Page 17 of Elusion

I round the corner with a book in hand, checking if I remember a quote correctly. When I look up, I stop. Callie’s walking in the main entrance.

What the hell is she doing here?

I hang back, watching her settle into a chair and pull a book out of her bag to read.

Unbelievable. She played me with the bet and tried to ditch me after class, and now the frustrating girl’s actually attempting to go into hiding. Chuckling to myself, I return to my table. She’s set herself up for quite the surprise in a little while.

Within the hour, I’ve finished my paper and returned all of my books. Before emailing it off, I’ll go over it once more, but first, I need to talk to a beautiful girl.

Callie doesn’t look up when I approach. I sit on the arm of a leather chair across from her and wait until it becomes apparent that she either doesn’t notice me or doesn’t care.

I clear my throat, and wide eyes slowly rise from her book.

“A safe house is a much better choice when going underground,” I say, a smirk forming.

“Are you…” She checks around for witnesses.

“Following you?” I finish for her. “Absolutely not. I only show up where I already know you’ll be. There’s a difference.”

She tilts her head to the side, dubious of my distinction. I understand why, but the truth is the truth.

I hold up my laptop. “Paper due tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She relaxes in her chair.

“Do you need a ride to class?” I ask.

Her attention returns to her book. “No.”

“You would make all of this a lot easier if you would just—”

“Sleep with you?”

“Not what I was going to say, but we can do it your way. I’monly trying to make your life easier. You should consider leaning in.”

She tries to ignore me, but her lips purse, suppressing a smile. I’ve never known anyone who works as hard as her to conceal their emotions. I, on the other hand, stand and let out a loud, dramatic sigh, which draws the attention of everyone around us. Everyone, except for Callie. She doesn’t bother looking up from her book.

Who suggested we stop at the music shop where Johnny works, I can’t remember, but we’ve been here for half an hour. A majority of our visits turn into expensive ones, but we’re all adamant about not buying anything this time.

Gavin plugs in a bass and sits down on a stool, while Benji and I finish our discussion about a wah pedal in a glass case. We move on to playing with a drum machine, re-creating a beat from one of our songs. Behind the counter, Johnny hears us joking about replacing him. Luckily, helping a customer stops him from any retaliation other than discreetly flipping us off.

After a few minutes, Benji wanders toward two full-size electric keyboards set up to face one another. He gestures to them, standing behind one of the benches. I position myself behind the other, and we bow before taking a seat. His shoulders shrug a few times. He lifts his hands to the keys.

“Rondo in C Major,” he says.

I crack my knuckles, mirror his position, and nod.

His fingers flit up and down the keys. At times, his eyes close with a peaceful expression on his face. Notes go from staccato to legato and back again. A third of the way through, he lifts his hands and waves flippantly in my direction.

Very well then.

Picking up where he left off, my fingers glide over the keys. A crescendo moves us from the lighthearted theme to darker chords. Each note becomes a little louder than the last, reaching forte, and then descends to piano again.

Six years of lessons, all so I can play Beethoven from memory in the middle of a store on a Thursday night. Money well spent. My parents required well-rounded children, which included learning one instrument. They then expected us to abandon the training and focus on more important things, like networking. Dustin had no problem giving up the cello, but I couldn’t let go so easily.

I complete the next third before letting Benji finish out the piece. We’ve always shared music as a solid connection. The two of us read and write music, play a few instruments, and enjoy conversations using proper terminology. Gavin and Johnny understand how to make sounds with their respective instruments, but their knowledge ends there.

Once he’s done, we perform a quick rendition of “Chopsticks” and unplug Gavin. We’re traveling dangerously close to purchasing two keyboards and a bass guitar and need to leave. The three of us pile into the Jeep, heading for home, but on a whim, I turn into the dorm parking lot. Gavin sighs in the back. Benji shakes his head in the front. It’ll only take a few minutes to tell Callie good night. They’ll survive.

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