Steel Strings Read online

  I huff. “Jac isn’t taking honors physics this year. And even if he was, he doesn’t care about the subject enough to put in the effort.” Aside from football, all he’s interested in is debate team and political science.

  “Yeah, but he’s your boyfriend.”

  I roll my eyes up to the acoustic ceiling tiles. “We’re talking about a physics project. Tell me again where Jac fits into that equation?”

  Wanda presses her lips, straight as a bar line. “Because, Miss Homecoming Queen, you’re sending out these vibes that say partnering with Marek in physics isn’t as simple as ‘partnering with Marek in physics.’”

  “I need an A on that project, so I need him to say yes.” I huff, again. “And I’m afraid he’ll think I’m not smart enough.”

  “Girl, are you crazy?” Wanda sits on the chair next to me, wafting the scent of Black Opium my way. “You seriously think he wouldn’t jump at the chance to work with you?”

  I groan. “Why should he?”

  “Um, because every other guy in school would.”

  I express a frustrated breath, then speak, slowly and clearly. “But Marek isn’t like any other guy in this school.” He’s serious and introverted, and has this expression that says he’s too busy contemplating the multiverse to waste time with a girl like me.

  “He’s got eyes in his head.” Wanda bats her thick lashes. “How can you think for a second he’d say no to you?”

  I drop my gaze to the floor and speak softly. “Because he won’t be blinded by my smile.”

  She shakes her head. “Do you remember that time back in freshman year, when Idris asked if you were interested in dating?”

  Ugh. “Uh, yeah.” My answer had been an unequivocal no. I hadn’t been ready to date guys. For lots of reasons.

  Wanda leans into me. “Well, I’m pretty sure it was Marek who wanted to know.”

  My cheeks tighten in total disbelief. “No way.” My grin breaks into a laugh.

  “Well, who else d’you think wanted to know?” She sounds annoyed.

  “I figured Idris did. Or one of the seniors on the football team put him up to the task. It’s not like an army of eyes weren’t pegged to our butts that spring semester when we ran track.”

  Wanda’s nose twitches, making her diamond sparkle. “Seniors? Are you trying to make me think you were that full of yourself freshman year?”

  Seriously? I pull my sketchbook against my chest like a shield, then shrug with added emphasis. “Maybe that’s better than seeing myself as completely empty.”

  “Being pretty doesn’t make you stupid.” My best friend tuts. “Why has it got to be black or white with you? One way or the other. Pretty or smart. What about the best of both worlds? Those shades of gray in between?”

  A discordant laugh escapes me. “Because that’s precisely what I am, isn’t it? A stripe down the middle in perfect mid-tone gray.”

  She squeezes my arm. “Gray’s the same as silver, and silver’s a precious metal.”

  I smile tiredly. “You’re sweet, Wan.”

  “And you’re seriously worrying me.” She nods a couple of times. “Marek’s a tough read. Holds his cards tight. But he isn’t stupid, Bree. Which means he’s already figured out you’re as much brains as you are babe.”

  I slide the sketchbook onto my lap. “Have you noticed that new girl? The one who sits by herself in the cafeteria and scares people away with those bright yellow shades she wears?”

  “You mean the clown glasses that shout nerd in neon?” Wanda lets out a Witch-of-the-West cackle. “You’re not thinking about getting a pair, are you?”

  “Maybe I should, because no one pays attention to her. Other than to check out those shades.” I study Wanda’s questioning face. “I wish I could slap a pair of glasses on and disappear the way she does.”

  Wanda’s mouth drops open. “Seriously? You wanna be ugly?”

  “She isn’t ugly. I have her in English. She’s perfectly normal—well, other than the glasses—and she’s not stuck in a huddle with half the football team every lunchtime.”

  Wanda drops her chin to her chest. “Like you are?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, well, that goes with the territory. Jac’s quarterback, and you know some of those guys couldn’t function without him feeding them their next play.” A shade of worry drops over her face. “Is there something going on with you guys?”

  I shake my head emphatically because nothing between us has changed. Jac and I agreed to stick together, despite my feelings. A secret I haven’t shared with my best friend.

