Page 34 of Crescendo

Lydia

Clara and Dodge caught me, the two of them lurking outside the practice room like they were waiting to jump me. I was pretty sure they were too posh to jump someone—more the type to pay a goon to jump someone for them.

“You look stressed,” Clara laughed. “You all right?”

I picked idly at my cardigan. “Just trying to bat my way past the legions of fans. You know how it is.”

Clara gave me that smile she did when she knew I was bullshitting. I didn’t like it. “Things are sorted with Ella, then? She seems rather more cheerful.”

Dodge elbowed her with a low laugh. “ Sorted is one way to put it. You have to ask how Lydia’s been cheering her up?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Not everybody cheers up in quite the way you do, Dodge.”

I wasn’t exactly looking to get into the thick of it right now—how I’d been stressed from trying to figure out what the hell Ella and I were now.

When she’d played that song on Wednesday, it had changed something—in the air, in her, in me, between us.

I wasn’t even going to try pretending anymore that my feelings for Ella were just casual, and it wasn’t like I didn’t know she felt the same way about me.

She’d come to bed with me after we finally picked ourselves up off the floor that night, once we’d set Atlas the gnome lovingly in a place of honor on top of the piano—didn’t come to bed with me as in having sex, which would have been easier.

Instead, she came to bed with me to curl up in my arms, protesting weakly that she would have bad dreams sleeping alone, and she fell asleep soft and small and precious in my arms.

Soft and small and precious and vulnerable, and I knew more than she wanted me to.

I knew I should have just told her, should have sat down and admitted my friend had stalked her social media and found out what happened to her brother, but I was terrified of breaking this small, fragile thing that had blossomed into her music the way she’d played it that night.

But being close to her didn’t feel right when I was carrying this, and so I’d panicked, closing myself up, making sure to slip out of bed before her in the morning and be fully cleaned up, dressed, and presentable when she found me in the kitchen.

I’d read all about trauma responses and how it poisoned and weakened your body, and I hadn’t been expecting such a clear textbook example immediately after I closed the book and went home.

Ella was still recovering, even here a few days later, Friday evening after we’d turned in our composition assignments.

Still tired after the smallest bit of effort, still without a lot of motivation, still with this tender weakness about her like the last leaf on a tree in the fall, trembling like she could break and fall away at any minute.

So I’d done what I could, being there for her in all the ways I’d read about—finished the book and went through another one too, reading in the spare moments while Ella slept more than ten hours a night, and I had one hell of a chance to put it all instantly into practice.

I alternated between giving her companionable silence, being alone in the same room, parallel play and just doing our separate things in the same room, talking about nothing to distract her when her thoughts started to spiral, and of course, talking about music.

The moment she set out to play music, the small, wounded baby bird Ella disappeared, and I didn’t know who it was that came out in her place, but she was captivating.

The way she played —she only kept building on the way she’d played piano the other night, music that shook me to my core, and I accompanied her because I had no other choice.

I couldn’t hear her play and not be drawn in, couldn’t help myself from falling into the open spaces left by her music, a dance that needed two people.

All of the damn inspiration I’d known would be buried under her surface if I dug deep enough for it.

I just wasn’t prepared to be this conflicted about it.

Wasn’t prepared to develop feelings for her like this.

Especially not the way it happened when we played together and I wanted to scream and claw my skin off at the thought of saying goodbye to her at the end of this program, of saying goodbye to this magic between us.

So, yes, I was stressed. I was stressed trying to find a million little ways to introduce a sliver of distance between us, trying to keep myself from falling for her, trying to be a friend, a caregiver, instead of someone who desperately wanted to kiss her and hold her.

But that would have been a lot to tell Clara. So I just said, “We’ve been playing a lot of music together.”

“She did mention you’ve taken to accompanying her. You’re giving the poor girl impostor syndrome.”

“Have you heard her play? I should be the one with impostor syndrome.” I stepped closer to her as the halls crowded fuller—classes were getting out for the day, and with the weekend coming up now, everyone was chattering excitedly about their weekend plans, relief on everyone’s faces with the composition assignments done.

