Bottled Blue

Once we were far enough away from the art class, we slowed to a walk, and Jett let go of my hand. I had to lean against a wall to catch my breath. Jett was smiling, and his cheeks were still pink.

"Well," he said, putting his hands on his hips. "I've seen enough dick for one day. How about you?" I couldn't stop myself from laughing like a mad woman.

"Oh my God. That was awful. Why didn't she warn us?" He shrugged.

"Good question."

"What are we supposed to do now?" He began walking again, so I pushed off the wall to follow him.

"I don't know. We have to wait for Billie so we can just walk around and look at stuff, I guess."

"Okay."

We were quiet as we walked up the hall. It was after hours, so the school was mostly empty. I didn't know what to say. I didn't like spending time with Jett Kanellis when I could have been at home, drinking hot cocoa or sleeping.

"My homework is in the car if you want to work on that," I suggested. He shrugged again and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Not really, to be honest." Another minute passed.

"What do you think we should do then?"

"Want to check out the music room?"

"Sure."

He took a turn at the next intersection and headed down the hall. He seemed to know exactly where the music room was even though I'd never been there.

"So, how do you know your way around so well?" I asked while we walked.

He'd exchanged his jacket for a hoodie, so he had his hands tucked into the front pocket. But his sleeves were rolled up so I could see his toned arms and tanned skin. He had a threaded bracelet on his wrist with a black bead. It didn't look very well made. Or maybe it was just worn down. Maybe both. His sneakers squeaked against the tile as we walked.

"My mom taught a music appreciation class a few years ago. Sometimes she comes for guest lectures with the music program," he explained.

"Oh—that's actually really cool."

"We'd come here after school instead of getting a ride home from my dad. Then we'd just wait around in the music room for her class to finish. Luckily, the lecture room and the music room are separate. So she could see us, but we could be loud without bothering anyone. We always had a blast."

"You and your sisters?" He nodded.

"Mm-hmm."

"That's a nice memory."

"An orange bottle. I hope it's open."

I didn't know what the hell that meant. But I didn't ask. And when we finally reached the room, he looked inside the small window in the door. The lights were off, but when he pulled it, it opened anyway. He grinned, then led me into the classroom and flicked the lights.

"Someone's going to be in trouble," he sang lowly, flipping his stupidly gorgeous black curls out of his eyes. I laughed.

"At least we won't be bored. Well—you won't be anyway."

"I can teach you something."

"Yeah, that'll never happen." He smiled and veered right for an acoustic guitar resting on a mounted wall hook.

"This was my mom's," he told me. "She donated it."

"Is it special?"

"She used it for some acoustic benefit the band did. So I guess it's special in that regard. But she didn't have a sentimental attachment to it or anything. So she signed it and donated it to the school when she taught classes. So now it's special."

I'd never actually seen Jett play before. Actually, that wasn't true. We had this talent showcase that our school put on every year. It was basically just a talent show without the prizes. Students would share their different cultures or skills or whatever. Jett played with a band for that. But it was an electric guitar, and I don't remember paying much attention to him.

He held this guitar like he knew it well. And he probably did. He pulled the strap over his shoulder, and I could see where his mom had scribbled her name in black marker. He strummed with just his fingers for a moment and then adjusted the knobs at the top of it.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Making sure it's tuned. I don't think it gets used a lot."

"It's nice."

"It's alright."

"Probably not as good as the stuff you usually get. Best of the best, right?" He huffed.

"The first guitar I ever had was a knockoff from a pawn shop. Stop thinking so high of me. Or low, considering your attitude."

"You know my friend Becky?" I asked, walking around the room and taking in all the shiny instruments.

"No," he said flatly. I rolled my eyes and went for the piano.

"You went out with her for like a week in sophomore year."

"Oh right. I didn't realize you were friends." I groaned and sat down on the piano bench. "I'm messing with you. I know Rebecca. What about her?"

I heard him strum the guitar again. But this time, it was tuned because he began to play something. I didn't look at him. I just lifted the lid to the piano and put my fingers on the smooth, worn keys. I didn't know how to make music, but I wished I could at that moment.

"She said the first thing you ever said to her was, 'You know my parents are in a band, right?'" He let go of a bark of laughter.