  “We’re fine, Wan.” I stuff my sketchbook away and stand. “But I still need a partner for physics.”

  Friday afternoon and school’s been out for an hour. Mom’s teaching the bongos to a freshman percussionist, and the pulse of the drum leaks through the closed door behind me, setting my foot tapping to the beat.

  Solitude is my preference, and the music lab makes a convenient study space while I wait for Mom to wrap up for the day. Being close at hand means I’m less likely to miss a ride home. Not that I have a problem walking, except when the weather sucks, which happens a lot this time of year.

  I lift Wanda’s violin off the circular worktable in the waiting area and measure the length of its body, then set the instrument down.

  My sketch is roughly to scale. I add the longitudinal measurement to those of the upper and lower bouts, then grab a compass from my pencil case and draw a smaller diagram: two circles joined by a rectangle. Beside them, I jot an equation to calculate the violin body’s volume.

  The bongo pulse increases as the door behind me opens.

  Must be a drop in.

  My eyes stray to the clipboard sitting on the table next to the violin. The only person signed up for lab this afternoon is Idris, and his session is almost over. He’s studying viola this year and doesn’t have his own instrument, so he practices at school.

  Thoughts of Idris remind me of his freshman year dating inquiry. I laugh inwardly. There’s no way Marek was interested in me back in ninth grade. I was a total dork who hid her too-pale face behind a mass of hair. Afros had made a comeback, but mine was aiming for a world record.

  I consider asking Idris to ask Marek if he’s looking for a physics partner, then pinch back a grin at the ludicrous thought.

  Mom barks something to the still playing bongo musician, as the door swings shut with a quiet swoosh and sucking sound.

  “Hey, Brianna. How’s it going?” Marek Lakewood’s voice, low like the growl of a finely tuned engine, slides over my shoulders.

  My tapping foot breaks rhythm, and my heart loses its beat.

  God, I made an fool of myself staring at him in band yesterday. He probably thinks I’m a stalker.

  Play it cool, Brianna.

  I look up, my sweetest smile flipping on like a motion-activated floodlight. “Hi, Marek. You meeting Idris?”

  “Um, yeah.” His eyes dart down the hall toward the lab room doors, like he’s checking for a secondary escape route, then his gaze shifts back to me. He rubs the tight-cropped curls that cover his head like a layer of smooth black felt. “Mind if I take a seat?”

  “Sure, no problem.” I snag Wanda’s violin off the table and slide the instrument back into its case.

  Marek sits, dwarfing the metal-framed seat with his broad shoulders and long legs, and drops his backpack to the floor. “Idris’ll be out soon, right?” His attention glides toward the sign-up sheet, but stops short at my open sketchbook.

  Oh, crap. I should have closed it the second he sauntered in here.

  Other than Dad, only Jac and Wanda have seen my sketches. They’re barely artistic, but like da Vinci, I find drawing helps me gain an understanding of my subjects.

  I make a move to conceal my scribbles, but before I can, Marek says, “Hey, Brianna, that violin’s amazing.” He glances up, his eyes inkwells of intelligence in a face that’s so inscrutable he could easily win at poker.

 
My brain scrambles for a coherent response. “Oh, it’s, uh…nothing.” I force a smile while sweeping pencils and pens back into their case, then make a move for the sketchbook.

  Before I can flip the pages closed, Marek reaches and stops me. I stare at his dark hand stretched across the faux marble Formica to where his fingers rest over mine, making them seem small and nondescript by comparison.

  He pulls back his hand as if realizing he’s crossed some social boundary. His voice remains even, just the same, like the steady rumble of a Mustang. “Mind if I take a look?”

  Heart racing, I release the sketchbook and withdraw so fast my rib cage bumps into the back of my chair.

  He angles the book for a better view, and the edge of his mouth twitches into the barest suggestion of a smile. “The shading’s nice.” He looks at me. “And I’ll bet it’s exactly to scale.” His lips lift a micron higher. “Taking perspective into account, of course.”

  “Do you draw?”

