Art & Soul
Page 30
“I can’t play that,” I replied. People didn’t just pick up a Karl Willhelm violin and start playing. Especially a violin with a three thousand dollar price tag.
“Why not?” Lance asked, picking it up from the display. He handed it to me. “I think you and this violin might have a lot in common.”
I took the wooden instrument into my hands and smiled at it. Lance handed me the bow, and after a few minutes of tuning, I placed my chin on the chinrest. “Any requests?” I asked Aria.
She smiled. “Surprise me.”
I slid the bow across the strings of the violin, playing Henryk Wieniawksi’s classic, “Polonaise No. 1.” It was one of the hardest pieces of music I’d ever learned to play. Part of me was terrified of messing up and looking like an idiot. Another part of me wanted to impress Aria.
When I finished, the three started applauding and Aria mouthed, “Wow.”
Before we left she somehow managed to also murder the beauty of the piano, guitar, and a few tambourines.
I walked her home and stood at the end of her sidewalk. She kept fidgeting with her fingers and smiling.
“Thanks for hanging out with me today.” I smirked. She didn’t know it, but she gave me a few hours of not thinking about my least favorite word: cancer.
Her cheeks reddened and she kept fidgeting. “I’ll see you at school?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She smiled and turned away. Then she turned back, and smiled again. “You’re amazing at the violin. I hope you know that.” She turned away and walked up the porch steps. She turned back to look at me. “Like, really, really amazing.” Another smile. Keep smiling. She turned away once more. As she stepped into her house, I started to walk away and heard her shouting my name. “Levi.”
“Yes?”
More fidgeting. More smiles. “Do you think we can be friends?”
I laughed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I thought we already were.”
* * *
I stepped into my bedroom right as my phone dinged. Glancing down at the cell phone, I saw Aria’s name, and I instantly rushed to read the message.
Aria: Glitterati - noun plural | [glit·te·ra·ti \gli-t-rä-t\] : Wealthy or famous people who conspicuously attend fashionable events.
Me: Sounds sparkly.
Aria: I bet they have wonderful punch that they pour into diamond encrusted glasses.
I reached for my dictionary and started flipping through it.
Me: Art – noun | [\ärt\] : The quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
Aria: I like that.
Me: I think you’re art.
She didn’t respond. I went and worked on some homework, pretended that I understood calculus, and checked my phone. I spoke to Mom on the phone. After I hung up, I checked my phone. I cooked a nasty TV dinner, ate it all, and checked my phone. I sat in the foyer laughing at black and white comedies, and checked my phone.
I checked it one last time before I shut off my light and climbed into bed.
As I lay in the dark, I listened to the phone ding as the blue light lit up my room.
Aria: Goodnight, Levi.
I smiled in the darkness.
Goodnight, Art.
17 Aria
The next day at school, Simon slammed his lunch down on the table in front of Levi and me. His anger from the day before seemed to be placed in the back of his mind as he blasted his annoyance on another issue at hand. “We will NOT be allowing Awkward Abigail to eat with us anymore! I forbid it!” For the past few weeks, Abigail would walk to our table, sit for two minutes—three when she wasn’t in a hurry—talk about some random quotes, compliment Simon, and then hurry away. It had actually kind of become a weird highlight of my day.
“Why not? She’s great,” Levi said.
Whenever he spoke, I watched his lips.
He could’ve said poop and it would’ve sounded romantic.
Stop it, Aria.
“Great?! GREAT?! Look at this!!!” He reached into his backpack and pulled out two Ziplock bags. One had two new bottles of hand sanitizer in them, and the other had cookies. “See?!” he said, his pale skin turning red with emotion.
“…Hand sanitizer and cookies?” I asked, confused.
“Homemade cookies! Yes—that’s right! Awkward Abigail came to a full-blown stop in front of my locker! And she said, ‘Hi, Simon. I noticed you were running low on hand sanitizer at lunch yesterday, so I bought you two new ones. Plus, I baked you some cookies.’ Then she handed me these and left!”
“That’s nice,” Levi replied.
“Nice?! It’s insane! What if someone saw us?! What if people thought she and I were, were…a thing?!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Levi asked.
Simon huffed and laughed angrily. “She’s—she’s…she’s Awkward Abigail!”
“Yes?” Abigail said, stepping behind Simon.
His face turned redder as he turned to meet her stare. “Oh. Hi.” He gave her a big, fake grin.
Abigail smiled wider than him. “You have a perfect smile. Very white and pearly. Too bad they are going to have to pull out your wisdom teeth at one point because I’m sure those would be nice, too. I would like to eat with you guys but,” she glanced at her watch, “I’m behind schedule today. I’ll see you later, I’m sure. Simon, that yellow T-shirt is a great color for you. I thought maroon was good, but yellow’s better. Okay. Bye, you guys.”
With that, she swished away with her wind pants, leaving Simon with his mouth hung open and confusion in his stare. “She CANNOT eat with us anymore!”
“If you like her so much, just ask her out,” Levi said, biting into his chicken patty.
“You think I like Abigail? ABIGAIL?! Yeah right.” Simon laughed. “Just because she’s weird, and kind of beautiful and happens to be an exceptional baker, and has a little dimple on her right cheek next to a heart-shaped birthmark, and actually quotes some interesting things sometimes, and is funny, and odd, and probably great at kissing because she’s always running her mouth nonstop which makes me want to kiss her four times in a row—doesn’t mean I LIKE HER AND WANT HER COOKIES!” he screamed.
Levi and I sat silent as we stared wide-eyed at Simon, who had just given the most awkward, messed up monologue ever delivered by mankind. Our eyes moved over to Abigail, who had returned and was beet red, frozen in place and holding two packs of cookies. Simon turned to see Abigail. He blinked. She blinked.
