The Other Me Part 31

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight I'll be performing my own composition."

I hesitate as a figure steps through a side door. My father. I blink twice. I'm not hallucinating. It really is him. Dirk turns his head, following my gaze, and his eyes widen as a smile spreads across his face. He turns back to me and gives me a thumbs-up. My hands stop trembling, and I clear my throat.

"The piece I'm playing tonight is Sonata in C Minor, 'The Metamorphosis.'" I take a seat at the piano and close my eyes.

I play the opening chord, and my right hand introduces the first theme. This is for Mom, an ode to her memory. The first movement flows perfectly, each dynamic nuance measured and controlled by my fingers. A few people clap at the end, and I wait for them to settle before starting the second movement. This is for Treasa, the chaos and discord and the promise of a resolution. No one claps at the end of this movement. I crack my knuckles in the hush before starting the final part. The third movement is for me. I pour my heart into the piece, just like Ms. Hafford told me to. I let go, surrendering to the music.

Treasa

GABRIEL GETS GETS up to play, and I applaud so hard my hands sting. up to play, and I applaud so hard my hands sting.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight I'll be performing my own composition." His voice is shaky, betraying his nervousness. I wish I could go up to him, squeeze his hand, rea.s.sure him of his brilliance-not that he'd want me anywhere near him.

His gaze slides over the audience, lingering on a man standing near the doors. Could it be his father? Gabriel doesn't notice me sunk low in my seat beside my own dad. We arrived late to avoid the hordes and their questions. I'm not sure how we'll slip out again without being noticed, but being bombarded with questions about my hair and lack of school uniform tonight will be worth it if I get to hear Gabriel play the complete sonata.

"The piece I'm playing tonight is Sonata in C Minor, 'The Metamorphosis,'" he says. Metamorphosis. Could he have picked a more perfect name for the piece? Is he trying to tell me something? Of course not; he doesn't even know I'm here.

Gabriel starts to play, and I don't even try to stop the tears cascading down my cheeks. My dad takes my hand.

"Are you all right?" he whispers and hands me a crumpled tissue from his pocket.

"Never better." I smile through my tears, my gaze never leaving Gabriel.

The first movement ends gently, and a few people clap. He waits, closes his eyes, and begins the second movement. The melody in the right hand breaks my heart. It's my melody. Even in a minor key, I recognize the tune I hummed to him in the piano room. I never dreamed he'd actually use my little melody, and yet there it is in all its modulated glory, each note landing a hammer blow between my ribs. He pauses to crack his knuckles before diving into the third movement. His body judders as he plays the powerful chords, bombastic crashes that make me wince for the piano. Gabriel doesn't hold back, driving home the harmony with ever-increasing dynamics. His fingers are a blur across the keys, and as he comes to the final cadence, there's a high-pitched ping, and that soft smile I thought was only meant for me tweaks the corners of his lips.

Mrs. McArthur pales and peers at the piano, where a thin wire dangles out of the open lid.

"He broke a string," I whisper, my words lost in the thunderous applause as the audience gives Gabriel a standing ovation.

I've known him for almost three months, and I think I learned more about Gabriel in that eight-minute sonata than I ever did in all the time we've spent talking. Gabriel looks out at the audience, his face flushed as he takes another bow to continued applause. He searches through the crowd, and I think he might catch a glimpse of me, but his gaze settles once more on the man at the door.

The audience disperses, and my dad agrees to meet me in the car. I fight my way through the crowd to Jordan and Dirk.

"Did he snap a string?" Jordan asks.

"I think so. Did you see Mrs. McArthur's face?"

"That oke can play," Dirk says.

"Was that his dad at the door?" I ask.

"Ja, finally." Dirk smiles. "Maybe you should go rescue him. We'll wait in the car." He jerks his chin toward Gabriel where he's standing at the piano getting a telling off from Mrs. McArthur. A bunch of St. Bridget's girls are hovering like vultures, no doubt waiting to swoop in on Gabriel and fawn all over him. I push past them.

"Gabriel," I say when Mrs. McArthur has finished telling him to expect a bill for the string replacement. He turns, and a myriad of emotions play across his face.

"You're here."

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world." We stare at each other for a long moment before he runs a hand through his hair and steps past me to fetch his blazer from the back of his chair. "You broke a string."

"Never thought I would." The ghost of a smile flits across his face before his expression returns to serious.

"Was your dad here?"

"Apparently." He loops his blazer over his shoulder, looking just like he did on the day I first met him. "Could you give me a minute? Just want to find my father. Meet at the music block just now?"

"No problem."

Gabriel heads out the main doors while I seek the quiet around the back of the hall. I pace beneath the twisted boughs of a syringa tree, trying to figure out exactly what I want to say to him about everything. I SMS my dad, telling him I might be a while. He replies saying he's going to get pizza across the road, giving me at least half an hour.

"Sorry I kept you waiting." Gabriel lopes onto the patch of gra.s.s I'm wearing a track into.