“Seriously,” I said, “it’s a little unfair.

I’m out here playing music my whole life and this girl just walks in and upstages me after a week. ”

“You sound devastated,” Clara said cheerfully.

“I am,” I responded cheerfully.

“You having dinner with her?” Dodge said. “Clara and I were going to this place in Chelsea for dinner together with Jackson, but he went and walked out on us. I’d invite you, but I’d hate to get between you and your bird.”

Ella was absolutely going to want to get dinner together, and as much as I didn’t want to leave her by herself, I wouldn’t survive a romantic Friday night dinner together with her, whether we went out or ate in.

I’d ask Bansi to invite her. He’d have about sixteen thousand stories to tell her and keep her brain busy.

“I’d love to join you,” I said. “Always love seeing where the poshies eat.”

Clara rolled her eyes, but Dodge rolled with it, grinning. “Oh, well, don’t you know, love, we’re going to Buckingham Palace, Fridays we dine with the King.”

“We’re not royals,” Clara laughed. “We eat regular meals from regular places.”

So she said, but when we got to the spot, a hipster kind of place—posh hipster, anyway—my eyes boggled a little seeing the menu prices, and that was coming from California.

Clara had assured me the meal was on her—owed Dodge one and I was just riding that benefit—but I still felt like I had to stick to an appetizer and a glass of water.

After we’d ordered, Clara folded her hands on the table, leaning towards me with eyes sparkling, and she said, “So then—how’d you avail yourself? First composition in the books. Any progress on that block of yours?”

“Absolutely not a bit.” Which was a little bit of a lie—I could play whenever I played alongside Ella, the music alive and vibrant like it was my first time discovering music all over again, but when I stepped away from that and tried to write anything down, suddenly I was pulling from a dry well.

It was the same in the practice sessions I’d had another couple of with Hannah, Dodge actually showing up the most recent time so the three of us could screw around on instruments together—it was fun, and the music was good, and it felt like there was something there, but any inspiration vanished like thin smoke as soon as I stepped away from it and set out to write something serious. “I phoned in the assignment this time.”

Clara rolled her eyes, looking at Dodge. “What do you suppose it sounds like, anyway? What Lydia considers phoning it in. ”

“Bit rubbish, probably,” he said. “I’ve heard she’s a washed-up has-been.”

Clara snorted. “Don’t turn into Eliza. One of her is more than enough. I guess you’d actually know, though, wouldn’t you?” she said, before she turned back to me. “What’s this thing you’ve been doing with Hannah and Dodge, anyway? He’s mentioned it but won’t go into too much detail.”

“Ah…” Guess it made sense Dodge had loose lips. He seemed like the kind of guy who didn’t take anything too seriously, secrets included. “Just a bit of practice together. Trying to explore some new kinds of sound.”

“One hell of a crew,” she said. “I can hardly imagine you inviting either of them to a room, let alone both.”

“Hannah’s kind of cool, actually,” I said. “She and Eliza have something weird going on, but Hannah plays well.”

Dodge grinned. “Don’t want to give her too much credit, but I guess she’s not the worst.”

“Hm.” Clara raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of us. “What, then, you starting a rock band?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I said flatly. “I’ve decided to quit being a composer and become a rockstar together with the lackey of the girl who’s harassing me because she has a crush on me, and your dodgy friend. I’m thinking it’ll really take off.”

“Let me know when you’re touring,” Clara said lightly. “I need to show off my backstage VIP privileges. Which of course I get.”

“It’s just a little experimentation. Doing something different helps get my mind out of the rut it’s in.”

“Ella doesn’t join you?” she said, and I hesitated.

“She… she doesn’t.”

Clara raised her eyebrows, a careful smile playing on her features.

With everyone being so damn indirect here, I was expecting something so veiled I’d have to spend the next six hours going Sherlock Holmes on the matter to decode it, but she went with the direct route.

“I rather like Ella, so if you’re cheating on her with Hannah, I don’t think I’ll be too happy with it. ”