The Space In Between Page 2

  He’s what most would consider average, but for this girl judging by my reaction to him, is anything but.

  Which with the electrical like current that spread from my fingers up my arm the second he made contact with my hand, was well worth the residual pain I’m feeling.

  Also worth my second scowl of the day as I fly through the door that houses the school paper just in time to see everyone else leaving.

  “Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Emery.”

  Jordan Meyers.

  Editor of the paper, yearbook coordinator and general pain in my ass. I could have been fifteen minutes early and still earned the same scowl. If I wasn’t so passionate about taking pictures, I’d have no qualms telling him right where to shove his attitude.

  This is good practice for the real world. I remind myself as I plaster the world’s fakest smile on my face.

  “Sorry. Minor accident on the way in.”

  Flicking his hand, as if my reason for being late is too pedestrian for his ears, he motions to the board in front of us, which as I turn and take it in, I see has our assignments for the week listed in alphabetical order of our names.

  Mine being the same as last year.

  Comprising shots of all the new students.

  It’s beyond me why he insists on doing this, the last two years it driving me absolutely nuts having to track everyone down, but I can’t ignore the jolt of jubilation I get realizing I’ve got another collision with the new guy—Christian—in my future.

  Can’t go wrong with a do over.

  “End of the day again or are you letting me have the week?”

  “The week, but I’d rather you get it to me before deadline this year.”

  “Done. Is that it?”

  With a shake of his head, he turns his back to me and I take it as my moment of salvation. I’d rather not spend any more time with Jordan than I have to, and something tells me the feeling is mutual.

  Sliding my bag over my shoulder, I head out, stopping once I’m completely free and turning toward the direction of the office, but not before focusing my attention on my bag and the combination lock waiting to get up close and personal with my locker.

  Content once I’ve got it in my hands, swinging it around my finger a few times for good measure, I pick up where I left off and start off toward the office to grab my schedule—a second copy since I lost the one that was mailed—and not paying attention, walk straight into what feels like the hardest brick wall ever.

  “Really? Again?” the voice chastises himself. “Knocking a girl off her bike was supposed to be the end of this.”

  “A sentiment said girl agrees with.”

  “You’re kidding me.” He says as the shock of our collision wears off and he realizes exactly who it is he smacked straight into.

  “Afraid not, buttercup. Looks like we’re gonna have to strap a bell and hazard sign on you.”

  “No kidding.”

  Mesmerized as he begins to rock back and forth on his feet, obviously uncomfortable, I make my way around and focus my attention back on the task at hand. No sense making this more embarrassing than it has to be.

  “Uh, before you go, you think you can help me with something?”

  Turning back, I nod before moving in closer as the paper comes out in front of him.

  “This place is a maze. I need to find English with Mr. Baylor, but I’ve walked the entire floor already and can’t seem to find his room.”

  Laughing despite myself, remembering the way things were when I started here freshman year and didn’t realize that they numbered the portables outside with actual class numbers, I motion down the hall.

  “You can’t find it because it’s not inside.”

  “Oh…”

  “Yeah. It’s in the portables outside.” I offer up, but before he can turn and walk in the direction of the side door that will take him where he needs to be, I remember one very important tidbit about my schedule. “But if you hang back and wait while I grab another copy of my schedule, we can be late together, since I’m pretty sure I’ve nailed him first period too.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  I’m so not used to this. I’ve been going to Greenville for four years and not once in that time have I met someone as polite as Christian. Adults, sure. I mean they do their best to be polite, but the kids, no way.

  I should know. Half the time I’m one of them.

  “Two minutes tops.”

  Heading through the door and slipping around the three or four students that are just like me, I lean over once I’m at the counter and smile at the secretary.

  “Ms. Carmichael. A pleasure as always.” Mrs. Dawes drawls sarcastically. “In trouble already?”

  “Nope, but if I don’t get a print out of my schedule so I can make it to all my classes, you might be seeing me again real soon.”

  Here’s the thing. I’m not a troublemaker. I’m kind of a loner. Sticking to myself, content to have it be just me and my camera or my best friend Johnny, but I forget a lot. I space out, lose things, walk into people—which with the way I’ve done it twice already today with the new guy—really isn’t a surprise, and a lot of the time that lands me here.

  Being that way, though, it also makes you late, which is what her trouble question is about. I spend a lot of time in the principal’s office explaining myself so they don’t get my mom involved.

  She’s got enough on her plate, having to work long hours to keep us afloat. The last thing I want her doing is coming here and dealing with her scatterbrain daughter. She might be aware of my head always being someplace else, but I don’t need to shove it down her throat.

  “Here you go. Now hurry up. Class is starting.”

  Grabbing the paper from the cranky woman’s hands, I slip my way past everyone again and make my way out into the hall, half expecting when I do for Christian to have hitched his cart to someone else’s wagon and headed off to class.

  Definitely not standing right where I left him and having his eyes soften and his lips raise in a smile the second he sees me.

