Allegra (25 page)

“Glamorous? I don't know about that. Dad sounded pretty burned-out last time I talked to him. He thinks he may retire from touring for a while.”

“Really?”

A few students have entered the portable. I slip into my jacket. “Yeah…he thinks it's time to spend more time with his family, but I'm afraid it may be too late for that. See you this afternoon, in class.”

All day I manage to avoid any contact with Talia and Co., as I've come to think of them, but my luck changes just before I head home. As I walk across the parking lot to my car, I see them waiting there for me.

“Hi,” I say, without much warmth. I look from Sophie's face to Molly's, but they both continue to stare at their feet.

“Look,” I say quietly, glancing around to make sure no one else is within earshot. “I don't know what Talia has told you, but I'm not doing anything wrong. I meet with Mr. Rocchelli to compose music. That's it.”

Talia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. That wasn't your story yesterday.”

“I never said anything else, Talia. You implied that I was doing something inappropriate, and I didn't deny it because I was so mad, but this is the truth. I haven't done anything wrong.”

I turn to Spencer. He looks away. “Spencer, you believe me, don't you?”

He just shrugs.

I grab his arm. “So you're going to believe her over me? I'm telling the truth here.”

He jerks his arm free. “I'm the one who found the note in your backpack.”

“That was just stupid. I don't know why I wrote those things down.” Spencer has shoved his hands into his pockets. “Spencer…you have to believe me.”

He looks up and our eyes meet for a moment. Then he looks to Talia, Sophie and Molly. His eyes move back to mine. “I'd like to believe you, Allegra. I really would, but, like, you
have
been avoiding me for some reason. And I've known Talia a lot longer than I've known you.”

I just stare at him.

“And you implied that you're in love with him. A teacher.”

I want to disappear.

“And we don't like what you're doing, Allegra.” Talia practically spits the words out. “There's a waiting list of kids who want to attend this school—talented kids, not sluts who take advantage of young teachers.”

A fury is building inside of me. “I am not taking advantage of anyone, Talia! If Mr. Rocchelli likes to spend time with me, it's because we have something in common. We are creating something together. All you guys are creating is another stupid high-school drama over a situation that doesn't even exist. Can you blame me for wanting to spend time with someone more mature?”

Talia's brow springs up and her cheeks color, but she just turns and stomps away. The other three hesitate; Spencer gives me one more glance, and then, without a word, they turn in unison and follow her. Part of me knows I've just blown it, big-time, but the other part of me doesn't care. I have Noel.

Friday is unbearably long as I wait for our after-school music-writing session. I think about how connected we were at yesterday's session…and my imagination starts to create stories about what could happen. Romantic stories. I smile, thinking about them, but then push them out of my head, remembering Talia's accusations. I can't go there. My ankle is already feeling much better, and I decide to speak to Ms. Dekker about at least doing the warm-ups in my dance classes next week. I duck into the office at lunchtime, hoping to find her there. I don't, but I do see Spencer going into Ms. Jennings's office. As Ms. Jennings reaches to close the door behind him, she notices me, and I see a kind of surprised recognition in her face, but I turn and leave without acknowledging her. I haven't had to deal with her since the first week of school, and that suits me just fine.

There are still students lingering in the music portable when I arrive at the end of the day. Noel greets me and suggests I get started in the sound room while he finishes up with them. I pretend to read over my notes while I wait for him, but I am so excited I simply can't concentrate.

Finally he comes in and drops into the other chair. “I thought I'd never get rid of them all,” he says with a laugh. I return his smile. I know just what he means.

“So, where are we?” He glances at my notes.

I shut my notebook. “We're going to work on the ending,” I remind him.

“Ah yes. The ending. Have you roughed anything out yet?”

“Not really, though I know it has to echo the beginning in some way.”

“That's right—echo it, but with a slight variation. A winding-down of all the emotion. Let's listen to the initial bars again and see what we have.” He rolls his chair closer to the computer. His arm is only millimeters from mine, and I feel the heat of his skin radiating through his shirt.

Noel takes over the writing process. I'm too aware of him—his scent, the curls of hair at the nape of his neck, the eyetooth that is slightly crooked—to fully concentrate. Occasionally he asks for my opinion and I try to sound intelligent, but I realize I'm not offering much; we're not creating in unison the way we were yesterday. It's more him creating and me watching, absorbing him.

After a long period where I haven't offered anything, he pushes away from the computer. “Let's take a bit of a break,” he says. “We could both use a cup of tea, I'm sure.”

I follow him into the main classroom and wait while he plugs in the kettle. He sits on the edge of his desk, waiting for the water to boil. I lean against a table, suddenly feeling shy.

“So,” he says. “Yesterday morning you made a comment that left me curious.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. I know I promised not to pry, but I've been wondering what you meant.”

“What did I say?”

“You were referring to your dad, and how he wanted to spend more time with his family. You said you thought it was too late for that.”

“Oh, that.”

“No need to explain if you don't want to.” He drops tea bags into mugs and pours the boiling water over them. Chamomile again.

