet for a second. I watched Trav carefully. There was less tension in him than usual, from his expression down to his folded hands.
Without a further word, Trav went back to his journal. The others returned to their conversations, but I kept watching. He dotted note heads on the staff with precision and intent, as if he were the captain of a ship charting a course home.
My phone alarm rang at 3:15 a.m. I silenced it, slid out from between the sheets, and lifted the fluffy towel from the end of the bed.
Wrapped up, I crept down the curving staircase to the second floor. The sound of Jon Cox’s aggressive snoring rumbled through the door of the master bedroom as I slunk by. The cold floorboards issued protests under my toes, every step a conspicuous squeak. I hurried toward the bathroom, ducked in, and slid the lock into place with a satisfying shunk. Safe.
A glass door separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom. I cracked it open, stepped in, and twisted a thin chrome handle. Steaming water cascaded from the broad showerhead to the silvery tile.
Hot water coaxed the tension out of my muscles. I scrubbed shampoo through my hair, letting the water trickle between my roots. Soon I stepped out, glancing at the mirror. I placed the flat of my palm to the glass and swiped a gap into the condensation; then, after a moment, I wiped the whole mirror clear.
I looked different. I always lost weight at school, with the healthy food to eat and the campus to walk, but this was something else. More even than my new posture, head held higher, the squareness of my shoulders, the straightness in my back. Something in my eyes, maybe. I looked brazen.
I wondered if, when I stopped playing Julian, his influence would leave my body piece by piece, like the slow replacement of dead cells. I didn’t like the idea. This new face was a treasure I’d stumbled upon. I always wanted to look this sure of myself.
I thought of ignoring Michael’s call earlier. In retrospect, I felt strong having done it. At the beginning of the year, I would have given in. Jordan didn’t have this much control, this much agency. In the battle between the halves of myself, I felt like she’d finally been eclipsed; only a crescent glow of her still peeked out.
Exhaustion crept over me. I thought of Shanice’s fierce loyalty, Jenna’s clowning and posturing, Maria’s warmth. I could hardly remember what it felt like to have a history. When the girls looked at me, they saw seventeen years of me. The Sharps barely had a few months. And now I was this, something new, so quickly, and what was it? Was I happy this way?
I swept the towel from the rack and wrapped it around myself. I hit the lights, peered out the door, and crept back down the hall. I accelerated as I went, dashing for the steps. Past all the guys’ bedrooms.
A door swung open in front of me.
Shit—
I tried to stop, but my wet feet squeaked against the hardwood, and I wheeled off-balance. One hand flailed out, grabbing the doorjamb, swinging me into the person standing in the doorway. My other hand let go of my towel, which, for a second, slipped down to my waist. I snatched it back into place, but too late.
As I righted myself, Isaac stared down at me with total astonishment.
“Julian?” he breathed. “What—what is—what?”
I stepped back, the world splintering in my head. Run, was my first, stupid, thought. Sprint down the steps and away, and never look back. Second instinct: whack Isaac on the head with the nearest heavy object. That always messed up short-term memory in movies, right? Third thought: If I have latent powers of invisibility, now would be an awesome time for them to show up.
He let out a tiny, incredulous sound, but I held one finger to my lips, giving my head a violent shake. This was no time for Isaac-babble. I grabbed his forearm, dragged him around the door, and yanked him up to the attic.