  Marek shrugs. “Engineering diagrams. Conceptual stuff.” His eyes drop to the page and he flips it backward, revealing sketches of an alto saxophone with measurements of curvature.

  He scans the sheet at a leisurely pace while I gnaw on my lip until it starts to swell. He isn’t just studying the drawings; he’s working through the equations in the margins.

  A door latch clicks and I jump. God, why am I so nervous?

  Jeez, Brianna. Why do you think? Those pages contain the inner-workings of your brain. And let’s face it, you’d be more comfortable with this guy examining your butt in a string bikini, than the piece of you he’s checking out right now.

  “Hey, Mar, sorry to keep you waiting.” Idris’s voice precedes him down the hall from the labs.

  Marek’s shoulders snap back and he stands, fingers hooking the edge of the sketchbook and flipping it closed like he’s been caught ogling pornography. He hitches his backpack over a shoulder and greets his friend. “You ready to go, bro?”

  Idris waggles his eyebrows as he passes me. “Good to see you brainiacs talking.”

  I frown back, remembering how he abandoned Marek and me in public speaking club last week, like he was trying to push us together.

  Idris waves as he heads out the exit.

  Marek pauses before following. “You’ve got an amazing eye for perspective, Brianna. Hope I get the chance to see more of your work.” He gives me a parting nod and trails his friend.

  As the door swings shut, my mouth falls open.

  After five seconds of stunned silence, I facepalm my forehead.

  I should’ve asked him about partnering with me in physics.

  2

  Marek

  Idris collapses into the passenger seat of my Toyota with a loaded sigh.

  We’ve just dropped off recording equipment at the Thorny Rose, an old station-house wine bar on the industrial side of town. Mom’s a real estate agent and picked the place up in a quick sale last summer. She said we could use the basement to practice, which is cool. I figured Idris would be more excited.

  I glance over and notice my friend’s peculiar color. “Hey, bro, your face is kinda green. You feeling okay?” Getting sick a few days before Christmas would seriously suck.

  Another sigh bursts out of him. “Rebecca won’t be home for Christmas. Her folks are going to NYC instead.”

  My eyes widen. “That seriously blows.” I clap him on the shoulder. “You’ll live though. Maybe the writing’s on the wall.” Things haven’t seemed right between him and Rebecca since she took off for the city.

  Idris stares at me, denial scrawled all over his toad-colored features. He had better not throw up in my car.

  I reach for the ignition, eager to get him home. The Toyota rattles and roars to life. One of these days, the muffler’s gonna drop off, but I figure I can squeeze another winter out of the thing.

  Idris crosses his arms. “So what about you and Brianna?”

  Seriously? He can toss the ball back, but that isn’t going to change reality. I clench the steering wheel. “What do you mean what about us?” I give him a dark look. “There is no us.”

  My best friend smirks. “But there could be. I saw her looking you over in band yesterday.”

  “She wasn’t looking me over. She was checking out the drum kit.”

  He laughs. “Bet that wasn’t the only kit she was checking out.”

  I’m not so sure. I threw away my opportunity freshman year. I’d been into Brianna in a big way. Nothing could beat that amazing hair, the way its perfect coils framed her face, and her eyes… Soulful.

  I should’ve talked to her myself, not wimped out and let Idris do it. Her response wasn’t exactly a surprise. So much for risk avoidance tactics. Her rejection still crushed me.

  When I saw her in music lab today, it was near impossible not to lose myself in the velvety depths of her gaze, which suggests my heart is still very much tied to the track.

  Idris throws me a sideways glance. “You want me to say something—”

  “No,” I growl as I pull out of the parking lot.

  The definition of insanity: Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

  “I’ll handle it.” What am I saying? Like there’s anything to be handled.

  I cover a sigh. There should be, but Jacob Flinn’s not dead and buried. Yet.

  Officially, he and Brianna are dating, but something is equally wrong in that relationship as it is in Idris and Rebecca’s.

  “Maybe you could ask her for drum lessons,” he suggests.

  “Say what?” I stare at him, then switch my eyes back to the road.

