Page 41 of I Wish I Would've Told You

“Who are the other two?” Tully asks.

“Wrong question.” He looks at her. “We’re ranked number one. We just try to sound humble every now and then.”

I smile. I already know that, just like I’ve already memorized the layout of this campus and all it has to offer thanks to me and Scarlett scoping it out this past summer.

“Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Rush?”

“Not right now,” I say “I’ll email you if I think of any, though.”

“Please do. What about you, Miss Crane?”

“Does the cheerleading squad travel with the football team?”

“Not on the college level, no,” he says, pausing. “But if you decide to continue your cheering career here and bring Mr. Easton with you, I’m sure we can discuss some personal travel arrangements on game day if you like.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We need to end this arrangement a lot sooner….“Thank you for the tour, sir,” I say. “I was impressed.”

“I hope so!”

I wrap my arm and Tully’s and escort her to the parking lot before she can say anything else.

13

ME

Dear Mr. Liasson,

I never told anyone about how you used to gently squeeze my ass or brush up against my breasts during those “mandatory” private practices in middle school. I didn’t know that wasn’t normal at the time, and if I could go back in time and report you, I would. Alas, I’m sorry that Ashley Ford’s father took the law into his own hands.

Rest in Peace.

I Wish I Would’ve Told You,

—Scarlett

My palms sweat as I hold the bow against my violin onstage.

The spotlight is shining brighter than usual, and the audience in the theater is staring at me in anticipation. They want to hear if all the hype about “Scarlett the Wonder” is true.

To them, I’m the girl from Ohio who once lived in a trailer park, but was spotted playing an abandoned violin outside. The girl who could play a piece from ear without any formal training and had teachers lining up just to help her succeed.

If they read any of the headlines about “YouTube’s Caroline and The Twins Move to More Private Life,” they assume that I’m still being taught by a maestro.

But I had to give that up long ago.

“We all have to make sacrifices for our new lives…”

I take a deep breath and shut my eyes, gently pressing the bow against the strings. I don’t have to look at the sheet music ahead of me to play, so I shut my eyes and let my emotions take full control.

The notes fly from my fingertips easily, filling the auditorium with a story of love and hate. A piece about a girl who was stupid enough to fall for a guy she shouldn’t want, a guy she desperatelyneeds.

I transition into the piece they were expecting,The Twenty four Caprices by Niccolò Paganini, and then I return to the piece I’ve composed about me and Easton.

Toxic and tragic, up and down, around and around, never-ending…

I hold the last note and open my eyes to a completely quiet audience.

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