“No biggie,” I explain. “It's just that I'm seventeen, almost eighteen, and I'll be graduating at the end of this year. Who knows where I'll be next year? If he wanted to spend more time with me, he should have done it before now.”

Noel passes me a mug. I blow across the top.

“It must have been hard to have your father on the road so much when you were growing up,” he says.

He blows across his mug too.

I shrug. “I didn't know any different. It was always great when he came home, but I was never used to having him around much, so I didn't expect it. Him being away was my normal.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Do you think it was hard for your mom to be a single parent for long stretches?”

“I doubt it. I was a pretty easy kid.” I smile.

“I'm sure you were.” He smiles back. “But maybe she was lonely for him?”

I feel a sudden rush of understanding. I had never thought about what it was like for her to have him away so much. Maybe that's why things started up with Marcus, not that that is any excuse for having an affair. I slide down into a chair, taken aback by the realization.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I see the look of concern on his face. “It's just that…” I can't finish the sentence.

I'm trying to regain my sense of balance, but suddenly the room is swirling around me. “My parents…have separated.”

Unexpected tears have sprung to my eyes. I don't know where this rush of emotion has come from, and I will it away. This was going to be such a special afternoon. I don't want to ruin it with some stupid outburst.

Noel approaches me and rests his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I had no idea. I'm so sorry.”

The tears have spilled over now. I can feel them running down my cheeks. I shake my head. “No, no.
I'm
sorry. I have no idea why I suddenly got so emotional.” I use my palm to wipe the tears away.

Noel goes over to his desk and returns with a box of tissue. I pull a couple out and blow my nose, then wipe my eyes. “Wow. That was bizarre. I was fine about it until now.”

He doesn't say anything, just stands there, watching me.

“Maybe it was the music,” I say. “It must have triggered something.”

“Music has a way of doing that.”

I glance at him, wondering if he is implying something else, but he's looking out the window.

We sip our tea and I struggle to compose myself.

“Are you back to dance yet?” Noel asks gently, changing the subject.

“Just a bit. Mostly stretching.”

“I'm glad to hear it. And what about your friends? Have you sorted that all out?”

The mention of my friends makes the tears well up again. I think about my last encounter with them. I shrug and clear my throat, struggling to remain composed. “Not so much.”

The room becomes quiet. I think I hear the scraping of shoes on the gravel outside, but when I look out the window, no one is there.

“Are you sure you're okay?” he asks, taking my mug from me. “We should get back to work.”

“Yeah yeah. I'll be fine,” I say, but my voice wobbles.

He hesitates, then places both mugs on the table and pulls me into a hug. “I'm sorry about your parents, Allegra.” After a moment he releases me, but his hands remain on my shoulders and he looks into my face. “Friends, right?”

I smile, feeling better and knowing it's much more than that, but I'll go along with it for now. “Right.”

A sudden rap on the door makes us both jump. It swings open and Ms. Jennings steps into the portable. “Mr. Rocchelli,” she says. “You're wanted in the principal's office. Now. Allegra, collect your things and go home. Immediately.”

Noel and I glance at each other. “What's up?” he asks, frowning. He doesn't move.

“We'll discuss that in the office.”

“Allegra and I are working on a project. Can we schedule this meeting for another time?”

“No.”

A look of annoyance crosses Noel's face. “Okay. Allegra, let's save our work, and we'll reschedule for next week. Feel free to work on it over the weekend.”

We return to the sound room. I collect my bag and jacket while he saves our work to both of our flash drives. Tension radiates through his stiff shoulders, but I only feel a huge sense of disappointment. When we come out of the sound room, Ms. Jennings is still standing at the door, arms crossed, a scowl on her face.

“Have a good weekend,” I say to Noel as I pass her in the doorway. I don't say anything to her.

S
eventeen

Music theory is my first class on Monday morning. I arrive early, hoping to ask Noel what happened after I left on Friday afternoon. I'd emailed him—all the teachers' email addresses are posted on the school website—but he hadn't responded.

When I enter the portable, I find the principal, Mr. Carter, and a stranger talking quietly beside Noel's desk.

“Hi,” I say, heading to the sound room.

They both regard me seriously. “Are you Allegra Whitford?” Mr. Carter asks.

“Yeah.” I turn to face the two of them. Something is clearly wrong. Has Noel been in an accident?

“This is Mr. Rae,” the principal says, nodding toward the stranger. “He's a teacher on call, and he will be replacing Mr. Rocchelli.”

I feel like I've been kicked in the gut. “What happened to No…Mr. Rocchelli? Is he okay?”

Mr. Carter gives me a sharp look, and I know he's registered the fact that I almost called Mr. Rocchelli by his first name. “You and I will discuss that in a few minutes,” he says. “Right now I just want to stay and introduce Mr. Rae to the rest of the class.”

He and I will discuss it? Something bad must have happened. I feel the blood drain from my face and I take a chair, feeling numb. Has Noel asked Mr. Carter to break the news to me himself, maybe because he knows how much I'll worry? The possibilities are frightening.