  He really needs to stop doing that.

  “Ready?” I ask and he nods, keeping pace with me as I start power walking down the hall toward the exit closest to the portables.

  As we step through the door, out of the corner of my eye I see him stop and sliding his hand into his jacket, pulling the same folded up piece of paper from his pocket before catching up to me.

  “What are your other classes?”

  “Geography after English. Phys. Ed and Music after lunch.”

  Looking down at my own schedule, I see that other than Gym class, our schedules are identical. Fantastic. With the way we keep meeting up today, I don’t know whether to curse or thank whatever gods put this in motion.

  “Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.” I admit, forcing what feels like the most uncomfortable laugh ever to escape.

  “There are worse things.” He says, his utterance quieter than before, his lips tightening once he’s said it, giving away the fact that the words weren’t meant for me to hear.

  In an attempt to change the subject, and maybe chip away at the heat that seems to be rising in my cheeks, I inquire about my second favorite part of school.

  Lunch.

  “Bag or buy?”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you bag lunching it today or did the dude in the cruiser give you money?”

  “Uh, bagging it I guess. Why?”

  “Just wondered.”

  Silence surrounding the rest of the short walk to the portable, I open the door, ready to head in, hoping to end up with a good seat, when he reaches forward and stops me with a brush of his hand against mine.

  “Why’d you really ask?”

  Faking an exasperated sigh, even though part of me had been hoping he’d ask, I give him the real reason.

  “I just figured since we’re already going to be shacking up most of the day, we might as well make
it official for lunch too.”

  Now I could stick around and wait for his response, but with the door open and the teacher giving the eye to both of us, I do things differently. Stepping away and making my way to the far side of the room, making sure to shrug as I pass Mr. Baylor, I point back to Christian as I do.

  Showing the new kid around has got to be a good excuse for being late.

  I really don’t want to make my words in the office true and have to go back.

  Slipping into my seat and bending over to my bag, putting what looks like all of my attention into bringing out my binder and pencil case, I lift my gaze up just long enough to catch Christian walking to an empty seat in the back, but not before his eyes meet mine and catching the smirk he gives me before his lips part and he mouths his answer.

  It’s a date.

  Chapter Two

  Christian

  When I was a kid and my parents would do the rounds of taking me to see both sets of grandparents, I used to make a point of sitting outside with my dad’s dad, and he’d give me lessons on life while we sipped Grandma’s ice cold lemonade.

  Every few months there was a new lesson, but no one as important as the last one he gave me before we picked up and moved to the city.

  “Pay attention to the signs, boy.” He’d said. “They might not make a lick of sense in the moment, but they’re sure to mean everything when the time’s right.”

  I never gave it a whole lot of thought before, but with the way things have been happening since I got here today, I’m pretty sure I’m seeing the point now.

  Not paying attention and almost getting run over by a bike could have easily been chalked up to a random occurrence, maybe even the hallway incident too, but sitting here in music class, watching Emery with an acoustic guitar in her hands as her fingers move delicately over the strings as she plays, it’s completely out of the realm of random.

  This has got to be a sign.

  Emery is a sign for something, and while I’ve got no idea what it could possibly be, with the amount of time I’ve spent with her today, it’s hard to see it any other way.

  Sign of new friendship maybe? Or maybe it’s a sign that living here won’t be as bad as I thought when my dad dropped it on me?

  Whatever it is, watching her play, taking in the way her eyes seem to dance as she focuses on her finger movements before they close and seem to get lost in the sound from various instruments playing around her, I wish it would make itself apparent already.

  “Hey new kid.”

  Turning in the direction of the voice, I’m looking up into the face of a giant, or at least one that appears that way with the way he towers over me.

  Great. I can’t imagine this is going to be good.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yorke wants to know what instrument you play.” Looking past me until his eyes land on Emery, he smirks before focusing his attention back. “But I see why you didn’t hear him.”

  “It’s not like that.” I try and deflect, my voice steady despite the embarrassment I feel at being caught staring.

  “Sure it’s not. Look, if you wanna make it through this class with a passing grade, you might wanna answer Yorke back when he’s talking to you. Also, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to be more subtle about that other stuff too.”

  Other stuff.

  Yep. He definitely caught me starting at Emery.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I was the new kid once. Figure you could do with some wisdom.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Name’s Jonah.”

  “Christian.” I give up easily, and looking at Emery with a smile, he turns and slaps me on the back as he starts walking away, motioning to the teacher as he goes.

  “Better tell him what you play or he’ll put you on the piccolo.”

  Chancing a final look over to where Emery is playing, hoping that with as loud as Jonah had been talking, she hadn’t heard, I’m met with the coolness of her brown eyes as they stare back at me. The ‘I caught you’ smirk on her face all the answer I need.

  Turning away quickly and keeping my head down to hide what I’m sure is the blood red shade of utter embarrassment now plastered all over my face, I make my way over to the teacher and force myself to smile as I make eye contact.

