Page 90 of Encounter

Every time I saw her outside with her new group, she was glowing, and it seemed like some of the girls who always bullied her relentlessly eased off her as well.

Wish there was someone to help me from Blake’s dirty glances.

He mostly kept to himself the past few weeks. I figured Dad wasn’t the only one getting a call from the Conservatory, and even the big-bad-Blake got some ugly talking to at home.

Blinking, I realized I’d completely zoned out and hadn’t paid attention to Zola at all. “And Harry—Harriett—loved it so much that she like...infectedall of us as well, so we keep going there all the time now!” She kept going on an enthusiastic tangent about whatever it was I missed. “Oh my god, you won’t believe the plans I have for my birthday. You promise you’ll come, right?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Blair plays guitar on the weekends in this great little club Mom told me about. I think she could really run into someone to discover her there—she’ssotalented. Even talked me into singing with her there last Saturday.” Bashfully covering her face, Zola’s hands couldn’t hide her beaming expression.

“Oh my god! Wow!” I said, leaving my mouth open. “I can’t believe that you— You always wanted to do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

I would’ve been so jealous of her progress if she told me this a few months ago. Now... there was nothing. I was happy for her.

“Oh! There is this musical competition in the Brickman’s Center again in a few weeks! She talked about how she thought of going, but it isn’t really for her style of music, more thestandardkind. Totally something you should try. It would fit great with your playing!”

“I... I don’t think so,” I laughed awkwardly, shaking my head.

I might have been getting some confidence, but I was still scared by losing all of those contests when I was younger. The stress, the impossible pressure, the way Dad would give the quiet treatment and a cold shoulder to the poor eight-year-old me when I wouldn’t win... The idea of losing again was a little too much to bear, even now, and even without him pushing me into it.

Zola’s gentle, playful push made me look at her again. “Awww, Gale!” she grimaced. “You know how good you are, come on. Mom kept singing praises to Dad after hearing you play—but okay! Okay! I’ll stop.”

Glancing at the door, we saw the lecture was about to start—the professor stood in the hallway, talking to one of their colleagues, with their hand on the handle.

“I’ll send you the link with the info. Just in case!” Balancing on her chair, she grinned at me and turned to her phone right away, tapping unstoppably. Sighing, I smiled to myself while putting my Mandarin books away to make space for the incoming lecture. “You really need to come out with us some time. If you want to, that is,” she added softly.

“I’m actually... going out tonight,” I said, awkwardly rubbing the back of my head.

Nearly falling off the chair, Zola widened her eyes on me. “Oooh, really?! Is it the people from the course?” She connected the dots quickly. “Or someoneelse?” Flashing her brows at me with a spark in her eyes, she probably expected me to talk about someone I was interested in, but telling her about Chast wasn’t something I felt entirely prepared for.

“It’s some of the people from the lesson, yeah. They invited me. Kind of insisted on me going, so... I didn’t want to be weird or distant. They’re really nice.” Nothing like the people I grew up around. More like Zola—like actual, decent human beings, who had to live in the real world, with real problems and struggles. “It’s unreal, really,” I admitted with a huff. “I don’t actually know them that well, or talk to them much, and we see each other only a few times a week, but... it’s like they don’t judge me at all—seem to like me, even.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Zola said, gently touching my shoulder. I met her eyes briefly and nodded, smiling to myself. After that, the professor finally walked in and started the lecture.

?

Studying myself in the mirror, I twisted my waist and adjusted the open collar of my shirt, getting more and more anxious about my clothing choice by the minute.

The longer, deep burgundy shorts I wore looked horrible on me. They worked with the top, but their length—right above my knees—made me look like some eighteenth century ghost of a prepubescent boy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t afford to wear anything shorter, thanks to my damn stupidity. Years of slicing at my legs, and I was never going to be able to wear anything of a better cut unless I wanted a bunch of weird stares.

Maybe people don’t really care. Maybe no one would.

I adjusted the shirt again, backtracking between two and three open buttons around the neckline. I had never worn it before.It had been lying in my closet for maybe three years—an impulsive purchase caused by the arrival of an exchange student from Switzerland to our high school. He was so freaking handsome… I still remembered those dirty blond curls framing his face, his smile, and the way he held himself. The sixteen-year-old me was completely smitten by him from the moment he smiled at me in the hallway and touched my shoulder after nearly walking into me.

I didn’t even know what got into me that day. Probably some manic, dreamy idea telling me he was my chance to finally change. To finally come out of my shell, warp into the person who I always wanted to be as I was growing up. The person who wears the bright clothes they want to wear without fearing looking too gay, or too out there, or drawing too much attention. The person that could walk up to him, could have a chance.

Person who someone else could love for who they were...

Of course, I was quickly proven wrong—smacked back to the dark, cold place in my head I foolishly crawled out of. He had a beautiful, popular girlfriend locked around his waist within a week and never looked at me twice again.

Now, staring at the salmon pink Hawaiian shirt covered in small, hand-sewn strawberries, I was strongly considering throwing it back into the depths of my wardrobe and wearing a muted, inconspicuous piece I always did instead.

It’s too much. Doesn’t look natural on me, does it? How could I ever think I could pull off something like this without looking like an idiot?

The phone buzzing on my desk got my attention. As I grabbed it, I caught myself wishing it was one of the guys, canceling the outing.

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