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If there was ever anyone at all…
“I guess we’ll find out after the concert,” Alyssa answers. Her tone suggests she’s sure of what we’ll find.
As much as it’s flattering that someone obviously spent the money and took the time to leave me those gifts, I can’t help but wonder to what end game. Why would someone go to all that trouble, but never tell me who they are? Especially after an entire year. Alyssa seems convinced there’ll be another dozen red roses waiting for me after tonight’s concert, but I’m not so certain.
Honestly, it’s probably a play on my family’s part to boost my self-esteem and make me feel appreciated by someone other than them. Or Jess and Alyssa have been doing it all this time. They’re so insistent that I need to get out there and date that perhaps they think “a secret admirer” will pique my interest in the opposite sex. Maybe that’s because I haven’t bothered to tell them there’s only one guy I’m interested in…
Our band director begins his usual welcome speech at the podium, and my anxiety ratchets up another notch. All thoughts of Rob, mystery bouquets, and secret admirers fly away as I repeat the necessary self-affirmations.
My fingers will fly, swift but sure. My breath will be strong. My timing will be flawless. My phrasing on-point. It will be beautiful. It will be perfect. It will be from the best parts of me.
When the music starts, everything else evaporates. Only my bandmates, the feeling of every emotion possible flowing through my veins, and I exist. With every crescendo, my heart swells and my lungs accommodate the powerful rush of air necessary to convey the volume of a sleigh gliding rapidly across snow-covered hills. I have to fight the smile that begs to spread across my face as the jazzy section of the song picks up, but there’s no way to tamp down my body as it sways to the beat.
When the final song is over, the director motions for us to rise and take our bows. The standing ovation from the audience brings a wide, proud grin to my face. We nailed it.
The curtain goes down, and everyone on stage rushes into a flurry of activity as the band vacates the space to be replaced by the choir. Over the cacophony of noise, quiet murmurings permeate the thick, burgundy curtains from beyond, where the audience stretches their legs during intermission. As I hand my flute over to Alyssa before making my way to the risers on the opposite side of the stage, I can only hope the second half of the show will go as well.
The chorus portion of the concert is slightly harder to navigate. Though I love singing as much as playing, I have to face the crowd rather than read my music, and my eyes are inevitably drawn to the one person who can break my concentration. So, I avoid looking in his direction at all costs, instead choosing to focus on a point in the back of the auditorium.
The only instrument that can never leave me serves me well, every note strong and sure, neither flat nor sharp—as long as my eyes zero in on my sister, who is cuddling in the back row with her boy toy. A strange feeling of jealousy coupled with displeasure nearly overcomes me as I study their physical intimacy with one another. They both look comfortable to be wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying the music they hear as one rather than two bodies. Though I know their ease with each other will be short-lived, I can’t help but wonder. What must it be like to experience that with another person? To be able to let go and enjoy the moment?
When the final note fades into oblivion, we take our bow, and the curtains go down once again as everyone breaks to either grab their instruments or head out into the crowd for pictures and hugs of congratulations. Alyssa appears by my side as soon as I step backstage, my flute with her.
She latches on to my elbow, dragging me along. “Come on! Let’s go see what lover boy left this time!”
My heart picks up speed as I drag my feet. Do I want there to be a bouquet? Part of me hopes for it, but the bigger part of me feels so pathetic over the whole thing.
Sure enough, as soon as we step inside the band room, Alyssa squeals in my ear. “There’s another one!”
Jess is already at my seat, leaning over and inspecting the bouquet without touching anything. She whips her gaze toward us when she hears Alyssa’s reaction. A slow, calculating smile blooms across her face as we approach.
“There’s another one,” she announces.
Obviously. That’s Alyssa and Jess for you. The dynamic duo of all things obvious.
“Does it say who it’s from this time?” Alyssa questions. She’s studying the bouquet like it holds all the answers to the universe.
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to touch it.”
Two sets of eyes train on me. I can feel them watching, waiting to see what I’ll do.
I don’t know what to do. “You know, if you guys are doing this just to make me feel better about myself, your plan is totally backfiring. Fess up already.”
Alyssa crosses her arms over her chest, a hurt expression on her face. “We wouldn’t do that to you, Evie. We’re your friends. Why would we play with your emotions like that? Now, pick them up and see who they’re from.”
My lips twist to the side both out of guilt for my accusation and fear of what I’ll find. What if they’re not from him? What if they are? I’m completely out of my element here. I don’t know what to do with a boy now any more than I did in middle school. Then again, no one’s ever shown any more interest in me than the occasional horny guy looking to score. If I show even the slightest hesitation, they bolt like frightened animals. I guess most guys don’t know what to do with a girl who actually thinks for herself.
Gingerly, I pick the roses up and look for any sort of clues as to their appearance. It’s a beautiful bouquet—a dozen red roses with golden-glitter tips, baby’s-breath, pine, and holly accents. Several swirling red and gold glitter rods complete the holiday-themed arrangement. The entire thing is wrapped in poinsettia-printed tissue paper and tied with a red, silky bow.
It must have cost a small fortune.
A little, white envelope is tucked inside the ribbon. With shaking fingers, I dislodge the small square from its hiding place.
Alyssa plucks the bouquet from my arm so I can inspect this clue a little more closely. Once again, there’s no mistaking this gift is for me because my name is written on the front of the envelope. I break the seal, then pull out one of those tiny cards sold in floral shops. It, too, is Christmas-themed, a poinsettia print around the border. Jess and Alyssa read over my shoulders.
That’s it.No name. No nothing. The message is so vague and…bizarre. It’s almost impersonal. If it weren’t for the fact the envelope is clearly addressed to me, this card could have been for anyone. It seems like the writer had no clue what to actually say but, for whatever reason, felt the need to say something.
“It’s totally from a guy,” Jess advises. “No girl would write something like that.”
