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CHAPTER SEVEN

I thought for sure Lara would spill the beans and Zander would be pounding on my door demanding to know who Leo is, but I haven’t heard even the slightest whisper about it.

I also thought that now that Leo had my number, he would be texting me every chance he got to nag me about my clairsentience, but that hasn’t happened either.

It’s not until Monday that I hear from him, via text.

Leo: Antony and Cleopatra?

Me: Would you PLEASE stop!

Leo: Just trying to be helpful.

Me: Don’t you have work to do? How’s Scarlet Letter coming along?

Leo: I have mixed feelings about Dimmesdale.

Me: What can you possibly say in his favor?

Leo: I kind of feel bad for the guy. He’s just trying to do his duty to his flock.

I almost reply, then he should’ve kept it in his pants , but I stop myself. Knowing Leo, he’s probably never heard the expression, and I sure as hell don’t want to have to explain it to him.

Me: (being gracious) He was definitely suffering from cognitive dissonance .

Leo: He should have run away with Hester and Pearl.

Me: Yeah, and get eaten by a bear.

I’ve been hoping for another invitation to hang out with him and Avery and Aaron, but by the time Friday arrives, one still hasn’t come.

I suppose I’ve already fallen off their radar, which sucks because I had a surprisingly good time in their company.

Whatever. There’s no easy way to get out of spending the weekend at O-Chi, anyway.

For kicks, while Zander and I lie in bed Sunday morning, I ask him if he knows who Napoleon is.

“Yeah, he was that short French guy who wanted to take over the world. Why?”

“No reason.” I distract him with a kiss while guilt turns my cheeks a flaming red. Zander might have a surfer dude demeanor, but he’s not stupid. It’s unfair of me to underestimate him just because he isn’t studious like Leo.

I have to wait almost another whole week until my longed-for invitation finally comes.

It’s late Thursday afternoon, and I’m rushing to annotate my philosophy chapter in order to be free tonight to work with Liv on our Rush applications.

We have to assemble what amounts to a full dossier: letters of recommendation, CV and transcript, photos, and—horror of horrors—two essays.

Liv is an environmental science major and almost never has to write long papers, so whenever she gets a writing assignment, she goes into a panic.

Just as I shut my philosophy book and toss my highlighter into my backpack, my phone buzzes at my knee. It’s a message from Leo: Aaron has something he wants to show us. Are you free tonight?

Aaron has something he wants to show me ? Maybe they consider me part of their little circle after all.

Me: What does he want to show us?

Leo: He wouldn’t tell me.

Me: Very mysterious. There’s no way my curiosity is going to let me turn down this invite. What time ?

Leo: Six?

That’s fairly early. I could go check out whatever it is Aaron wants us to see and still have plenty of evening left to work with Liv.

Me: Where?

Leo: I’ll meet you outside Newberry.

Good. If we meet outside, it saves me from having to explain him to Liv.

After dinner, I tell her I have to meet with someone from my children’s literature class, but only for about an hour.

I point to the Rush application on her laptop screen. “In the meantime, fill out all the straightforward stuff. Then make an outline for your first essay.”

She drops her head back and groans like a five-year-old. “An outline?”

“Yes,” I laugh as I zip up my jacket. “I don’t care if it’s bullet points. Just jot down some ideas and try to put them in a logical order.”

She arches a brow. “How long have you known me?”

“Only about a year.”

“That’s long enough to know I don’t do logical.”

I give her my sternest mom face. “Turn around, quit your fussing, and do it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“See ya in a bit.” I blow her a kiss before I shut the door behind me.

Leo shows up right on time and informs me we’re going to meet Aaron at Blakely Hall, the music building. Luckily, he knows where it is, because I don’t. I have no reason to take a music course, and I don’t have any friends who are music majors.

Unless I can count Aaron .

I wonder aloud as I walk alongside Leo, “Is he going to play something for us?”

“That’s my guess.”

“What instrument does he play?”

Leo laughs. “You mean what instrument doesn’t he play.”

“Oh, one of those, is he?” I knew a girl in high school who could play any musical instrument you put in front of her. And she could play any song by ear, too. All you had to do was hum the tune.

“He does a lot with synthesizers and the computer. Composes too.”

“Ah,” I murmur. “So that’s where the computer science double major comes in.”

When we get to Blakely, Avery is already there, sitting with Aaron on the stone wall that frames the steps.

She hops down and adjusts her long black skirt. “Took you two long enough.”