“Why not?” Lance asked, picking it up from the display. He handed it to me. “I think you and this violin might have a lot in common.”
I took the wooden instrument into my hands and smiled at it. Lance handed me the bow, and after a few minutes of tuning, I placed my chin on the chinrest. “Any requests?” I asked Aria.
She smiled. “Surprise me.”
I slid the bow across the strings of the violin, playing Henryk Wieniawksi’s classic, “Polonaise No. 1.” It was one of the hardest pieces of music I’d ever learned to play. Part of me was terrified of messing up and looking like an idiot. Another part of me wanted to impress Aria.
When I finished, the three started applauding and Aria mouthed, “Wow.”
Before we left she somehow managed to also murder the beauty of the piano, guitar, and a few tambourines.
I walked her home and stood at the end of her sidewalk. She kept fidgeting with her fingers and smiling.
“Thanks for hanging out with me today.” I smirked. She didn’t know it, but she gave me a few hours of not thinking about my least favorite word: cancer.
Her cheeks reddened and she kept fidgeting. “I’ll see you at school?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She smiled and turned away. Then she turned back, and smiled again. “You’re amazing at the violin. I hope you know that.” She turned away and walked up the porch steps. She turned back to look at me. “Like, really, really amazing.” Another smile. Keep smiling. She turned away once more. As she stepped into her house, I started to walk away and heard her shouting my name. “Levi.”
“Yes?”
More fidgeting. More smiles. “Do you think we can be friends?”
I laughed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I thought we already were.”
* * *
I stepped into my bedroom right as my phone dinged. Glancing down at the cell phone, I saw Aria’s name, and I instantly rushed to read the message.
Aria: Glitterati - noun plural | [glit·te·ra·ti \gli-t-rä-t\] : Wealthy or famous people who conspicuously attend fashionable events.
Me: Sounds sparkly.
Aria: I bet they have wonderful punch that they pour into diamond encrusted glasses.
I reached for my dictionary and started flipping through it.
Me: Art – noun | [\ärt\] : The quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
Aria: I like that.
Me: I think you’re art.
She didn’t respond. I went and worked on some homework, pretended that I understood calculus, and checked my phone. I spoke to Mom on the phone. After I hung up, I checked my phone. I cooked a nasty TV dinner, ate it all, and checked my phone. I sat in the foyer laughing at black and white comedies, and checked my phone.
I checked it one last time before I shut off my light and climbed into bed.
As I lay in the dark, I listened to the phone ding as the blue light lit up my room.
Aria: Goodnight, Levi.
I smiled in the darkness.
Goodnight, Art.
17 Aria
The next day at school, Simon slammed his lunch down on the table in front of Levi and me. His anger from the day before seemed to be placed in the back of his mind as he blasted his annoyance on another issue at hand. “We will NOT be allowing Awkward Abigail to eat with us anymore! I forbid it!” For the past few weeks, Abigail would walk to our table, sit for two minutes—three when she wasn’t in a hurry—talk about some random quotes, compliment Simon, and then hurry away. It had actually kind of become a weird highlight of my day.
“Why not? She’s great,” Levi said.
Whenever he spoke, I watched his lips.
He could’ve said poop and it would’ve sounded romantic.
Stop it, Aria.
“Great?! GREAT?! Look at this!!!” He reached into his backpack and pulled out two Ziplock bags. One had two new bottles of hand sanitizer in them, and the other had cookies. “See?!” he said, his pale skin turning red with emotion.
“…Hand sanitizer and cookies?” I asked, confused.
“Homemade cookies! Yes—that’s right! Awkward Abigail came to a full-blown stop in front of my locker! And she said, ‘Hi, Simon. I noticed you were running low on hand sanitizer at lunch yesterday, so I bought you two new ones. Plus, I baked you some cookies.’ Then she handed me these and left!”
“That’s nice,” Levi replied.
“Nice?! It’s insane! What if someone saw us?! What if people thought she and I were, were…a thing?!”
“What’s wrong with that?” Levi asked.
Simon huffed and laughed angrily. “She’s—she’s…she’s Awkward Abigail!”
“Yes?” Abigail said, stepping behind Simon.
His face turned redder as he turned to meet her stare. “Oh. Hi.” He gave her a big, fake grin.
Abigail smiled wider than him. “You have a perfect smile. Very white and pearly. Too bad they are going to have to pull out your wisdom teeth at one point because I’m sure those would be nice, too. I would like to eat with you guys but,” she glanced at her watch, “I’m behind schedule today. I’ll see you later, I’m sure. Simon, that yellow T-shirt is a great color for you. I thought maroon was good, but yellow’s better. Okay. Bye, you guys.”
With that, she swished away with her wind pants, leaving Simon with his mouth hung open and confusion in his stare. “She CANNOT eat with us anymore!”
“If you like her so much, just ask her out,” Levi said, biting into his chicken patty.
“You think I like Abigail? ABIGAIL?! Yeah right.” Simon laughed. “Just because she’s weird, and kind of beautiful and happens to be an exceptional baker, and has a little dimple on her right cheek next to a heart-shaped birthmark, and actually quotes some interesting things sometimes, and is funny, and odd, and probably great at kissing because she’s always running her mouth nonstop which makes me want to kiss her four times in a row—doesn’t mean I LIKE HER AND WANT HER COOKIES!” he screamed.
Levi and I sat silent as we stared wide-eyed at Simon, who had just given the most awkward, messed up monologue ever delivered by mankind. Our eyes moved over to Abigail, who had returned and was beet red, frozen in place and holding two packs of cookies. Simon turned to see Abigail. He blinked. She blinked.
