Page 15 of Counterpoint and Harmony

Chapter Eleven

Calando:falling away or lowering, getting slower as well as quieter

Damian

I walk slowly back to the music building, my hands in my pockets, my long-sleeved shirt not warm enough against the wind at night. But I couldn’t handle being in that car for another minute, stewing in the silence while Charlie refused to even look at me. Gabby kept shooting me concerned looks in the rearview mirror, but I didn’t know what she wanted from me either.

Gabby and I were friends, or at least acquaintances, but she feels like a stranger now, off living a life I can’t even imagine.

Charlie too.

In some ways, she seems the same. Her voice, her eyes, her lips, her crooked, self-deprecating smile.

But she’s also Charlotte James. The Princess of Pop. Subject of media gossip and speculation.

Even if I wanted to believe her when she says she was never pretending—which, honestly, I kind of do—but even if that were true, we’re still doomed. How could anything between us ever work? I’m here for another year and a half, and she’s off … doing whatever it is that she does. I don’t even really know. She’s been keeping a low profile, for the most part. Even though headlines about her pop up every other day, most of them are speculation, not actual reporting.

No one really knows what she’s up to.

I suppose I could’ve found out, but …

I kick a rock off the sidewalk, hard, irritated with myself.

I’m too wrapped up in my own bullshit to even ask the most basic questions. And I accused her of being too busy to keep up with news of me.

I’m such an ass.

When I get back to the music building, most everyone is gone. Lauren and her parents are finishing cleaning up the remains of the reception with Glenda’s help. They all look up when I walk into the lobby.

“Hey, Damian.” Lauren’s voice is warm. “Missed my recital, huh?”

I shake my head and clear my throat. “No. I was here.” I pull the program out of my back pocket and hold it up. “See?”

She frowns, placing the stack of plates in her hand into a reusable grocery bag. Taking two steps toward me, her skirt swishing, she glances out the door into the night then back at me. Her eyes widen. “Did you see …?” She trails off and glances around, but the unspoken end to her question is clear.

I nod once. “Yeah.”

“Did you talk to her?” She lowers her voice and steps closer.

“Yeah. I went with them. In the car. We just drove around and … talked.” For lack of a better word. Although not much of any significance was said. It still feels momentous. Riding in the backseat of a car with Charlotte James.

My ex.

I almost grunt at the impact of those two little words. My roommates call her that. But I haven’t really thought of her that way. Until I was face to face with her tonight.

Lauren looks around, one hand fiddling with her earring, then she looks back at me. “Um, there’s still cake. If you want some.”

“No. Thanks. I’m good.” I don’t think I could eat anything right now. Anything I ingested would sit like a ball of lead in my stomach.

“Candy? Nuts? If you don’t eat them, we’ll just have to take them home.” This from Lauren’s mom.

I offer her what I hope is a smile. “No, thanks. I don’t need anything. I’m, um, I’m just going to go practice.”

As I start to turn away, Lauren’s hand grazes my arm. “If you need to talk …”

I shake my head. “Thanks, Lauren. I’m … I’ll be fine.” That’s what I’ve been telling myself for almost two months. Eventually it has to be true.

Right?

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