  Idris tugs at his jaw. “Have you heard her playing the steel drums?”

  I tuck my chin. “No. When did you?”

  “Years ago. When I was seven or eight. We were at a neighborhood barbecue. Her older brother had a set of pans. Brianna stole his sticks and played. Amazing. I was thinking about asking her to teach me the basics.”

  “Id, you don’t need lessons to play an instrument. I’ll bet you were born strumming your umbilical cord.”

  He laughs. “So whatcha gonna do about Jac Flinn?”

  I pull up at a stop sign and look over. Idris’s color is definitely off. “I’ve told you before, the guy’s a walking black hole.”

  My friend’s brow twitches. “As in everyone is sucked toward his magnetic personality?”

  “No, as in there’s nothing there. At least as far as Brianna’s concerned. They have zero in common.”

  Idris cocks his head. “But they’re still official.”

  “Maybe, but those two never made sense. Flinn hasn’t a musical bone in his body, and he’s big on sports and politics. Brianna’s gotta be bored out of her mind around that guy.”

  My best friend smirks. “Maybe he has a few talents we don’t know about.”

  “Enough, Id,” I growl.

  “Okay, okay… Look I’m with you, man. But I overheard Ryan saying Jac’s headed out of town over Christmas break.”

  I frown. “So what if he is? Brianna’s not gonna play the field.”

  Idris shrugs. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get to know her better.”

  He cannot be serious, but he’s grinning like he is.

  “I also know,” he adds, “that Jac has his hopes set on an Ivy League school and Brianna’s looking at colleges out west. I tell you, they’re as good as done.”

  I glance at him darkly. “How do you figure all this stuff out?”

  He tips his pond-colored face to one side. “By talking to people, Mar. You should give it a try sometime. Maybe starting with Brianna.”

  3

  Brianna

  “Moneypenny,” I call down the echoey hallway of our two-story colonial, zippering my silver-gray ski jacket while scanning the coat closet for my winter hat.

  No sign, but I notice a pretty red-knit cap and pull it from the shelf. I press the garment to my cheek and luxuriate over its softness, then sigh. Red is Mo
m’s color, not mine.

  I toss the hat back and spot my gray polar fleece poking from the pile of outerwear. Hat on, I grab the retractable dog leash off its hook and step into the hall. “Monnnneypennnny!”

  Claws and paws speed across hardwood and skitter down the stairs. Miss Moneypenny rounds the corner from the foyer and barrels toward me, a mass of tight brown curls and long standard poodle legs that have as much coordination as Bambi’s on an ice rink.

  I brace myself for the doggie love coming as her front paws land on my chest. With a quick head turn, I mostly avoid a face lashing from her wet tongue and push her back to the floor.

  Hurried footsteps clack along the hall as I snap the leash on. Mom strides toward us in heels and a pink sweater, her arms overflowing with bed linens. She throws Moneypenny a disapproving look.

  Dad picked her up from the pound three years ago. He thought I’d need company with Deya leaving for college. My sister’s departure was a relief; Moneypenny, on the other hand, was a true gift. I fell in love with the pup the second I saw her.

  I tug my chocolate-colored best friend to one side as Mom passes en route to the laundry.

  “Deya’s room is done.” Her voice is a mix of anxiousness and excitement as she dumps the dirty sheets. She glances out the window at the gray sky. “I hope it doesn’t start snowing before she gets here.” Mom glances at her watch. “She’s due in around lunchtime, so I’ll head to the store while I can.”

  I nod silently as she pulls on her black wool coat, then grabs her purse and keys off the hall table, and hurries out the garage door.

  It has been two and a half years since I last saw my sister. She moved to New York City to study music. Once there, she settled into city life, landed a boyfriend and decided it was impossible to leave the Big Apple.

  Then “everything” fell apart—meaning her boyfriend hit the road—and Deya announced she’d be home for Christmas.

  Mom hasn’t stopped going on about it since, all the preparations, extra shopping, extra work. As if it’s “so stressful” and “such a chore,” when we all know Mom’s loving every second of the buildup to the holidays.