Touching Melody (A Forever First Novel) by Rashelle Workman Page B

Professor Jenkins ends up giving Kyle piano one. I’m bummed, but I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter. Playing with Kyle at the Winter Gala means another year of college on a full ride. That’s the important part. Screw my pride.
    “Alright, you two. That’s a good start.” Professor Jenkins nods at each of us. “Plenty of practice. Let’s meet back here. Same time. Same place. One month from now. I expect great progress.” Then he stands , grabs his briefcase, and walks to the door. “I think the two of you make a great duo.” He leaves.
    I look at Kyle. He’s watching me and music fills the room. For a moment I wond er if it’s coming from my insides. Then I realize Kyle is playing. The same piece I heard him play before I entered the room.
    “I wrote this… ” he pauses, clears his throat, and looks away. “So, seven years? What’ve you been up to? Besides becoming an amazing pianist.” His brilliant blue eyes find mine. “Never would’ve guessed.” His eyes shift back to the piano keys. “I thought you wanted to be a doctor.”
    I can’t help the laugh that leaves my throat. Nor can I help my need to be closer to him. Without realizing what I’m doing, I move over to his piano. He scoots so I can sit beside him. My hands are in my lap. My heart is in my throat. So many questions, thoughts, worries, and desires. They fill me up so I can barely think.
    He glances over and smirks. “You’ve got a doctor’s hands.”
    I blush.
    Finally I find my voice. “I wanted to be a doctor up until I watched a video of a woman giving birth.” I can’t help the shudder that races along my spine. “After nearly passing out I realized it wasn’t my thing. Too much blood.” I shrug. “My aunt and uncle bought me a piano, and I began practicing a lot. I love it.”
    He nods his agreement. “I love it, too.”
    “Is music your major?” It feels so weird to be talking to him. Having a regular conversation, like the last seven years never happened. Except as soon as I think it, the past seven years rush back, and my stomach turns with grief.
    He doesn’t seem to notice the sudden agony coursing through my body. He says, “No, my father always wanted me to get a business major. Music is my minor. I couldn’t give it up.”
    His words send bile to my throat. His father. The same man who went into my house, shot and killed my parents, and then talked to me like I was nothing. My hands begin to shake. It’s hard to breathe. “Cool.” I swallow and blink several times. The room is tilting. Pain serrates my heart, and I want to scream. Quickly I stand. I won’t lose it in front of Kyle.
    Kyle grabs my hand. “Wait. ” He must see something of what I’m suffering because he asks, “Are you okay?”
    I don’t answer. I can’t. My teeth are like two sets of vises, holding back all the agony inside my body. If I open my mouth, everything—all the pain, the hate, the anger—will spill out. I pull from his grasp.
    In the past, if I were feeling this kind of agony, I would run to a piano room, not away from it. But Kyle is here. And I can’t be near him any longer.
    I try to be polite and wave, but I can’t even look at him, see if he noticed. If I don’t get away I’m going to pass out, and I can’t do that in front of Kyle. I’ve done plenty to embarrass myself in front of him already.
    As I climb the steps I realize I forgot my music. 

17
    Maddie
    Embarrass Myself Again

     
    In my back pocket is my cell. I pull it out and dial a number I know by heart.
    A woman answers. Her name is Carrie. “Miss Abigail Brevins' office.”
    “Hi Carrie. It’s me. Maddie. Martin,” I finish, just to clarify. It suddenly dawns on me I have no idea how many people Abigail sees. People, like me, who can’t deal with the life they were dealt.
    “Oh, hi Maddie. Did you want to make an appointment? We haven’t seen you in a while. How’s college?” Carrie’s voice is mellow, full of comfort. The perfect