"Did your dad enjoy the concert?"

"I think so." He seems more relaxed now that it's just us.

"Thank you," I say.

"For what?"

"For using that bit of melody in the second movement. That was the part I hummed, right?" Oh G.o.d, maybe I a.s.sumed too much. Gabriel smiles that secret smile, and my blood thrums in my veins.

"I should be the one thanking you. Never would've finished that sonata if it weren't for you."

"Really?"

"You make a great muse."

"Wow." Not at all what I expected him to say.

"I mean...." He swallows hard, and I think he may actually be blus.h.i.+ng. "You're not wearing your uniform?" He sits down on the nearby bench, and I join him, leaving a few centimeters of air between our thighs.

"Don't think I'm going back to St. Bridget's."

"Not this term, or not ever?" He studies the gra.s.s at his feet.

"It's an all-girls' school."

"So no grade ten dance, then?"

"I guess not."

He nods and leans back, looking a little relieved. For a moment, there's just the rustle of the leaves above us and the chorus of crickets in the flowerbeds punctuating the silence between us. Then Gabriel clears his throat.

"Before I met you, I didn't think life was worth living. It was gray and dull, and every day was the same. You changed things. I can't even begin to understand what I feel for you, but I do." He reaches a long finger toward my face, his fingertip grazing my temple as he smooths back a curl. I can barely breathe, let alone form coherent speech.

"I don't understand why you cut your hair or why you want to be a boy, but I do get wanting to be who you truly are and not the person others think you should be." He takes my hand, and his touch sends a jolt of lightning up my arm. I want so badly to kiss him right now. I bite my bottom lip so hard it hurts.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry I ran away the other night. I could give you a dozen excuses, but I won't. It was wrong, I should've stayed."

"It's okay." I find my voice. "I kind of laid a lot on you."

"I meant what I said."

"Which part?" My pulse throbs with the intensity of a newborn star.

"That I'm falling for you, only...." He drops my hand and looks away. Now my heart feels like a black hole. "What you said about wanting to be a boy with me. That-" He wrings his hands. "That creeped me out. I have no idea what to say to that."

"This is creeping me out too, you know. It's a lot to deal with, to live each day in a body you hate." I draw my knees up to my chest.

"So you're serious about wanting to be a boy?"

"Deadly."

"Is there a twelve-step program for this sort of thing?" He meets my gaze and must register the confusion on my face. "It creeps me out, but that doesn't mean I don't care or don't want to know. If you tell me more, maybe I'll be able to understand." His expression is so earnest; I'm just not sure I can trust it.

"I thought this was the part where you say, 'You're a freak, and I never want to see you again.'"

"You're a total freak," he says with a grin. d.a.m.n, that smile makes me melt, even when he's technically insulting me. "And so am I, remember." His gaze drops to his leg. I'd forgotten all about the weeping wounds burned into his skin. I lay a gentle hand on his knee. Any higher would be too close to his crotch, and that would make things super weird.

"So you're not sprinting for the hills? You don't mind being my friend?"

His eyebrows knit together above his nose. "Hardly. I think I would've liked to be more than just friends, but if it's a friend you need, then I can be that too."

This boy constantly takes my breath away. He is perfect, even if he doesn't know it. "There aren't formal steps, exactly, but there is something I'd like you to do," I say.

"Whatever you need, Treasa." He takes my hand again, an anchor in the storm to come.

"I need a new name."

"And Resa won't do?" he teases.

"No, but I think I know a name that'll be a perfect fit."

"I'll call you whatever you want me to." He sidles closer to me on the bench, his eyes peering into mine with a soul-blazing intensity.

A smile spreads across my face, and for the first time I feel like me, the real me. Not an alien, not some nerdy loser girl or brace-faced freak. With a new name, I can leave that other me behind and be reborn.

"Tristan," I say and lean into Gabriel's embrace. "Call me Tristan."

About the Author.

SUZANNE VAN VAN R ROOYEN grew up in South Africa, but currently lives in Finland where she finds the cold, dark forests nothing if not inspiring. Although she has a Master's degree in music, Suzanne prefers writing strange tales about quirky characters. When not writing, she teaches dance and music to middle schoolers, and manages publicity for Entranced Publis.h.i.+ng. When not doing any of that, you'll find her entertaining her s.h.i.+ba inu Lego, attempting to play guitar, or baking peanut-b.u.t.ter cookies. Suzanne is represented by Jordy Albert of the Booker Albert Agency. grew up in South Africa, but currently lives in Finland where she finds the cold, dark forests nothing if not inspiring. Although she has a Master's degree in music, Suzanne prefers writing strange tales about quirky characters. When not writing, she teaches dance and music to middle schoolers, and manages publicity for Entranced Publis.h.i.+ng. When not doing any of that, you'll find her entertaining her s.h.i.+ba inu Lego, attempting to play guitar, or baking peanut-b.u.t.ter cookies. Suzanne is represented by Jordy Albert of the Booker Albert Agency.

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