Aaron grins at me. “Hey, Betts.”

“Hey Aaron.” I offer him a little wave. “Thanks for inviting me.”

He card-swipes to open the building door, then leads us down a flight of stairs to the basement.

As we head down the hallway, I glance through the little windows in the doors.

In one room, a student is banging away at the piano.

A little further down, I see a long-haired guy strumming a guitar.

And yet another window reveals a girl playing the trumpet.

All this music and I can’t hear a note. That’s some serious sound-proofing.

Aaron unlocks a door over halfway down the hall and ushers us all in.

A laptop sits on a small table, its screensaver spinning psychedelic swirls.

Wires and cords run from the computer to a very expensive-looking keyboard, and behind it stands a battered, old wooden stool.

There’s only one other chair in the room, and Avery has claimed it.

But there’s enough space to lean against the wall next to Leo.

Aaron starts, “You guys are never going to believe this?—”

“Ha! Try us,” Avery says .

Aaron chuckles nervously. “Okay, well, see, here’s the thing…

this weekend, I had the craziest dream that I was DJing at some club, but I was playing music I’ve never heard before.

And when I woke up, I couldn’t get it out of my head.

So, I was like, okay, I’ll see if I can get it down in MuseScore.

And as soon as I started recording it, I heard it again.

Perfectly. Like the whole band was there in my head. ”

Avery’s eyes grow large. “You dreamed a musical composition?”

“Yeah.” Aaron looks both excited and bewildered.

Leo chimes in, “And that’s never happened to you before?”

“No. I dream about playing music all the time, but it’s always stuff I already know.”

I’m as flummoxed as Aaron is, but then I know nothing about music. Beethoven was pretty unhinged. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he’d dreamed his symphonies.

“Is this sort of thing unheard of?” Leo asks.

“No. There are some famous stories of it happening. Supposedly Paul McCartney wrote “Yesterday” in his sleep.”

My brain snaps into analysis mode. “But if those stories are famous, then that means it’s pretty rare.”

Leo adds, “And you said you heard it perfectly while you were awake, too.”

We all go quiet as we consider what this might mean.

Avery breaks the silence. “Well, let’s hear it.”

After giving us a thumbs-up, Aaron twiddles some knobs on the keyboard and hits a few keys on his laptop.

Next thing I know, I’m listening to some of the most mesmerizing, multi-layered music I’ve ever heard.

Aaron’s playing the keyboard, but the other instruments are all coming out of the speakers.

Their melody threads its way into me, tugging on all my most tender places.

Barely thinking, I reach for Leo’s hand.

Equally captivated, he clasps it and squeezes.

When Aaron lapses into a sort of trance, I realize I’m watching and listening to a genius at work. Amateurs don’t lose all touch with reality like this. I don’t know how long he plays—his composition could be five minutes, it could be twenty—but when he finishes, we all simply stare at him in awe.

“Holy shit, A,” Avery breathes. “You seriously dreamed that?”

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. I think he might’ve gotten a little misty. “Yeah,” he gulps out as he pushes the frames back up his nose.

“That was incredible,” I say. Maybe all his music is that spectacular, but judging from Avery’s expression, this composition is exceptional.

Leo strokes his chin as he thinks. “And it sounded exactly like that in your dream?”

“Yep. And when I was recalling it to write it down.”

“What do you usually do when you’re composing?” I ask.

Aaron drops back onto the stool. “Well, for starters, I’m usually awake.

But, yeah, usually I fiddle with my equipment, try things out, write a measure or two at a time.

” Suddenly, his shoulders slump and his eyes grow wide and sad.

“I guess it could’ve been someone else’s composition I was hearing. ”

Avery screws up her face. “In your sleep ?”

Leo asks him, “Have you ever ‘heard’ anyone in your sleep before?”

“No.” Aaron’s back straightens and a hopeful smile plays on his lips. “Never.”

I listen, not fully understanding the conversation. There have been plenty of times that I’ve been asleep, and the sounds and voices around me made it into my dreams. But that must not be what they’re talking about. My best guess? Aaron’s piece of music came from somewhere deep in his subconscious.

Avery hops up. “It’s cramped in here. Let’s go to the Bobcat and talk.”

As a mild claustrophobe, I have to agree with her about the size of the room. If Aaron’s music hadn’t transported me, I’d be climbing the walls .

On the short walk to the student center, I whisper to Leo. “He’s clairaudient, isn’t he?”

“So now you’re convinced?”

I purse my lips. “Maybe.”