Kat jumps in. “It’s Wednesday, and Mom doesn’t cook on Wednesdays. Tae Kwon Do night.” She glances at me. “So you miss a little practice time. Who’s going to know?”
“Actually, I’m starving. Want to go and get something to eat?” he asks me. “I’ve got a couple of hours before I have to get back.”
Despite the fact that I know he’s only trying to be nice, the thought of spending a few hours alone with him makes my heart race. It’s like I’ve been handed another chance, and I’m determined to keep my mouth shut and not go on like an idiot. “I’d like that,” I say, trying not to sound too grateful.
We leave Kat at her car and continue down the street. It feels good to be walking next to Griffon—even though he’s a lot taller than I am, he matches his pace to mine so I don’t have to rush to catch up. I inch closer to him as we walk, barely into his personal space, but he doesn’t move away, just looks over at me and grins. The sidewalks are starting to get busy with the transition from daytime shoppers to people coming home from work. Rolldown doors clatter as the shop owners secure their stores for the night.
“So, what’s good around here?” he asks. “I don’t get into the city very often.”
“Yeah. Apparently you’ve only been here a few times,” I say, parroting his words at the café that day. I know that sounds bitchy, but I can’t help it. The mixed signals I’m getting from him are driving me crazy.
Griffon looks embarrassed, which for some reason makes me happy. “Okay, slightly more than a few,” he admits. “Look, I’m sorry about that—”
I wave the comment away like I don’t even care. Except I’m beginning to realize that I do care. I care a lot. “It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I do, though. I should have told you the truth about where I live. But you took off so quickly.” Griffon stops walking and stands in front of a gated flower shop, the faint smell of roses still hanging in the air. “Anyway, I knew I’d see you again.”
I stop too and study his face, desperately wanting to believe him. “How? You don’t even know my last name.”
“These things have a way of working out,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “And I knew that Owen would get your sister’s information.”
“She might not have given it to him,” I say, although that’s a complete lie. Kat probably wrote her info in Sharpie across his hand before she left. “You don’t know my sister.”
“True. But I do know Owen. He would have never let her get away.” Griffon flashes a quick smile, then looks around at the buildings on the block. “So, where should we eat?”
Slowly I look around at the street signs and try to figure out where we are. Veronique’s boyfriend is Italian, and I’d overheard
Mom asking her about a restaurant in North Beach that’s supposed to be nice and not too expensive. I mentally calculate how much money I have in my wallet and kick myself for not asking Kat for a twenty. “Do you like Italian?”
“Sure.”
“I think it’s just a couple of blocks this way,” I say, leading us around the busy corner.
I find the place without any trouble, amazed that for once I actually remember the name of a restaurant. I can easily memorize all of the notes in an entire concerto, but usually mess up on little details like book titles and restaurant names. As Griffon reaches for the front door, his phone rings. He glances down at the display and then back to me. “I need to get this. Can you give me just a minute?”
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll go inside and check on a table.”
He smiles. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.” Griffon walks to the corner of the building and I hear him answer the call before I open the door and walk inside.
As I stand waiting at the front desk, Veronique walks out of the dining room, speaking rapid Italian to a well-dressed man behind her. At least I think it’s Italian. I’m on my second year of Spanish II, so languages aren’t really my specialty.
“Cole! What a coincidence!” she says in English.
“Hey!” I say. “I heard you tell Mom about this place. We were just around the corner, so I thought we’d give it a try.”
“Good choice. The sweetbreads are really good here.” She leans in and whispers to me. “They’re actually glands, but don’t let that put you off. According to the experts, that’s the sign of a
superior Italian restaurant.” She indicates the man behind her. “Have you ever met my boyfriend, Giacomo?”
He gives a smile and a little bow. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he’s Italian or what, but he seems a lot older than she is. “Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful things about your musical gifts. It is not often that one meets a true prodigy.”
I look down at the worn burgundy carpet, glad that Griffon is outside. It’s always so embarrassing whenever anyone mentions cello in real life. “Thank you. And Veronique is doing really well.”
She rolls her eyes. “Nice of you to say, but I think we all know the truth.” She looks around the front of the restaurant. “Are you here by yourself?”
