And then I went out into the November cold, first walking to my car, and then running, to get to Orion.
Chapter 23Harper
I drove as fast as I dared without risking an accident or speedingticket to Atlas Hall. One perk of living in Rhode Island was its tiny size; I made it there in under ten minutes—about a quarter to five. I checked in at the front desk and knocked on Orion and Easton’s door. No answer.
I knocked harder. Then pounded on the door. “Orion!”
“He’s not here,” said a guy peeking his head out a door from down the hall.
“Do you know where he is?”
“My roommate said he saw him heading back to campus.”
“When?”
The guy ran a hand through his hair. “An hour ago?”
“Thanks.”
I ran down the path from Atlas Hall, back to the Academy, sure it was going to be locked up. But of course, it was busy with students and their extracurriculars. I’d heard there’d been a terrible accident in the gym the day before, so I nearly skipped it, expecting it to be closed. But it was business as usual, with athletes of all persuasions onthe apparatuses. I don’t know why I expected anything different.
But no Orion.
I contemplated heading to the STEM Wing to see if he was working on his NoSci project, or maybe the library for his history paper due tomorrow. But I knew in my heart, if he was still on campus, there was only one place Orion would be.
In the Arts Wing, I approached the door to our Advanced Piano classroom slowly and listened. Nothing. My heart sank, but I cracked it open anyway.
Orion sat at the baby grand in a lone circle of light from a small lamp on the teacher’s table beside him. No sheet music on the rack. Just him holding his head in one hand, the other hand resting idly on the keys.
My heart dropped again. He looked so utterly exhausted. Defeated. Touching the piano with nostalgia, as if it were some distant thing that was out of reach, instead of the instrument he’d mastered like the brilliant virtuoso he was.
I shut the door and stepped inside. Orion didn’t move or speak. I came down the aisle slowly and moved in front of him. He wore jeans, a tight-fitting long-sleeved shirt, and expensive-looking tennis shoes. Every part of him looked elegant and put together.
Because he’s still trying. Still trying to live up to some impossible standard…
“Orion?” I said again.
He looked up at me with tired eyes. “Bennett. Greetings and salutations.”
“I was worried.” I took a seat in Professor Wolfe’s chair. “What are you doing here?”
“Not sure,” he said. “Wolfe wants me to compose something for the spring concert, but that’s rather laughable.”
I could’ve played stupid and asked why, and that would’ve been myinto what I came to say to him. But the last thing he needed wasme patronizing him or thinking I felt sorry for him.
I don’t, because there’s nothing to pity. Not one thing.
“Do you love to play?” I asked instead. A genuine question I wanted an answer to. “What does it mean to you?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his fingers trailing over the keys. “Sometimes I feel…”
I leaned forward. “Yes?”
“Sometimes I feel like I never gave myself a chance to find out. I’ve been so busy trying tonotbe an embarrassment to my family.”
“You aren’t,” I said automatically.
He looked up at me sharply. “No? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not doing so hot in the academics department. Not like Odin or Octavian. I’m a wee bit of a failure, love.”