"Ha! Did I really? What a tool."

"According to her, you did."

"We were at a house party. There was a live band. I'm sure I had a reason for saying that. I don't usually talk about my parents unless someone gives me a good reason." I struck a key and nodded. He seemed to understand why I was saying this. "And I definitely don't use it to pick up girls, Aasha."

The strange thing is that I actually believed him. Now that I'd seen how torn he was between wanting to play music but not wanting to benefit from his parents' fame, it made sense. He was proud of them, obviously. I could tell by the way he was playing his mother's guitar. But he didn't want to use them for personal gain.

"I see," I said.

"Can you play?" I shook my head.

"No. But before we moved into our house, we rented this house across town that was already furnished. There was a piano, and the owners said I could play with it. And I'd sit there for hours just pretending I knew what I was doing." He laughed again, but it wasn't unkind.

"So piano is your thing then?" I shrugged again.

"I like guitar too. I just—I don't know—there's something classic about a piano."

He set the guitar back into the wall mount, and then I felt him behind me. He leaned over and took my fingers in his. I gulped because I didn't want him to touch me, but I didn't ask him to stop. He stuck my fingers on some keys and pressed them down. Then he moved them to another set of keys and did the same. I let him do it because we were actually making a song, and I was curious. It took me a moment to figure out what it was.

"It's Swan Lake," I said, a little surprised.

"It's my favorite," he told me. Now I was stunned. I figured he probably knew how to play something like Bohemian Rhapsody. But not Swan Lake.

"Can you play the entire song?" I felt him nod.

"Yeah, it's one of the few I can play off the top of my head." That was insane to me. I could memorize mathematical formulas. But I'd never be able to memorize a song. I could barely remember the lyrics without messing up.

"Will you play it for me?" He paused for a moment, letting his hand rest on top of mine. His fingers were gripping mine gently.

"Sure." He let me go and stood up straight, so I moved out of his way. He sat on the bench and set his fingers on the keys like an expert. Then he sighed. "The beginning is kind of iffy. I can play it. It just takes me a minute to get my head on straight, okay?"

"Sure. Okay." He struck a key, shook his head, and then moved to another one. This time he nodded.

"Alright. Here goes nothing."

He began to play, and I leaned against the piano. It was really cheesy. But it was so beautiful. I didn't watch him for a while just because I didn't want him to catch me staring at him. But then I realized he was probably too caught up in the song to notice me. So I looked up. Which was a huge mistake to make as someone who didn't want to be boiled alive.

His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, squinting just a little tighter every time he got to a fast pace. Once or twice, he paused briefly before remembering what he was supposed to do. A few parts didn't sound quite right or like he misplaced a finger, but he didn't let it stop him. He kept going. His dark hair had fallen back into his eyes. The room was relatively dim and dusty. But it enveloped him in just enough afternoon light to highlight how unfairly gorgeous he was. He had a single dark freckle on his cheek that threw off his otherwise symmetrical face but somehow just made him more attractive all at once.

Hating him would have been a lot easier if he wasn't everything I found attractive in a person. Like the gods had gotten together to craft my exact fantasy all in one boy. And then dared to make him a pompous douchebag just to tease me.

He seemed to get really into it as the song progressed. As if he forgot I was there. It picked up in tempo, and he concentrated even harder than before. Jett said music wasn't his real passion, but I wasn't sure I believed that. I loved it, and it would definitely be my passion if I could play. The song seemed really tragic, and I got weirdly emotional. Like I was going to cry. I was definitely going to cry.

"So yeah," he said, hitting the last keys. "Swan Lake." I looked away just as he swept another rogue curl out of his eyes. I didn't want him to see how stupidly misty-eyed I'd just gotten.

"Um—what else can you play?"

"I don't know. A few things."

"Will you play something else for me?"

"Sure. I can try." He set his hands back on the keys and hesitated. "This song is actually like fifteen minutes long, so I'm only going to play the part I remember. But it's one of my favorites. My mom taught me how to play it when I was really young. It's called Moonlight."

