The Singer and the Teacher

I stared at my large suitcase, waiting by my door with my purse and my laptop case. It was still nine o'clock the evening before I had to go anywhere, but after Alex had told me he wanted me to be somewhere tomorrow, I panicked. I shifted in my chair, itching to go to the airport right now. Why not? asked a quiet voice in my head. He did say the first flight.

Decision made.

* * *

The light from my real phone shone brightly in the dark, and I was staring at the mobile Facebook page that had the link to Adriene's profile on it. Something about Facebook felt personal, and I knew that if she was one of those girls that were constantly on it, I wouldn't be able to help myself and flood her updates and wall. I sent a request anyway. Like I had hoped, it was accepted less than a minute later, even though it was really late. I didn't marvel at technology, but I did thank it when I went through her pictures.

After going through her hundreds of pictures from college, her learning abroad trips to Greece and Italy and recent pictures from just a few days ago, Alex came hurdling out of his room, pulling on jeans and shoving his phone into the pocket.

"Hey," I said, trying to discreetly hide my phone.

"Hey," he said back in the same evasive tone.

"It's really early in the morning," I noted, and he looked at the clock that read five in the morning. "Or really late."

"Yeah, well," he said, raking his hair into some semblance of being brushed. "Jessica finally got Pilar off her back and I miss her. I won't get to see her later if we end up finishing up the album today."

"I guess," I said, and he darted outside. I didn't give it a second thought. My heart gave a lurch of longing, reminding me that the one I wanted to be with was on the other side of the country. Almost like it had been calling out to her, an alert popped up on my phone.

Adriene McNair
S ' agapó̱ tóso polý, agóri tragoudistí̱s.

I had to laugh. She was probably too nervous to talk to me over Facebook in English. A yawn so wide it made my jaw crack made me put my phone down and lay on the couch. I would Google translate it in the morning.

* * *

"Jesus, Adriene," said Alex, wearing sunglasses and lighting a cigarette when we got outside of the Tallahassee Municipal Airport. "I think you could have come a little later."

"Sorry," I said, rubbing my eyes. "You said the first flight."

"I did," he said, chuckling. "Derek was eye-raping your Facebook pictures. He's probably doing dirty things to himself while he's in the shower."

"Alex!"

"What? He's a dude," he said, shrugging like this was an obvious observation. My cheeks were redder than they had been in a long time. "Coffee?"

"Yes, definitely," I said, and he flagged down a taxi. "How do you stand the weather here?" I could feel the moisture in my lungs and the sun was just making its appearance in the east.

"I don't know," he said, and looked me up and down. "There's no way you'll be wearing that."

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"They cover up too much. Come on, coffee first, and then a Florida makeover."

Some coffee places were just opening now that it was getting closer to seven in the morning, and we had the cab driver drop us off at the first one that didn't look like a hole in the wall. Once we were sitting at a table by the window and had cups of hot coffee in front of us, I felt my excitement settle in. I was in Derek's hometown, the place where he became the man he is now. I could almost feel his arms around me. The city looked truly beautiful with the morning sun shining down on it.

"You look like you can tell he's only a few miles away," said Alex after a long gulp of coffee.

"I'm just glad I'm in the right time zone," I said, laughing softly. "You aren't going to dress me too inappropriately, are you?"

"Define inappropriate."

"I think my own clothes will work just fine, thank you," I sniffed, feeling the urge to protect my suitcase. A broad, mischievous grin spread across his face.

"I can't wear this," I said defiantly, my arms crossed. I was standing in front of three mirrors, all reflecting the same thing--a brown haired young woman in a hot pink string bikini. "I might as well parade around in lingerie. It covers more."

"You're in Florida now," said Alex, trying to reason with me.

"We aren't arguing about this," I said, sticking out my pointer finger. I went back into the dressing room. "Bring me something better."

After a few tries, he finally found something we were willing to compromise on. I agreed to wear the pink bikini if he let me wear the strapless white sun dress over it. We clipped off the tags while we were still in the store and had the cashier scan those so I didn't have to change.

"Everyone is supposed to be at the studio around nine, so we might want to hurry," he said, hopping back into the cab that was waiting for us.

We rode in silence to a plain concrete building with no sign and very few windows. The drive was short, and sooner than I could have dreamed, he was leading me down a hallway with framed records. There was one guy with his head shaved sitting at a computer and having a conversation with Brooks.

"You came!" he said, but stayed where he was sitting. "We missed learning weird, random facts."