“No,” I say. “I’m with a … friend. He had to take a call outside.”
Her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs. “Ooh! Boyfriend material? You’ve been holding out!”
I wish
. I wonder what it would be like to say that about him. To be able to introduce him to people as my boyfriend. To walk down the street holding his hand. “No. Just a friend.”
“It’s always nice to start out as friends,” she says, giving me a suggestive look.
I shrug, afraid that if I open my mouth I’ll give too much away.
“
Dobbiamo affrettarci,
” Giacomo says, looking pointedly at his watch.
“You’re right,” Veronique agrees. “We’re late. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yep. Usual time.”
Griffon appears at the door just as they’re leaving, and Giacomo holds it open for him. I wave as they walk out into the darkness.
“Who’s that?” he asks, glancing back through the window.
“She’s one of my students,” I say. When he looks blank, I add, “One of my cello students. I teach private lessons at my house a couple of days a week. Veronique is my Thursday at four.”
He laughs. “So the prodigy is also the teacher. Nice.”
I make a face. “Not really. I just need the money.”
“Maybe I can get a couple of lessons?”
“You want to play cello?” I know I sound skeptical, but I can’t help it.
“How do you know I haven’t always had a burning desire to learn? Maybe I’ve just been waiting for the right teacher.”
“I might be able to figure something out,” I say as we’re led to our table, trying to suppress the thrill I feel at the thought of seeing him again.
“I think,” Rayne says, “that you are in
looove
.”
“I’m not in love,” I say, but there’s no way to stop the grin on my face. I can’t help but relive moments of last night over and over again during class. The only thing that would have been better is if he’d kissed me, or even held my hand as we waited for my bus. But I keep telling myself that there’s time for that. At least I hope there is. He didn’t exactly make a date or anything, but he said he’d see me soon. That’s almost the same thing, right?
“Don’t sit there telling me you’re not into him. I know exactly what that look means.”
I take a bite of my apple and look around the quad to make sure nobody else is listening. We’re sitting on our usual bench at lunch, which is too far from the tables to be overheard, as long as you keep your voice down. “I barely know him,” I say. “Besides, nothing happened.”
“Nothing?” Rayne grins. “No hands brushing as you both reach for the door? No longing glances?”
“What movies have you been watching?” I ask her. “No. We ate pasta, and then he walked me to the bus.” Not that I remembered anything about the restaurant. I could have been eating cardboard for all I’d been paying attention to the food. I look around the quad. “He’s not like the guys around here. Griffon’s different.”
“Did he at least get your number?”
“Yes,” I say, not admitting that I’d been checking my phone obsessively since last night.
“Thank God.” Rayne picks at her bean salad and eyes my lunch bag. “Are you going to eat that?”
I hand her my chocolate-chip cookie.
“Hello, ladies,” Gabi says, sliding onto the bench next to Rayne. I haven’t seen her much since we got back. “You two only look like that when you’re talking about guys.”
“Guy,” Rayne corrects. “A gorgeous one that Cole met over break.”
“Ooh, gorgeous ones are the best kind.”
“Okay, can we stop now?” I ask. The more we talk about it, the more anxious I feel. I unwrap my sandwich and try to change the subject. “How was your break?”
Gabi rummages through her backpack for her lunch. “Boring,” she says. “My cousins are in from Mumbai, and we spent the whole time doing tourist stuff in the city. Alcatraz, Fisherman’s Wharf, Union Square. If I have to take one more picture in front of one more famous attraction, I’m going to be sick.”
“Better than mine,” Rayne says. “We went camping up the
coast, and I spent the entire time filthy and freezing.” She shivers at the memory. “Hey Cole, what kind of sandwich is that?” Rayne’s always on the prowl for something better than the sprouted-wheat and tofu creations her mother makes her.
“Tuna. You want the other half?”
“Um, no. I was reading the other day about how they’re overfishing tuna,” she says, looking sad.
I chew slowly, getting ready to lose another favorite food. Rayne has a way of making you feel guilty for pretty much everything you put into your mouth. “It’s dolphin-safe,” I say hopefully.
