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Islant my bow against the strings of my violin while Jeremy taps out the last quick, energetic notes on his piano keys to end our practice session.
I nod, smiling with satisfaction. “Good, right?” I say to Jeremy.
Jeremy nods, but it’s a shallow one. His smile is shallow, too, seeming forced. “Yeah. Good.”
The way he says those words gives me the unpleasant expectation that there’s a but coming …
“But,” he begins, “I was thinking about what Sean said …”
I stifle a groan. I bet after I blew off his suggestion last time, Sean tracked Jeremy down and got into his ear about this. Now that I look back, I’m starting to realize just how hard a time he always had taking no for an answer.
“It’s just,” Jeremy continues, “I really want us to win. This is a big competition, and winning could do a lot for both of our careers. If we wow the judges with a revolutionary interpretation of a classic …”
I cut Jeremy off there. Revolutionary interpretation of a classic—it’s easy to hear my melodramatic and arrogant ex’s voice in those words.
I’ve gotten tired of trying to talk myself out of accurately describing Sean. Melodramatic and arrogant is exactly what he is. Here’s another thing he is: an asshole.
A pleased feeling thrums through me at finally giving myself permission to call it how I see it, even if only in my head.
“You know what judges don’t like?” I ask rhetorically. “Students mangling beloved classics by playing them in the totally wrong style and tone.”
Jeremy’s lips press together, anxious indecisiveness fluttering over his features.
“Have you ever played an unusually brooding, dramatic version of a normally upbeat piece before?” I ask Jeremy.
“No,” he answers, drawing out the syllable thoughtfully.
“And we have how much longer before the competition?”
“About three and a half weeks …” Realization is starting to dawn in his voice.
“So, what do you think is smarter? Starting to practice a completely different interpretation of this piece, working out all the kinks in it and trying to get it good enough to the point we can wow judges even though it’s completely unconventional, in three and a half weeks’ time, or sticking with the style we’ve already perfected?”
“Well, when you put it like that …” Jeremy still sounds indecisive—probably because he knows Sean is going to keep pestering him about it until he gets his way.
Pestering people until he gets his way is kind of Sean’s thing. I’m starting to figure out that I should have realized that all along. There are a lot of things about Sean that I should have realized all along.
“Trust me, this is our best play for the competition,” I tell him. “And if Sean tries to talk to you about this anymore, just tell him I vetoed you, that I’m completely unreasonable and can’t be argued with, and it’s probably just because the suggestion came from him.” I flash him a playful smile.
Jeremy laughs, tension leaving his face. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s a pretty silly idea. It’s just that Sean can be …”
“Persuasive?” I ask; Jeremy nods. “Yeah, I know.”
Jeremy sighs. “You’re totally right, though. I don’t know why I let Sean get to me.”
“Trust me,” I reply, shutting my violin case. “I sympathize.”
Frustration at my ex still churns inside me. I’m feeling a little bit of relief now that I think I’ve set Jeremy straight, but I never know if Sean and his smooth tongue are going to try to turn him against reason again.
Maybe I just need to put my foot down and tell Sean off in no uncertain terms. But the thought makes my shoulders tighten with tension. I’m not the telling-off type.
Then I think back to how good it felt just moments ago to let myself admit that, yes, my ex is an asshole. Not just misguided: an asshole.
Maybe putting my foot down and telling him off will feel just as good.
I walk out of the music building, and my stomach flutters as I walk towards the library. Where I’m meeting Hudson.
A muscle between my legs tugs as images of his icy blue eyes and his knife-sharp jaw flash through my mind. I must have taken a wrong step or something.
