A Light in the Dark Read online

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sebastian missed the last week and a half of class, probably because we each had to play something on our instrument of choice as part of our final grade. I was glad to not have the pressure of him staring at me while I performed. I’d written an intricate guitar piece that had challenged my skill beyond anything I’d ever done, and I’d been uncharacteristically nervous about playing it, knowing he’d be there to see me screw up my own music.

  But he wasn’t. He simply stopped showing. Mr. Hyde said nothing, and when Sierra, her cinnamon gum flashing between her teeth, asked him if there was anything wrong with Sebastian—I couldn’t tell if she was curious, worried, or just insensitive—Mr. Hyde shook his head and simply said, “He isn’t testing in this class.”

  So that was that. My ordeal with Sebastian was over.

  Except that it wasn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, about how he’d made Music Theory III something barely tolerable for a whole semester, a class I really loved otherwise. Mr. Hyde was a great teacher, a guy who could make something as potentially mundane as music theory interesting. He was my favorite professor in the music program and I’d had him for other courses, too. The more I thought about the angst Sebastian had caused me, the more resentment I felt toward him. And now with him gone, as though he’d simply vanished into thin air, I felt cheated, like he’d taken something irreplaceable from me.

  “Honestly, Ani, I think what bugs me the most about it is that I was sure we’d eventually talk. At least an end-of-the-year group hug thing before everyone went their separate ways, you know? But he was there, staring at me, scrutinizing me, making me feel intimidated and uncomfortable and… and then he wasn’t. The end. The fat lady sang. The cow jumped over the moon. The king has left the building.”

  I could hear her parents downstairs in the kitchen, singing along to a Puccini aria.

  “O mio babbino caro,” Ani stated, noticing the tilt of my head as I listened. But I knew the song. I’d heard it a zillion times emanating up the stairs from the Tomlin kitchen before dinner. It was tradition in this house. When dinner was being cooked, opera was being sung. And if you wanted to eat said dinner, you had to listen to said opera. Since Giacomo Puccini was their favorite composer of all times, it didn’t take me long to recognize his style.

  We sat in silence for a few more moments, waiting for the laughter that always broke out when one of her parents tried to hit the high notes and failed. It came as expected and we returned to our conversation.

  “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it,” I reiterated. “Why was it so important to him to make my life miserable without ever explaining? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose of tormenting someone? At least if I knew what his reasons for hating me were, I’d be able to either brush him off or fix it, if it was something legitimately wrong. But not knowing why he targeted me just leaves the whole thing unresolved.” I’d even thought about talking to Mr. Hyde about it at one point, considered mentioning the word “harassment,” but something held me back. I’d been really unsettled about the way he’d looked when he’d swept into the foyer in such a rush that night in March, only to find me waiting for him. Haunted? Defeated? I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he’d definitely been suffering in some way.

  Ani frowned, still resistant to the idea that Sebastian had been intentionally hurtful. “I’ve seen how he watches you on stage, T-Bird. If you hadn’t told me all this stuff, I would have thought he was totally crushing on you.”

  “Well, it’s kind of a moot observation, isn’t it? It’s not like he didn’t have plenty of chances to approach me. And since I haven’t seen him since the last day he came to class, I just have to let it rest and try to get over this stupid little self-doubt monster he created in me. Tell myself he was just a jerk, that’s all. He’s consumed enough of my time anyway, and I have a full plate to deal with without worrying about what Sebastian Jeffries thinks of me.”

  School was out, Ani and Tom had both graduated amid lots of pomp and circumstance and joyful celebratory festivities all around. But instead of slowing down for the summer, life seemed to be picking up speed all around me, and there were too many changes coming in its wake. Tom’s moving plans had him leaving in a little over a month from now, and Ani was taking off to Portland in a couple of weeks to help Paulo pack up his mother and grandparents, who were moving back to Italy to be with family. Although Paulo’s mother, Ilaria, had almost fully recovered from her terrible car accident last fall, she now walked with a limp and a cane, and leaned heavily on Paulo in ways that didn’t sit well with her. Ilaria wanted him to be free to pursue the life he chose, with the woman he wanted, and she was convinced that as long as she and her parents stayed in the United States, Paulo would feel obligated to care for them.

  Knowing Paulo even as little as I did, Ilaria had probably pegged him right. He was that kind of guy. Always reaching out to the underdog, empowering the powerless, lifting up the downtrodden, and all that noble hero type stuff. Which made him perfect for Ani. Not because she was an underdog or powerless or downtrodden, but because she was the same way. Always putting others first and thinking the best about people. I know that’s why she fell for Professor Jerkface. She actually believed every sweet lie he told her. Because Ani was that kind of girl.

  Paulo and Ani were then flying to Italy with his mom and grandparents to make sure they were settled back into their old neighborhood. While there, they planned to stop in to see friends in Lucca, and to check on how an after-school community program Paulo had launched was doing in his absence. He’d spent almost fifteen months in Lucca last year on an international studies program and had discovered a real need for a mentor program for kids who had nothing to do but cause trouble after school let out. Ani assured me they were coming back—she had a job waiting for her here in town—but really, who knew what would happen if they found a pressing reason for them to stay in Lucca? Paulo had dual citizenship and could move back there anytime. If they were going to be married, as I was certain was the unofficial plan, well, there was a real possibility that Ani would be leaving sooner or later.

