“I mean Starbucks.” He smirks. “These pastries are different, but it’s okay. You’re still here. Life still moves on.”
Nike swoosh.
“Look, your mom didn’t want you to go. You know I didn’t want you to go. But we can’t help but think this is good for you. There’s so much to experience. It’s a different world, maybe too different for us, but I think you might like it.”
I look down.
“I guess I’m just scared,” I say. And I already feel vulnerable for saying it, but I have to. “I don’t know how to make this—um, this school stuff—work. It’s like I have this idea of a perfect life all planned out, but I’m not sure how to get there.”
He laughs. Pauses. Then his voice drops. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
We share an awkward glance—you never know when a parent’s going to decide to be way too honest about their feelings—then I avoid his eye contact, even if it’s digital.
“That reminds me,” he says. I watch his smile fade. “You might have already found this, but Mom slipped your necklace in your bag while we were at the airport.”
“Oh, she did?” I groan.
I have not found that, or I would have been dreading this call even more.
“It’s part of the deal,” he says. “We can’t keep an eye on you over there, and we know Leah’s not religious so I assume Shane isn’t either. But you know how important it is to us. How it’s always been to you. Wear the cross, find a good church nearby. Be the person God wants you to be.”
There’s so much he isn’t saying. So much lies beneath the idea of who he thinks god wants me to be. But I’m seventeen, for the next three months, at least, and I know that I have to keep the charade going.
So I keep lying.
“I will. Tell her I said thanks.” I sigh. “I’ll find a church, don’t worry. There’s one just across from here.”
“What kind of church?”
The kind with pentacles all over it.
“I don’t know, Dad.” I’m over it, and he can tell. “Can’t really be picky here.”
I’ll never understand how we can be so open, and how they can be so kind, then close up so quickly. How their version of god can drive a stake through the heart of our relationship, and they don’t even realize it’s happening.
We mumble our goodbyes, but it’s already too awkward. I try to hold on to the good parts of our conversation, and our relationship. But it’s hard, sitting here godless and alone, looking at a blank screen.
NINE
“Are you ready to meet the crew?” Shane asks as we walk down the tree-lined path to Green Park. We’re both carrying instrument cases—his is a bit large and awkward to fit the size and shape of his French horn, and mine’s petite and contained. Though I’m also carrying a little cup of water with my new oboe reed resting in it, tip down in the water to soften it before playing.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Remind me of the names again?”
“Right. Rio, clarinet. She’ll likely boss you around. Dani, flute, and her boyfriend, Ajay, who’s a pianist but he’s not much of a public performer. He just sits around with us.” A beat, and then he says, “And Pierce, of course. That’s more or less our group.”
I say the names and instruments in my head like I’m practicing with flash cards.
“That’s a small group, I can handle that.”
“Actually, a lot of people join this thing. Like twenty, maybe more—that’s just our crew. Pierce and Rio can be a little protective of our circle, but you’ve already passed Pierce’s test, clearly.”
The way he says it makes me think I’ve done something wrong again. But am I being too sensitive? Am I reading into things?
“When did you start getting close with Pierce?” I ask, hoping to gain more insight into their friendship.
“Around the time he made it into our school’s top orchestra,” he says. His voice drops a bit. “I’d been in it since year ten. I thought that’d be it for our friendship after graduation, but then he told me he got into the academy and that he still wanted to be friends. I started working with Dani at the bookshop nearby, and she and Pierce got close right away at Knightsbridge, so it just made sense for us all to be mates.”
“Ah,” I say. “You still seem super weird about him.”