Page 18 of Echoes of a Silent Song

“What kind of music do you write?”He was probably another wannabe Paul Simon type.

“Choir music.”

I jerked back.Studied his face.Was he making fun of me?He didn’t seem to be teasing me, but I’d misread situations like this before.

“I don’t tell anyone because I don’t expect anyone to get it.I don’t expect anyone else—at least, not anyone here at school—to understand how it feels when music just wells up inside and there’s no way to get it down on paper.I don’t think most other people understand sitting at the piano for hours, plunking note after note until I finally get the combination that’s been swimming around in my head.I don’t think anyone else knows what it feels like to put pencil to paper and write it down and try to play it and realize that it’s finally exactly what you wanted it to be, and that sense of satisfaction that something you created—something youcomposed—is out there in the world.I’ve never met anyone else who understands that.Until today.”

He tilted his head and met my gaze.His eyes were a mesmerizing mix of green and brown.“I’ve never met another composer before, Iris.”

I’d never liked my name.Not really.I didn’t know why my parents picked it.There was nothing special about an iris.It was just a floppy purple flower that only bloomed a few weeks a year.

But when Victor said my name, it sounded like music.

It was too much.I had to look away.“I don’t know that I’d call myself a composer.”

“You write music, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not Bach or Beethoven.Or even Paul Simon.”

“You like Paul Simon?”A grin shone through in his voice.“Because IlovePaul Simon.”

“Yeah.”I smiled.I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to.“I do.”“Well, groovy, then.”

My insides did that strange thing again.

“But don’t sell yourself short, Iris.From what I saw, I’d say you’re a pretty good composer yourself.”

I studied my desk, the staff paper fuzzy through my lashes.“Thanks.”

“Hey.”Victor cleared his throat.“I might be doing this all wrong, because I’ve never done it before ...”

I looked up.“Done what?”

“Asked a girl to join me at Sammy’s after school for a soda.”Hope shimmered in his eyes.

A soda.At Sammy’s.“I’ve ...never been invited to Sammy’s after school before ...so I guess there’s no way for me to know whether you did it wrong or not.”

Victor chuckled.“Yeah, guess not.”

An awkward pause.He blinked at me.Oh.Wait.I never actually answered his question.

“Oh.I mean, yeah.Yeah, I’ll go with you.”I blushed again.“I guess neither one of us is very good at this.”

“Then we can figure it out together.”He stood and tapped my desk with his fingertips.“Meet you right here after the last bell, then?”

“Sure.Yeah.The last bell.”

“See ya then.”And he walked off to his own desk.

My head spun, my heart pounded.What had just happened?Had I just been asked out on a date?

I’d never been on a date before.But I’d never met another composer before either.

More notes swelled in my heart, and I picked up my pencil and put it back to the page with a smile on my face.

Today seemed like a wonderful day for new beginnings.

Chapter Eight