He began to play. Slowly at first. I was serious about piano music getting me weak in the knees. I crossed my legs on the carpet and leaned my elbows on my knees. I shut my eyes and let the music flow over me. Part of me wished it was someone other than Jett playing for me. But I was kind of glad it was him. He was really talented. More than he gave himself credit for. It was beautiful. And I thought—maybe—I might have misjudged Jett Kanellis a little bit. Because I didn't think he was really that much of a pompous douchebag at all. He made me laugh. And he was actually kind of sweet sometimes.

Then he stopped the music kind of abruptly and didn't say anything for a long moment. I didn't look at him, and he didn't move.

"Wow," I finally said, opening my eyes to stare at the ugly orange carpet again. "You're really good."

"My mom has been training me since I was in the womb. The piano at our house? My dad and grandpa got it for her when she was pregnant with me. So she could play for me. She used to let me sit on her lap and bang the keys when I was a baby."

"Do you still play for fun?"

"Sometimes. Here. I'm going to play something for you, okay? But I've never played it for anyone else. So this has to be our secret, alright?"

"Okay."

I waited for him to start, and when he did, I took a moment to recognize the song. I was stumped for a moment until he reached a chorus. And then I realized he was playing Fools Rush In by Elvis. I never really cared for him, but my grandma did, and I knew the song. Somehow hearing it on the piano made it even sweeter.

Then I finally decided to look up at him. I focused on his fingers and the way they moved. They were intricate, fluid, and complex. He always seemed so rough to me. He had guitar calluses, and his hands were big compared to mine. But seeing them on the piano made me realize I was wrong about him. I had been all along. Maybe about everything.

Finally, he finished the song on one final note. Luckily, I had my eyes on the classroom door and not him. Otherwise, he might have confused the glaze in my eyes as the result of his beautiful playing. It wasn't. I had allergies, and the room was really dusty. I didn't want him to think he was good or anything. But he was, and I was just being mean. He was beyond good. He was amazing. But this was Jett Kanellis. The boy I'd tried so hard to hate. The one who picked on my brother and made stupid smart-ass comments. The boy with the messy bedroom and famous parents and too much popularity to ever want a girl like me.

He cleared his throat, and I heard him shut the lid. "Yeah, so. I've been working on that one," he said. I bit my lip to keep myself from being too mean or too nice. My mom was right about that. I didn't know how to go between. "There's a cafeteria if you're hungry. They have tea."

"Okay." He stood up and then stepped in front of me. He looked down with concern.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just have allergies." I expected him to gloat or call me out, but he didn't. Instead, he just nodded and stuck his hands out.

"I heard they have hot tea. You like it hot, right?"

"Yeah. Okay."

I slid my hands into his, surprised that they weren't as rough as I thought. I could feel his calluses but his hands still felt soft. Gentle. He pulled me to standing and then didn't let my hands go. He kept looking down at me like he was confused and/or concerned about my health. Maybe my sanity.

"You really love music, don't you?" he asked. I nodded.

"Yeah—it's probably my favorite thing in the world." He gave me that same slow nod as if he was coming to a conclusion about something.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay."

He was still silently studying me. I didn't break away because I didn't want to be the first to show any weakness, but I didn't pull my hands away either. I probably should have. And maybe the heat wouldn't have gotten turned up so fast. But I was still high on his music and didn't comprehend the fact that Jett Kanellis was holding my hands. All I knew was that I'd misjudged him, and he was so beautiful that part of me wanted to swoon like all the other girls who fell at his feet. His throat bobbed like he was anxious, and I got the stupidest idea I'd ever had.

He was looking at me like he wanted to kiss me. And maybe—maybe I'd let him.

Then the music room door opened, and someone said, "Hey, you're not supposed to be in here," in a really commanding tone.

"Shit," Jett said, letting go of one of my hands and turning to face the faculty member. "Run for it."

We took off again. He yanked me toward the door that led into the lecture room. I was so glad it was unlocked. We bolted toward the other side and back out into the hallway. We kept running until we were far enough away from the music room to be safe. And when we slowed to a walk, he let go of my hand. We were both laughing.

"Oh Jesus," he said, trying to catch his breath. I didn't respond because I couldn't breathe either. "Buy you tea?" I clutched the front of my jacket and nodded.

"Please?"