  “Christian Cayne. Transfer from Port Hope. Played the bass guitar in his own band, the trombone in music class, and has chosen his senior year to move here and grace us with his musical presence.”

  How the guy knows that much about me, I’ve got no clue, but smiling weakly, I play along.

  “That’s me, except for the last part.”

  “So will you be playing the trombone for us here or would you rather take a chance on another instrument?”

  “What else is there?”

  “I’m sure you can see by looking that this isn’t your average music class. In here, as long as we have the instruments, anything goes. So pick your poison as they say, Mr. Cayne, but do it quickly. Music waits for no man.”

  Eyeing the room as he walks away, I see exactly what I’m looking for in the far right corner of the room. It looks a little worn, the strings definitely in need of replacement, but standing out all the same.

  Bass Guitar.

  A few months after my mom died, my dad went out and bought me a bass for my birthday. Despite my loathing of it at first, anything that required more than the bare minimum of effort not really being my speed, I eventually picked it up and began teaching myself. It had taken another year after that for me to sound any good, but by that time, I’d been so in love, I didn’t even care. Covering songs, screwing around and coming up with songs of my own, it became my brand of therapy.

  A therapy I thought I would have to give up when dad said we were moving, but one that’s now standing only a few feet away from me, waiting for me to pick it up and begin where I left off.

  Making my way across the room toward it, reaching out slowly and running my fingers over it before pulling it down and bringing the strap down and over my body, I feel it again.

  The words from my grandpa.

  This guitar. It’s a sign.

  Sensing movement behind me just as the warm gush of heat finds its way across my ear and down over my neck, making the fine hairs stand at attention, I smile. “See, I knew having lunch together would pay off.”

  “You told Yorke I played bass?”

  “Well, yeah. If I didn’t, I’m pretty sure he’d have stuck you in the back corner and forced you to play triangle.”

  “I heard it was the piccolo.”

  “Nah. He only does that when he really wants to torture someone.”

  “And the triangle isn’t torture?” I ask. “Seems pretty torturous to me.”

  “Depends on how you look at it I guess. Playing the triangle freshman year, I happen to think it’s the less torturous of the two.”

  “You’re kidding. He made you play it?”

  Nodding, she smiles as she turns and points across to the girl now in possession of the very instrument we’re talking about.

  “I wasn’t good with anything else, and at the time it was all brass instruments, so triangle saved my life. But when I came back a year later, everything was different. Yorke may come across like a tool, but he’s a pretty awesome one once you get to know him.”

  Her depiction of our teacher, I want to argue it since he came across a little staunch before, but the ease at which she held and played the guitar, almost as though she had a deep respect for it, overrides it all. How she got from not being able to play anything to sounding that good while just strumming a few bars of a song, I need to know more.

  “I was watching you.” I admit and despite trying not to, my cheeks begin to overheat with the admission. “You play really well.”

  “I know you were. Jonah isn’t exactly the quietest guy, but even if he was, I can feel when people are watching. I didn’t always play well, though. Yorke saw something in m
e a couple of years ago and well, here we are.”

  “Here we are.” I repeat, unsure of what to say now that again I seem to have stuck my foot in my mouth where this girl is concerned.

  “Can I ask you something, Mikey?”

  “Sure.”

  “You play music, obviously. You talked about it at lunch, but do you write it as well?”

  “No. I’m good at reading it, but not so great at composing. Why?”

  Before she has the chance to answer back, Mr. Yorke makes his way to the front of the room and claps three times in succession, at which point all of the chatter and music tuning that had been going on comes to a halt and all eyes are directly on him.

  Following suit, I watch as he steps forward and announces what the first assignment of the week will be. Making Emery’s question make all the sense in the world.

  “Take a look around you. For the next five months, the people in this room will become as close to you as family. You will work with them, get to know them and create with them. And to begin that journey, I ask you to look to your left, or for those of you with no one to your left, the right. For the next week this will be your musical partner in crime. Between the two of you and your chosen instruments, you will compose a piece to present to the rest of the class. I don’t care what your relationship to this person is outside of the classroom, but when you are here, you will put the music first. Now, enough with the time wasting. Let’s get started.”

  “You knew he was going to do that, didn’t you?”

  “Sometimes it pays to be a teacher’s pet, Mikey.” She winks. “So how do you want to do this? I write and you play? Or we write together?”

  The easy way is to ask her to do the writing, but there’s something about the drawn out way she says together that makes me not want to take the lesser road.

  If we’re going to do this, and I’ve got to do it with her, I definitely want to do it as a team.

  “Let’s make beautiful music together, Emery Carmichael.”

  Emery

  This is how a typical lunch goes.

  I store all my crap in my locker and head outside. I’m not entirely sure why it is I’m always outside, but if there’s a choice between taking pictures of the depressing sight that is a high school hallway, and the beauty that is the world outside, it’s always going to be nature for me.