  And that meant I’d be losing both my best friends in the foreseeable future. I could hardly let myself think about it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At least I still had the band. Over the next couple of nights, we were holding auditions for a new guitar player to replace Tom. Marauders had a full lineup of summer shows, and we couldn’t afford to cancel any of them just because we were losing him. Many had been in the works since January, and I expected some of them would be disappointed when we showed up without Tom. We’d been a good crowd-draw for a couple of years; me for those who liked loud chicks in leather and smoky eyeliner, and Tom for those who liked mop-headed boy-men with crooked smiles and T-shirts that stretched tightly over homegrown muscles.

  But unlike most of the people in my immediate circle, such as Ani and Tom, I still had a year left at Mid-U. I didn’t have a summer office job waiting for me, and I was counting on the band income. Truth be told, I hadn’t made any attempts to even find a “real” job. All I wanted to do was play my guitar and sing my songs, and as long as there was anyone who wanted to hear them, it was the only work I needed.

  We were looking for a permanent replacement this time and auditions had started an hour ago. We’d already heard two other guitarists, neither of whom would work. At the moment, however, I sat still as a stone, unable to find any words to express my current state of emotions.

  “Tish.” Tom hadn’t changed position in the chair beside me. He didn’t lean toward me, or whisper sotto voce behind a hand. He just spoke, his eyes fixed on the musician playing for us. “This one.”

  “No,” I croaked.

  “This one.”

  “No, Tom. He’s a lead. I don’t need a lead.”

  “You need him.”

  “No. I don’t.” Tom and I sat in the small mixing booth of my garage-turned-studio, watching Sebastian where he perche
d on the tall stool on the other side of the huge square window that separated us from him. Corny, Sly, and Jon milled about behind us, speaking in low tones, not really paying much attention to the song. We didn’t really do acoustic stuff, but Sebastian had started out his audition on a basic model Breedlove with a rich hollow-body sound, playing one of our slower songs. I knew the guys were waiting to hear something with a little more punch.

  However, my gut was twisting over the way he worked over my favorite Marauders ballad, his voice stroking each word, his fingers finding all the right spots on the instrument he held at a slightly skewed angle on his lap. He had one leg hitched up beneath it, the heel of his old-man dress shoe notched over the crossbar at the base of the stool, the other foot marking time, tapping along on a small piece of plywood he’d brought with him. It had taken me a moment to figure out where the additional percussion sound came from; he had an egg shaker tucked into the rolled hem of his black jeans. Between the way he worked his feet and how he thumped the body of the guitar with the edge of his palm and pinkie finger, I thought he might just have designs on all our jobs. He was practically a one-man band.

  “No,” I said again.

  Then Sebastian traded out the acoustic for his Strat and made it sing, too, but this time, with one of his own songs.

  I quite literally began to salivate.

  There was a stunned silence from the peanut gallery behind me and Tom.

  “Yes,” Tom growled beside me.

  “Tom,” I whimpered back, trying so hard to resist the siren call of Sebastian’s guitar, his voice. I felt betrayed all over again. Not only had he robbed me of my peace of mind in class, but he’d also withheld this amazing talent from me. Technically, he’d withheld it from the whole class, but I’d taken his stoicism personally, and this felt like another direct hit. “We haven’t even heard him play with the whole band, yet.”

  But I didn’t look at Tom because Sebastian and I had locked eyes, and I felt like a deer caught in the headlights right before being plowed over by a Mack truck.

  “Close your mouth and wipe the drool off your face.” Tom reached over and cupped my chin in his big hand, pushing up on it ever so slightly as he turned my face toward him, breaking the tractor beam hold Sebastian had on me. I wondered briefly if my eyes were doing that black and white swirly-thing they did in cartoons when someone was hypnotized or in a trance.

  Tom didn’t release me right away. He seemed to be touching me a lot these days. But when his eyes lowered to my mouth, I pulled back just a fraction, and he grinned, flashing his big white teeth at me. “You’re channeling your inner fangirl and it’s not a pretty thing to see.”

  His smile seemed a little sad, though. I didn’t suppose it was easy choosing his own replacement for the band we’d started so many years ago. Especially one he thought I might be drooling over.

  Except I absolutely wasn’t.

  I slapped his hand away, my open palm smacking against his forearm with a little more force than I’d intended. “You’re a barnacle, Tom.” Then I turned back to Sebastian and found him still watching me, his brows lowered in an expression I couldn’t decipher, head slightly cocked to one side. It was definitely different now, the way he studied me. In class, he’d been standoffish, distant. It had been clear, at least until I stopped noticing, that he wanted nothing to do with me. Now, he seemed very attentive, almost intrigued by me, which only served to confuse me more.

