Page 65 of Fostering Chemistry
“Are you okay?”I whispered to Cody. We sat in the back of the dark theater, of course. The last row, to be exact. I was beginning to think that Cody had never sat in the front row for anything. But it wasn't a problem. It was nice being a couple of rows behind everyone else. A lot of students had their phones out, either texting or taking notes for the extra credit assignment, but I liked watching shows when it was very dark.
Being up in the top last row also meant I could look straight out at the screen instead of looking down and seeing all their bright, distracting phone screens.
“Have you seen this before?” I whispered to Cody as it started.
He nodded.
I wished he were more comfortable, but he kept fidgeting. I got a little uncomfortable too, as on screen two middle-aged people shared a very cringey intimate scene. It hadn’t, in the end, turned out to be all that intimate, but it was still cringe. I wasn’t used to sitting next to a guy while watching something like that. There weren’t any sex scenes inAmerican Adventures.
Cody’s fingers tapped nervously against the denim of his jeans, and I was tempted to reach out and take his hand, stilling them. But this was extra credit for chemistry class, not a date. I didn’t know if he dated.
When we’d first arrived, I’d actually been a little surprised that he sat right next to me. I’d half thought he’d sit one seat over. But I was glad he didn’t. The armrest was up, and our arms kept brushing against each other, which was kind of nice—if only he’d stop fidgeting.
Mindlessly, I stared at his fingers. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Oh.
I felt a little foolish when I realized that he wasn’t fidgeting… he was playing piano, with one hand on each thigh. Now that I’d seen it, I could almost feel the rhythm, and I wondered what piece he was playing. Too bad I couldn’t hear inside his head.
Smiling, I went back to watching the episode, but I couldn’t get into it.
Then the episode took a crazy turn, and it suddenly reminded me what this show was about. Not just the chemistry experiments we were supposed to critique, but drugs.
And my sister was in a rehab center at this very moment. Somehow, I hadn't made that connection until now.
I missed her, and I thought about her every day, but I tried very hard not to think about what she was going through because there was nothing I could do to help her. The pain in her voice... it had killed me. I’d fall apart if I focused on that. So, yeah, watching a show about making drugs was possibly not the best choice right now.
So I focused on Cody instead. He was still playing piano with one hand on either thigh. It was fascinating to watch. I knew so little about music, but it almost felt like I could hear him.
Which gave me an idea. I took out my phone, dimmed the brightness as much as I could, and pulled up his contact. Then I sent him a text.
You're playing too loudly.
His phone vibrated, and he fished it out of his pocket, read it quickly, and then shot a quick grin my way, holding up his hands as if in apology.
It was so rare to see him smile that I cherished that moment and kind of wanted to see it again. After another minute or two, his fingers started moving across his legs again. He had to be aware that I was staring at him now.
There was rhythm to what he was doing. Some notes were long, others quick. Sometimes his hands moved up and down as if playing low notes or high notes.
I shot a quick peek at his face. His eyes were distant, as if he were hearing the silent music he was playing.
I reached out with my index finger and, moving slowly, I deliberately touched a spot right next to the fingers of his left hand, playing a note.
He didn't respond, his fingers flying across the keys—or, well, his jeans.
I watched for another minute, and then I did it again.
This time, he lightly smacked my hand away, which made me laugh.
“Shh,” he said sternly. “You're interrupting my practice time.”
His voice was so low as he leaned in that it barely reached my ears, let alone anyone else's. Then he started playing again, and I got an idea. I leaned toward him, and this time I put both index fingers on his left thigh.
I pressed them down together several times, then moved my left hand farther away, still playing silent notes.
When I'd finished, he leaned in close.
“Chopsticks.”
