In a way, it still does.
I force myself to try now, though.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He takes so long to answer that at first I don’t think he will, but finally he says, “Nothing’s wrong.” But I’m not sure I believe it. “Summer, you know,” he adds halfheartedly.
“People still bathe and have normal human contact over the summer,” I say, even if we can lounge around the house and sluggishly pass the time.
I’m tempted to ask whether he wants to do something, hang out like we used to when we were younger, but we don’t really do that. So instead, I retreat and start getting ready for my viola lesson. Soon Caleb is back in his room, the door shut between us.
“Why didn’t youtellme?” Zach asks, his mouth open in surprise, moments after I enter his house. It’s our first official day of shooting, and he is staring at my viola.
“It never came up,” I answer with a shrug. I’ve just come from my lesson, which I biked to, so my viola is still in my basket.
After a little back-and-forth, Zach has been able to come up with a production schedule that suits all of us. He is working evenings at the movie store this week. Kevin, who landed a job as a dishwasher at Pizza Hut, starts work at four every afternoon. And since my lessons go till ten-thirty every weekday morning, I can only start after eleven, which works well with Raj’s request that he not be required to wake up, under any circumstances, before ten.
The great thing is that, with my mom at work, she can’t hover or demand to meet Zach’s entire family or something embarrassing like that.
“We were going to use Raj’s iPod for the sound track,” Zach says now.
“Rajesh likeshonky-tonk,” Kevin adds with disgust. “And not the kindIlike.”
“Kev,” Zach says tiredly. He turns to face me again, still wearing the look of shock he had earlier. “Will you play something?”
“Um, sure,” I say, even though I am thinking,Oh God, no.Maybe it is preshooting jitters, but I can’t help feeling nervous whenever Zach’s full attention is on me. Our test run the other day went well, but I noticed something. Zach is different when he’s behind the camera. He is very calm and focused, and he is almost always frowning with intensity, concentrating. I’m terrified now that somehow I’ll disappoint him. Or maybe it’s just those gray eyes—twinkling, I can handle, but smoldering, traveling slowly over my face, even with the lens between us, I just cannot get used to.
I sit down on one of the couches, careful not to crush any of Zach’s camera equipment, which is scattered everywhere at this point. Then I open my case, pull out my instrument, and begin to play.
I play for a minute, tops, an upbeat melody I hope they’ll recognize.
When I am finished, Kevin bursts into applause. “Bravo! Bravo!”
Both Zach and Raj are quiet for a minute, and I watch them, flushed from playing, trying not to be disappointed at their mild reaction.
Then, together, they go quietly, “Oh my God.” The very first time I met Raj, apart from the fact that he dressed casual and seemed moderately invested in, if a little detached from, their film, it was hard for me to see why he and Zach were friends. But little by little, I’m seeing similarities. Both of them can talk Ciano movies for hours—Zach pro, Raj also pro, but not at Zach’s level. Raj, despite appearances, has a dry sense of humor. And for all the heaviness, thesighing,Raj brings into a room, Zach’s lightness balances it out.
“What’s wrong?” I ask now, biting on my lower lip.
“That’s fuckingSuper Mario,” Raj says, a little inflection—God help us—coming into his voice. “She playsSuper Mario!”
Kevin laughs. He likes to slap things when he laughs—his thigh, the arm of the couch. Now he slaps Zach’s back.
I laugh, too, relieved. “Oh, my brother was obsessed growing up, so I learned to play it.”
Raj continues to appraise me, as if I am a deity. “Thatneeds to be our sound track.”
I realize Zach still hasn’t spoken, but he’s moved to start putting together his camera equipment.
I am packing away my viola, carefully, because I’m OCD about scratches, when I notice he’s stopped what he’s doing and is watching me.
“What?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair from my face. I pulled my hair into a somewhat sloppy French braid this morning so that, apart from my bangs, it would be effectively out of my way.
“You play like you’re in love with it.”
I laugh, but his eyes are so serious that I feel my ears tickle with heat. “Maybe I am,” I say back, too quietly for Raj and Kevin to hear. Zach doesn’t say anything in response, just watches me for a few more seconds.
The four of us move the furniture out of the way to open up the center of the basement. Zach places a pile of sheets on the ground, which we use to cover the couches just in case. Raj spreads newspaper over the carpet, and I help him, marveling at how efficient they are, how many times they must have done this.