  I was completely off my game, my emotions in an uproar, defensive and curious and angry and jealous and utterly relieved to see him again, all at the same time. But beyond all that, I was having a terribly difficult time accepting the fact that Sebastian Jeffries sat on my stool—the one I usually used during practice, in fact—auditioning to take my best friend’s place in my band. The guy had disappeared off the face of the earth without so much as a by your leave, and then showed up on my doorstep to audition to fill Tom’s shoes. If I’d been the one to meet him at the front door, I wouldn’t have let him in. But Tom had no reservations and had welcomed him warmly, assuming Sebastian was there by my invitation.

  I suppose, inadvertently, that was true. I’d posted a flier in Mr. Hyde’s classroom, hoping to get qualified applicants only, none of us having the desire or time to screen guitar hero wannabes. But I’d put up the flier after exam week on the board next to the final semester grade sheet Mr. Hyde posted, knowing people would see it when looking for their anonymous numbers and corresponding grades. I never even considered the possibility that Sebastian would see it. He hadn’t returned to Music Theory III, so more than likely, he was in another of Mr. Hyde’s classes. One where he didn’t have to tolerate my presence.

  But here he was, playing like a virtuoso, and regardless of what Tom thought, it wasn’t my fangirl showing. It was so much more than that. Why had he never played in class? No wonder he’d been put off by my silly introduction about how skilled I was.

  Tom stood and turned around so that his back was to Sebastian. He leaned a hip against the desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and dipped his head, waiting for me to look at him. It was the stance of a man determined to have his way.

  “Listen. I don’t know what it is about this guy that’s got you hung up, but get over it. He’s the one. This isn’t a game, not if you want to be serious about making it in this business. And I’m not going to walk away, knowing that you might foolishly pass over someone with that kind of skill because you’re afraid of a little competition.” He held up his hand to stop me when I started to form a rebuttal. “That wasn’t an insult, Tish. If you weren’t competitive, you wouldn’t be who you are; you wouldn’t be the brilliant musician you are. It’s par for the course, okay? But don’t let it turn you into a loose cannon, and if you let this guy get away before giving him a fair shake?” He shook his head, not willing to speak aloud the calamities that would befall me if I was to be so foolish.

  I glared at him, fighting back angry-sad tears. This was why I loved Tom. He saw right through my bluff and bluster and said it like it was. I already missed him terribly and he wasn’t even gone yet.

  I peered around Tom’s shoulder through the window at Sebastian, who waited patiently in the other room for any kind of a cue from us. The three guys behind me were quiet too, also waiting. I met Tom’s patient gaze again. “Fine. Let’s see how he does with the band first.” But I knew I was fighting the inevitable.

  Our fans would just have to get over losing their boy-next-door and make room in their big hearts for this brooding enigma.

  If I could do it, so could they.

  ***

  I wanted to drill Sebastian, call him out for the last several months he’d tarnished, to expose him for being a pompous jerk so no one in the band would like him, so they’d know the real Sebastian. Not this charming, mysterious, musical genius who wanted to be in my band. What if I let him in and it turned out to be another music theory class all over again? I couldn’t bear it.

  I excused myself to use the restroom while Tom hit the intercom button and told Sebastian we’d like to see how he did playing with the band. I didn’t hear his answer as I pulled the door closed behind me and hurried upstairs to my room.

  Ani was out with her folks for the day—they were doing as much as they could with her while she was still home—but I longed to have her here right now, telling me what to do. Tom didn’t get it. He thought I just couldn’t handle a little competition. Which was silly, because I thrived on competition. I was at my best when I felt like I had something to prove. Tom simply had no clue how hard I’d tried not to interact with Sebastian Jeffries over the last semester, how difficult it was to forget him and the insecurity he’d stirred up in me, and how relieved I was to be able to just put him behind me and move on.

  And because of the way Tom felt about me, I couldn’t tell him, either.

  On second thought, maybe that was exactly what I should do. We did have that commitment to not keep secrets, especially if they affected the ba
nd. I stood at the sink, the water running over my hands, and stared unseeing at my reflection in the mirror. The thoughts raced around in circles in my head as I weighed out the options. If I told Tom that Sebastian had tormented me for the last several months, had even made me cry, he’d probably just tell me to grow up. Nicely, but I was pretty sure that would be his response. If I told him Sebastian was a stalker, knowing Tom, he’d think I was reading too much into things, and that was probably why the guy knew our songs so well.

  However, if I told him how confused I was about my feelings for Sebastian, about how drawn I was to him, even against my better judgment, Tom might just pull his vote. But it would also crush him to hear that I might feel something for someone I didn’t even like, something that Tom so desperately wanted for himself.

  I turned off the water and dried my hands slowly, knowing I could say nothing at all, promise or not.

  By the time I slipped back into the studio, Jon was already playing “Wipe Out” on the drums, Sly was plugged in and ready to go, and Tom had my gear set up and waiting. He held the door for me and reached out to brush my arm as I went by. I shirked off his hand and refused to meet his eyes. He laughed quietly and said, “Go show him who’s boss, Tish.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tom and Corny sat at the sound board, their heads together, listening intently to how Sebastian gelled with the band. I could tell he was holding back; everything I gave him, he pulled off with the ease of a studio musician, as though he’d been playing our songs for years. Even the new stuff we had just performed live for the first time at the Music and Literature Festival not even two months ago.