Page 16 of A Wish for Us

Tonight, I’d dip my wick, get plastered, and forget about the world.

It was too bad that, for the rest of the night, wide brown eyes and the sound of a single violin kept nagging at my brain.

Chapter Seven

Bonnie

“Bonnie, Cromwell, I need to see you after class.” My head lifted from my notes as Lewis spoke. I glanced back at Cromwell.

He hadn’t so much as looked at me since last week at the coffee shop. In fact, he seemed to be outright avoiding me. However, now he even avoided my stare. He leaned back on his chair, not even acknowledging that the professor had spoken.

Class was dismissed and I gathered my things. “You okay?” Bryce asked, casting an accusing glance back at Cromwell.

“Yeah.” I knew it must have been about the piece we had to compose. Even I knew when I submitted it that it was weak. I gave Bryce a tight smile and a hug. “I’ll see you later, okay?” He eyed Cromwell again. “I’ll be fine,” I insisted.

“Mr. McCarthy, this is a private chat,” Lewis said.

Bryce nodded at Lewis and left the room. I walked down to the professor’s table, where two seats waited. I sat down on one. I heard Cromwell’s heavy footsteps slowly walking down the stairs. A minute later, he slumped into the seat beside me. His cologne sailed into my nose.

It was deep, infused with a strong hint of spice.

This was the first time I’d had a close chat with the professor. Our private sessions wouldn’t start for another week. Lewis took out the outline I’d submitted and laid it on the table before us. “I just wanted to talk to you both about your potential composition.” I swallowed, nerves swarming in my stomach. “The premise is good. The outline is well written.” He looked at me, clearly knowing I was the one who wrote it. “But the whole thing justlacked…for want of a better word,feeling.” I took in a long, sharp breath as Lewis delivered that blow. I didn’t look at Cromwell. It was the same line I had delivered about his music in Brighton.

Lewis dragged a hand down his face and turned to Cromwell. He was staring at the floor. Anger built inside me. This boy never seemed to care about anything. How he was picked to come here, with his current attitude to music, and study under Lewis was beyond me.

“Vivaldi’s most famous work wasThe Four Seasons.” He read some of the proposal. “I want my students to be original. I want you to explore self-expression in your creations. I don’t want a re-creation of another artist’s work.” He leaned forward, and I could see the passion for the subject reflected in his eyes. “I want this to be your work. From your heart. Put into music what makes you tick. Trials and tribulations you’ve faced.” He sat back. “Tell me who you are. Put everything you are into the piece.”

“We’ll do better,” I said. “Right, Cromwell?” When he didn’t say anything in response, I felt like screaming in frustration.

Lewis got up from his seat. “Take the room. There’s no one in it until this afternoon. See if you can come up with anything else.”

Lewis left, and the room plunged into a deafening silence. I dropped my face into my hands and took a deep breath. It did nothing to calm me down. But when I looked up at Cromwell and his zero-shits attitude, my heart broke for the musician I’d thought he was. The one who apparently no longer lived within him. “Do you really not care?” I whispered.

He met my eyes. His seemed lifeless. Cold. “Not really, no.” His accent made his reply feel mocking and patronizing.

“Why are you even here?” I got up from my seat and had to rub my chest when my heart thudded and flipped around from the frustration that was building inside me. “You don’t play instruments. You don’t care about composition. I’ve seen you in our other classes, and you seem to enjoy them as much as you do this one.” Now I was on a roll I couldn’t stop. I paced, but I had to stop and put my hands on my hips when a sudden anger stole my breath. “I’ve asked you to meet me three times this week. You said you couldn’t do any of them. Yet I know you’ve been going out with my brother, getting trashed and screwing half the female student body.”

Cromwell’s eyebrow rose. His lip kicked up into a ghost of a smile. It was a big mistake. It broke me. “I’ve heard you spin, Cromwell. Don’t forget that.” I laughed. What else was there to do? I could see my dreams for this year slipping away like sand in an hourglass. “I took a train to Brighton to watch you, and all I got was disappointment.” I grabbed my bag. “From what I can tell, you have no desire. No passion for music, and you’ve been squeezed onto an already full program for God knows what reason. I have no idea what Lewis sees in you, but whatever it is, he will be sorely disappointed when it fails to materialize.” I made sure he was looking right into my eyes. “I know I am.”

Calmer now that I’d exorcised my anger, I stood in front of him and said, “Meet me tonight at Jefferson Coffee. We can try to fix this and make sure we both get a passing grade. Meet me there at seven.”

I didn’t even stop to get a response. Nobody had ever gotten under my skin the way he did. I burst out into the warm day; the summer’s blistering weather was starting to gradually cool. I propped my hand against the wall and made myself breathe, moving only when I heard voices coming from behind me. Slowly, trying to calm my racing heart, I walked to my dorm and lay down on the bed. I closed my eyes, but all my brain wanted me to see was Cromwell.

I thought of the video I had seen of him all those years ago. Where had that boy gone? What had happened to him to make him lose his passion? The boy I had seen on the many clips I’d sought out over the years had all but died. He’d once played with such meaning, such purpose and soul. Now, everything about him was cold. He played music that meant nothing. Made me feel nothing. Told the world nothing.

And my dream of doing well in this course was now firmly in his hands.

* * *

“Another one, Bonn?” I looked up from staring out of the window to Sam, who was standing beside me with a nearly empty coffee carafe.

“No.” I gave him a tight smile. “I think I’ve been stood up…again.”

“Cromwell?”

“How did you guess?”

“Just a hunch.” Sam smiled. “At least you drink decaf. You’d be up all night if it was caffeinated.”

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