Page 20 of Safety Net
“Oh…” She looked down at the floor for a second. “You said you were number three. Maybe I misheard. I thought…”
“No, you heard right.” My assurance came quickly, paired with a wheezy laugh. “Ms. Lane works cashier here during the night shift. She can get him to smile within two minutes of talking to him. And Andy, the delivery guy, is number two. The man is an incredible trumpet player, and Lenny likes being reminded of his old club days, back when they had more live bands and fewer stereos. I don’t know much about music, but I’m sure Andy’s one of the best out there.”
Celeste nodded with a small smile. The gentle quiet returned. She shifted from one foot to another. I scratched the back of my neck.
Though I enjoyed the entertainment of a back-and-forth, silence wasn’t always terrible if you liked the company you were in. If it were anyone else, I would have said my goodbyes and forgotten about the whole exchange. I’d never do that with her. Any second Celeste had to spare, I selfishly wanted.
The bookstore grew warm, despite the constant turn of the dusty fans overhead. I tapped the side of my thigh, fingers restless as I tried to come up with something I knew she would feel comfortable sharing. Nerves squeezed at my throat, unfamiliar and taunting as words got stuck there. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was drier than scorched earth.
“You’re into music, right?” I blurted, hopeful. I knew she was into music. I’d seen her scribble down notes in the lines of a notebook behind her desk at the community center. On campus, Celeste was never without her pink flute case strapped to her like some cartoon character, wearing the same thing day after day. I pretended not to know in hopes it’d give her a comfortable excuse to share.
“Mm.” She nodded and looked at the floor again, adding, “I’m studying it.”
“I’ve seen you carrying a case around campus,” I said, and then quickly added (so I didn’t sound like an absolute creep),“Music department’s close to the Liberal Arts building. I had most of my courses there last semester.”
Mendell was big, but not so big you didn’t run into people on campus. Every time I saw Celeste, it was the product of a happy accident. Or, maybe (as I liked to imagine ) the universe making our paths cross over and over, so we had ample chance to talk. Just like now, she was here and actually conversing. Asking me questions (or, maybe just one question, beggars couldn’t be choosers) and it was thrilling. I had too much to say. Every thought I’ve wanted to share with her over the course of the last year bubbled to the surface. I continuously reminded myself,slow down.
“I play the flute.” There was a slight spark in her eyes when she said it. I took down a mental note to look up facts about flutes. Some funny ones, preferably. The possibility of making her laugh made my chest heavy with anticipation. I needed to make the most of our small window of opportunity, and the one way I figured I could was by eliciting a laugh.
“That’s incredible. I can’t keep a beat to save my life. All my music teachers hated me. I couldn’t for the life of me remember which note was which on the…what’s the line thing where the symbols go?”
Celeste smiled, amused at how I mimed the lines in search of the term.
“Staff.”
I snapped my fingers. “Right, the staff.”
“It’s difficult to get the hang of at first.” Celeste nodded. “Did you…um, ever learn the mnemonic for remembering the notes?”
I shook my head. Maybe I had at one point, but that knowledge had fallen to the wayside along with thousands of other things my teachers attempted to impart.
“The common one is Every Good Boy Does Fine for the treble clef—those are the five lines,” she said. “E’s at the bottom… andg-go up to F. And between the lines—they’re called treble clef spaces—is FACE.”
“That would have been a lifesaver in middle school. I made a fool of myself in front of an auditorium of extremely bored parents. We got booed. Talk about traumatic.”
“I bet.” Celeste’s stance had softened, shoulders curved down, and feet hip distance apart. She still glanced down at the floor now and then, but when she looked up, she didn’t look away anymore. Her gaze maintained contact with mine, and her gentle smile inspired me to keep this up. I couldn’t put a finger on exactly what I was doing right, but whatever it was, I needed to keep doing it.
I rested my hand on one of the shelves above our heads, using it for stability. My heart continued to race. Learning to manage the lightheaded excitement I felt from prolonged conversations with her was going to take some time.
Celeste’s gaze flickered to my arm, and I realized its position made our conversation seem far more exclusive. I’d created a barrier for us, blocking out the bookstore. For a second, I considered putting my arm back to my side, but when she shifted a little closer, I left it. Was it possible she was interested in a world of just the two of us? Could she envision it as clearly as I could?
Our abandoned text thread said otherwise. I’d never been one to take things too personally, so Celeste’s eventual silence hadn’t pierced my core. It was successful in planting a seed of doubt about a possibility of an us, though. I wondered if that seed would survive after this change in energy.
“That’s my favorite Carter. The one I wanted to tell you about before Jack interrupted.” I tapped the cover lightly with two fingers, an excuse to be close to her. The book was between us, but I swear I felt the warmth of her skin through the soft cover.
She looked down, gaze more on my fingers than the cover. “Yeah?”
“I’m obsessed with the detective. She’s a badass ex-marine biologist who solves crimes of the sea. It’s like if Ace Ventura andMurder, She Wrotehad a baby. Do you like poodles?”
Celeste blinked, trying to keep up. “Poodles?”
“The detective,” I explained. “She has two of them. They are half the reason why the crimes get solved in time. One’s best friends with an orca—a surprisingly heartfelt relationship. I may have cried during the last few chapters when those two had to part ways. Goodbyes always suck—oh, shit, my bad, spoilers. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Celeste laughed. It’s far more melodic than I could have dreamed. I leaned against the bookcase more because the noise almost knocked me off my feet.
“Sorry,” Celeste added quickly. “I wasn’t laughing at your…crying. I was…I’ve never heard of something so nonsensical.”
“Carter lives and breathes nonsense. I think we may be long-lost twins.”