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” she says. “The tuna population is getting down so low that if nothing is done in five years, they’re going to disappear forever. Like the unicorns.”
Gabi and I exchange glances. “Unicorns?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Rayne replies. “You know—like how the cavemen hunted the unicorns until they went completely extinct.”
I love Rayne, which is good, because sometimes she’s so gullible it’s scary. She’s an amazing artist, but totally clueless about real life.
“Rayne,” I say softly. “You realize that there were no unicorns, right? They’re just a fairy tale.”
Rayne looks confused. “Of course there were,” she says. “They became extinct thousands of years ago. Our great-great-great-great-grandchildren will talk about how there used to be big fish called ‘tuna’ in the oceans, just like our ancestors talked about the unicorns.”
Gabi pats her on the back. “Girl, good thing you’re book-smart.”
“What?” Rayne asks. “Gram wouldn’t lie about that.” She looks so lost that despite trying desperately to keep a straight face, Gabi and I both burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking another bite. “No more tuna. I promise.”
Gabi opens up her thermos and a strong spicy smell wafts over us.
“What is that?” Rayne asks, leaning over to get a better look. “It smells amazing.”
“It’s saag,” she says, poking at it with a fork. “My cousins have been cooking nonstop since they got here. Want a bite?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Rayne says, taking a forkful. “Oh man, that’s awesome.”
I lean over to get some, and the fragrant spices overwhelm me. I take a deep breath and sit back against the concrete wall, feeling dizzy and unmoored. Rayne, Gabi, and the whole school fade until all I can see is a hot, smoky kitchen, the whitewashed walls punctuated with portraits of severe-looking old men.
My mother bends before a cooking pot suspended over a fire, stirring a fragrant stew. Her long black hair is folded into a braid that hangs down the back of her neck and is covered with a loose scarf that she’s gathered in one hand so that it won’t drag into the flames
.
I look down to see my bare feet with their stubby brown toes sticking out of my loose cotton pants. I sit on a chair, far off enough so that I don’t get in the way, but close enough to feel the heat from the fire. My stomach is rumbling in anticipation of her good cooking
.
With deft fingers, my mother reaches into the fire and flips a piece of flat bread, handing one to me. “For you, my son,” she says to me. I smile and reach into the bubbling green stew with a torn piece of bread as the fragrance of the spices make my mouth water in anticipation—
“You okay?” Rayne says, poking me in the side. “You look a little funny.”
I shake my head to clear it of the vivid images. The fragrant smell remains, and I realize that it’s the same spicy scent that’s coming from Gabi’s thermos.
“And since when do you speak Bengali?” Gabi asks.
“What are you talking about?” I say, feeling vague and distant. I wonder what they saw while I was out of it. Obviously I didn’t faint this time or they’d really be freaking out, but it was probably easy to see something happened.
“Bengali,” she says, looking at me sideways. “You were just staring off into space, and you said ‘
ozasro dhanyabad
.’ That means ‘thank you very much.’ The accent was a little weird, but that’s definitely what you said.”
The image lurks in the back of my mind, as clear as if it were a movie, except that I knew things about the scene that a person who’s simply watching wouldn’t. I
felt
things about it. The hunger, the anticipation, the happiness that came from being with my mother in our house. A pang of loneliness remains as I realize I miss that woman. The mother of a little boy who isn’t me.
“I, um … must have picked it up from the Indian restaurant we go to,” I say quickly, trying to cover up my confusion. I look at both of them and attempt a faint smile.
The happiness I’ve been feeling over Griffon evaporates, replaced by cold, hard dread. A familiar place, a strange smell—it doesn’t take much to sweep me into other lives in other times. My mind races, although I know there’s nowhere to go. The problem isn’t anywhere I can escape from—it’s all in my head.
My shoulders relax and I can feel myself swaying to the rich, mellow sound that fills every open space. Flying over the strings, my fingers find the notes on their own as I fight to keep my conscious mind from interfering. My right hand holds the bow as it arcs back and forth, pulling the music from the deeply toned wooden body. As the last note resonates through the room, I hear clapping from the doorway and whirl around in alarm.