"Should we hide her in the booth he sings in?" Alex asked, but Brooks beckoned for me to sit next to him.

"Ignore him," said Brooks, and Alex flipped him off before going down to where all the instruments were. I listened to him and the bald guy talk about things I had no idea about, but it calmed me down a little until I saw Derek's hair through the window for a split second before the door opened.

"Before we do anything, I need Google translate!" he said loudly, looking down at his phone. "S uhgopoh...oh my God, I suck at this."

"You mean, S ' agapó̱ tóso polý, agóri tragoudistí̱s?" I asked, and he froze. "The S means that I am talking about you. Agapo means love, toso poly roughly means so much. Tragoudistis means singer, and agori means boy. It's Greek." He was staring at my face, taking in everything; my blush, my now slightly crooked nose and my new clothes.

"This is impossible," he said, walking slowly towards me and never taking his eyes off of me. "How did you know...?" He reached out to touch my hand, probably expecting to touch nothing at all, but when he saw that I was real he wrapped his arms around me and didn't have any intentions of letting go.

* * *

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. When I saw a brown-haired girl in a white dress sitting next to Brooks, I didn't think twice; it could have been anyone. The lecture is what gave her away, and now she was back where she belonged.

While we waited for the second producer, who was stuck in traffic, she told me how Alex had planned the entire thing, that sneaky bastard. I could tell he was up to no good, and it explained why he'd been hyper since we got back to Florida. He used it to distract us from what was really going on.

She sat by my side as we made final decisions for the new album, falling asleep a couple of times on my shoulder. Everything was perfect; this is how my life was supposed to be, but unfortunately, that wasn't how it was.

"Derek, can we talk for a minute?" asked a quiet voice. Adriene was asleep again and drooling on my shirt. Pilar was standing in the doorway, glancing from her feet to me and back. I nudged Adriene awake, and she put her head on the arm of the sofa we were sitting on, not even opening her eyes.

"Yeah," I said, wiping the drool off my shoulder. She walked out to the lobby, the receptionist in her office, leaving us alone.

"I get it," she said before I could say anything. "You're not happy when you're with me anymore, but why?" Her arms were folded, and she sounded like she was about to cry. "I know I'm really crazy sometimes, but how was I supposed to act? You barely know her, and you're ready to leave me for her."

"Pilar, wait--" I started, but she scoffed, shaking her head.

"You really don't understand," she said, an irritated glint in her eyes. "She's not as strong as I am and she's not going to put up with you like I can. If I can't handle you leaving for tour, what makes you think that she can? What's she going to do when you have a fling like her in another town?

"I should have seen it a long time ago. You haven't changed at all, Derek. You're still acting like you're a victim of love wherever you go. It's the other way around," she said seriously, her arms crossing tighter. "Me and Adriene are victims. All those other girls can't help but fall in love with you, but you always, always leave. You're going to disappoint her just like you disappointed me." If there was one thing Pilar had always been good at, it was a perfect exit. Yeah, I just got dumped, but she did it with a bang. I turned back to the hallway and almost jumped out of my skin. Adriene was leaning against the wall, stirring the coffee and cream mixture in her styrofoam cup, regarding me with expressionless eyes.

"I heard the whole thing, you don't have to fill me in," she said, always catching my eyes with that stare whenever I looked at her.

"I know what you're thinking," I said, very close to falling to my knees and begging for a chance.

"Oh, I don't think so," she said, smirking. "She thinks I won't be able to handle you? Pah! Of all the things to worry about!"

"What?"

"Be quiet," she snapped, drinking some of her coffee, and I pursed my lips. "Do you think I haven't already come to terms with the fact you'll be gone a lot? You're a touring musician, what else am I supposed to expect?"

"Uh--" She was on a roll now.

"I'm not with you because I want to tweet to all my friends that I'm sleeping with the singer in Mayday Parade. I'm not with you because you're a catch. I'm here because I missed you and I wanted to see you, not because you happen to be in a good band. I can see myself old and wrinkled on a porch swing in Greece with you, watching the sun set like we always do. Do you understand now, singer boy?" I was quiet for a little while, drinking in the idea through my eyes as I saw her add more coffee to her cup.

"No one's said anything like that to me before," I said, and her cheeks turned a little red. "Singer boy? Is that a term of endearment?"

"I suppose, agóri tragoudistí̱s," she said, holding out her free hand. "Savor it. You'll never hear it in English again."