My mood immediately shifted from pleased to irritated. I'd practiced "The Faerie Girl's Lament"
for months--I had
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arranged it with so many impossible embellishments and chord changes that even the most cynical of harpists would be awed. I didn't think I could take the designation "safe," even from the enigmatic Luke Dillon.
"Any less safe and it'd be impossible," I managed to say evenly. I get my temper from Mom; like her, though, I never show it. I just get frostier and frostier until I freeze the person out entirely. I think Luke's comment sent me to somewhere between "pretty damn cold" and "frostbite warning."
Luke gave me an odd little smile. "Don't be angry, pretty girl. I just mean that you could really write a nice little interlude in there that was all yours. Improvise a bit--be spontaneous. Make something happen. You've got the talent for that; you just aren't trying."
It took me a moment to get past his flirting to realize what he was trying to say. "I've written some tunes," I said. "But it takes me a while to do it. Weeks. Days, anyway. I guess I could see where I could put something in there."
He slid closer on the table and lifted his flute up. "Not what I meant. Write something now."
"I couldn't. It would be slop."
Luke looked away. "Everyone says that."
I sort of had a strange sense then that a lot rode on that moment, on whether I gave up or tried. I just wasn't sure what. I just knew I didn't want to disappoint him. "Then play it with me. Help me think of something. I'll try."
He didn't look back at me, but he lifted his flute and played the opening notes. I joined in with my harp half a measure later, and together we played. The first time through, 17
my fingers automatically found the notes, as I had trained them to for months. Just like I'd automatically followed along with Luke and all his strangeness for the last half hour, taking the script as it was written for me.
But the second time through, my fingers plucked out a little variation. Not just a few notes, either. It was something more--a decision to take control and make the tune my own. For once, I was calling the tune and it felt amazing. No regrets. No second-guessing.
By the third time through, Luke dropped out after the first verse and I coaxed eight measures of something brand new from the harp.
Luke smiled.
"Gloating is very rude," I told him. "Very," he agreed.
I bit my lip, thinking. Now I was in completely unfamiliar territory and I didn't know any of the rules. "If-- what if--would you play with me this afternoon? If I switch my name over from solo to duet?"
"Yes."
"I'll go do it now." I started to rise, but he reached out and caught my arm.
"They already know," he said softly. "Would you like to practice some more?"
Apparently, I wasn't in control. Frozen by his words, I slowly sank back down, looking at him with a puzzled expression. Something in me prickled with either a warning or a promise. I had a choice--the power to decide which one it was. In a safe world, it would have been a warning.
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I nodded firmly. "Yeah. Let's practice." "Dee--there you are."
Distracted, I turned to find James standing behind me. It took me a moment to remember the last time I'd spoken to him. "I threw up."
Luke said, "Nice kilt."
James looked hard at him. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
"Parking lot," Luke said mildly. "Of the music store."
It was peculiarly difficult to imagine Luke someplace else, someplace ordinary, but James seemed to believe him. "Oh--right. What happened to that fiddler you were playing with?"
"He had to go home."
I had the curious sensation both were leaving things unsaid. I resolved to ask James about it later.
"Are you playing soon?" I asked.
"They've just finished up the a cappella or whatever it's called and they're starting the duets now.
Jason Byler--you remember him--and I decided to do the pipes with his electric guitar, just to see if we can get a rise out of the crowd. So yeah, soon. I'm going to head inside and find him. I'll listen for your name, though." James was still staring at Luke as if he were some sort of rare plant specimen.
"Good luck," Luke said.
"Yeah. Thanks." He held out his hand, brushing my fingers with his. "Later, Dee."
After he had gone, Luke said, "He likes being different." I agreed.
"Unlike you," he added.
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I frowned. "That's not true. I like being different. But somehow everything that makes people outside of high school notice me makes me invisible inside the school." I shrugged. "James is my only real friend." Immediately I thought I'd said too much, that I'd go invisible to him as well.
But he merely rubbed his flute absently before looking at me. "Their loss."
"Deirdre Monaghan. Luke Dellom."
I jerked at the sound of my name over the loudspeaker.
"Easy now," Luke said. "We don't need you passing out. They'll wait." He got up and shouldered my harp, offering me his flute case again. Then he held the door open for me. "After you, my queen." I closed my eyes briefly as the door shut behind us, waiting for nerves to slam me again.
"Do you know how some people can do anything?"
I opened my eyes. I realized he was waiting for me to lead the way to the auditorium, so I started walking up the stairs. "What do you mean?"
As we got closer to the auditorium, there were more students waiting in the halls, all talking noisily, but I heard Luke's voice behind me without difficulty. "I mean, you tell them to write a tune, they give you a symphony right there. You tell them to write a book, they write you a novel in a day. You tell them to move
