Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 621(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
And I knew that was it. I shouldn’t care that she didn’t, should have encouraged it, in fact. But I couldn’t get it from my head. She’d seen me. She knew that I could play.
I didn’t have to pretend with her.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” Bonnie’s voice shook. She was nervous. I could see it on her face. In her brown eyes. I couldn’t believe I was here either. When I didn’t answer her back, Bonnie busied herself by reaching into the basket she had beside her. She was wearing a pink jumper—or “sweater,” as she would probably call it—and jeans. Her brown blanket now covered her legs. She pulled out a packet of sweets, opened them, and started chewing on a long piece of red licorice.
I brought a cigarette to my lips and went to light up. Her hand came down on my arm. “Please don’t, Cromwell.” I looked down at my arm. She was holding it in the same place as she’d held it that night in the music room. When she’d heard me. When she’d seen me playing the instruments.
When she’d seen me break.
I looked up at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wide. I wondered if she was remembering the same thing. I kept her stare, trying to read whatever was in her eyes. But when I couldn’t, I lowered my smoke and put it back in my pocket. Then she eventually breathed out. “Thank you.” She rubbed her chest. I wondered if her heart was beating fast too.
I didn’t know what to say around her. The last time I’d seen her, I’d cracked and amended her composition. I’d been short with her. Tried to push her from my head. But no matter how hard I tried, she would never go.
Bonnie looked everywhere but at me. “You were ill,” I blurted out. It sounded more like an accusation than a question.
She must have thought that too, as she stared at me, then smirked. That smirk did funny things to my stomach. Made it pull tight. “I was ill.”
I sat up and looked out over the crowd, trying to push the feeling away.
“Did you miss me?”
I turned to Bonnie, first not knowing why the hell she asked that. And second not knowing what the hell to say.
She was smiling. When I blinked, confused, she burst out laughing. She put her hand on my forearm. “I’m only joking, Cromwell.” She waved her hand in a calming gesture. “You can breathe now.”
I finished off my Corona, but all I kept hearing was her laugh. The pink of her laugh. That and the fact it’d been aimed at me. I never thought she’d smile at me that way. Then again, I never thought I’d be here tonight. My body was taut as I waited for her to bring up the music room. To ask me questions. To push me about our composition project. But she didn’t.
“You want one?” Bonnie held out a piece of licorice. I shook my head. “What? You don’t like candy?”
“Not American candy, I don’t.”
“What?” she said on a single laugh. I turned my head back to the stage, to look at the setup. I always did. Bonnie pulled on my arm, forcing me to look at her. “No, I have to hear this. You don’t like American candy?”
I shook my head.
“Why?”
“It’s shite,” I said honestly.
For a minute, Bonnie’s expression didn’t change from shocked. Until she dropped her mouth and burst out laughing. She pulled back the sweets box she was holding and held it to her chest.
That feeling was back in my stomach. Like a stab, which started moving to my chest until it had taken over my whole body. She wiped her eyes. When she could talk again, she asked, “Okay then, what British candy is good?”
“Just about any of it.” I shook my head at the memory of the first time I’d tried American chocolate. It was bloody awful. I hadn’t touched it since. I was waiting on a shipment of the good stuff from my mum.
Bonnie nodded. “I have to say, I tried it when I was over there this past summer. And I agree, it’s amazing.”
The orchestra started retaking their seats. People began rushing back to their spots on the grass. Bonnie watched the musicians with rapt attention before shifting her gaze to me. “So you really do like classical music?” I froze. “I know we’re not allowed to talk about it. About you. That night.” Sympathy spread on her face. “And I have to respect that.” She shrugged. “But you’re here. At a classical concert.”
I was picking the label off the Corona, but I met her eyes. I didn’t speak, because the answer to her question was obvious. I was here. That said everything.
She must have got that I didn’t want to answer, as she pointed at the orchestra. “They’re incredible. I’ve seen them so many times.”