Page 20 of Haunt Me

“What?” my head spins around so fast I get whiplash. “What do you meanthisversion?”

“You’re composing the melody, right? The song is not finished yet—you’re trying different endings.”

“You know music?”

“Nope. But it’s obvious.”

“It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone who hasn’t studied music,” I observe.

“And you have.”

“Boy, do I have. Since I was born. Have you studied music at all? Even as a kid?”

“I told you, no,” she sounds a bit irritated and I backtrack quickly.

“Sorry, I just… I don’t know how you could tell that it’s a better version, if you haven’t studied—”

“By your face, you idiot,” she snaps. “I could tell by your face. It looked transformed when you were playing it right.”

Oh.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” I’m smiling so widely my cheeks are going to hurt in a minute. But there’s just this triumph of joy running through me. She called me an idiot. Maybe she likes me. Then again, maybe she just realized what everyone else already knows: how huge of an idiot I am.

“You,” she replies without smiling. But her voice does not sound irritated anymore. “Play it again, you idiot. With the last ending you came up with.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, and put the violin under my chin.

I play on.

The next day, she brings a different book. She just sits under a tree and reads while I play my violin for two hours. The church’s clock tower, barely visible over the orange treetops, chimes in the distance. It’s time for me to go back, and it takes me by surprise. I don’t think we have exchanged a word between us the whole time, and yet I didn’t feel alone for a second.

She doesn’t come the next day.

On Thursday I sneak out to the woods during lunch break—I can’t wait until after all my classes are done. It’s raining and I stand under the trees, head tipped up to taste the rain.

“You could drown like this. If you were a cat and it was raining,” a voice says behind me. I turn around so quickly I get light-headed.

“You’re here,” I say stupidly.

Her face falls, and before I know what’s happening, she is turning around to leave. There is this look on her face, as if she thinks she is not wanted or something. I lift a hand to stop her.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be,” I add.

“Oh.”

Her hair falls long and black down her back. It sticks damply to her sweater, as though she has been walking in the rain. Up close I can see that her nose is tiny and freckled. Her lips are a vibrant red, and diamond-shaped raindrops stand on them. My heart beats in my ears and my legs nearly melt under me, making me stumble, but I keep my eyes on her. If I look down, she’ll run away. She is still looking skittish, so I touch her white wrist, tracing the outline of a delicate bone there with trembling fingers.

I close my eyes, almost in pain.

This. This. This is more powerful than music. Who would have thought anything could ever be?

“Stay,” I whisper.

Her eyes are wild as they search mine. What are they searching for? I would give anything to know what is going through her head right now. But I can’t find the words to ask her. Ihaveto find the words.

“Did you think that—?” I try, but I can’t continue. I don’t know how to ask her. Instead, I chicken out. “Were you ok yesterday?”

“I was lonely,” she replies. “But I couldn’t get away.”

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