The Love That Split the World(12)

“But when the boat entered the rush of the current, the tribe saw a second white canoe skirt out from beneath the trees on the far side of the river. Chief Eagle Eye’s grief had been so great that he had decided to join Lela-wala in her sacrifice. The current carried him swiftly toward the falls, and soon he was beside her.

“They looked at one another, their hands reaching out across the water that separated them, and the tribe lost their perfect serenity, a cry of both despair and gratitude rising up through them. Together, the two white canoes dropped over the falls, and the maiden and the chief slipped into the Happy Hunting Grounds, where they were changed into pure spirit, made whole and clean and strong.

“From then on, they lived beneath the falls, where the roaring sounds like quiet music.”

“You were wrong,” I said after a long silence.

Grandmother’s dark eyebrows flicked up, and her eyes brightened. “About what?”

“I didn’t like that story.”

“And you thought I was never wrong.”

I thought hard for a long minute. “Did Lela-wala and Eagle Eye really go to the Happy Hunting Grounds?”

She thought hard for a long minute. “I believe they did.”

“I’m scared to die,” I said.

“Even Jesus was scared to die, honey.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know everything.”

“Not everything.”

“Fine. I read it in a book, and I felt that it was true. Happy now?”

“And the girl who fell from the sky, she was scared when she jumped, wasn’t she?” I said, and Grandmother nodded.

“None of us is alone, Natalie. Her story is my story is your story.”



That’s what the song makes me think of, and I’m so deep in that memory that it takes me a second to surface when he stops playing, reaches for the bagged bottle on the piano, and takes another swig.

“That was beautiful,” I say, crossing the room, and he spins on the bench and spits out his mouthful across the carpet.

He drags one thick, suntanned arm across his mouth and says, “Who’re you?”

“Me?” I laugh. “Are you serious?”

Laughter comes spilling down the hall, and the boy grabs my arm and pulls me toward the back of the room. “Hey!” I object, trying to shake him off. “What are you doing?”

He whips back one of the curtains that cover two deep window bays and an alcove full of stacks of chairs and metal music stands. He pushes me behind the curtain and steps in after me, just as I hear the doors creak open and the laughter spill inward. I recognize the voices immediately: Matt, Megan, Rachel, and Derek Dillhorn.

“Tonight’s the night,” Rachel says triumphantly. “We’re going to find that ghost.”

“Or we could go back out to the parking lot. Nat’s probably waiting for us by now,” Matt says.

“Let her wait,” Rachel says. “I’m not graduating without a good Band Room Ghost story.”

“Woo-ooo-ooo-ooo,” Derek says. “The ghost of a nerd—what could be scarier?”

“Okay, say what you will,” Rachel says, “but last summer at Matty’s birthday, I accidentally got drunk on Cinnabon Vodka with Kelly Schweitzer, and I made out with Wade Gordon, and I am not kidding—he was a really good kisser for someone who spends all his time with his mouth on a trombone.”

“As if you even remember,” Derek shoots back. “You threw up on him, and he still probably counts that as the best night of his life.”

“Omigod, I forgot about that.” Rachel breaks into hysterical laughter.

I look up at the boy, standing between the curtain and me. With the moonlight spilling in from the big window behind us, I can see him clearly now. He’s definitely the same guy from the field. As his eyes shift down to mine he lifts a finger to his lips, then lowers his mouth beside my ear and just barely whispers, “Don’t wanna ruin their ghost.”

He has the smile of a shy little kid, completely at odds with his serious hazel eyes, which are hard to imagine looking any way but mildly concerned. When he pulls back, I nod understanding.

Matt, Megan, and the others are still moving around the room, and the non-ghost and I seem to realize what’s going to give us away at the same time, because he points down to our feet. The curtain hangs almost to the floor, but not quite, and if my friends explore the room much longer, the myth of the Band Room Phantom is bound to get debunked.

He reaches over my shoulder to set his bottle down in the concave bay window behind me. His eyes meet mine, and his hands hover over my hips, silently offering to lift me into the bay. I nod, but when he picks me up, I feel myself blushing, my heart rushing from being so close to a stranger. And not just because he’s a stranger, but because about an hour ago I watched him looking up at the moon and I then listened to him playing that song, and now I’m close to that person.

His skin and shirt are warm, damp with perspiration, his hair soft on the side of my neck. His scent is a nice mix of grass and sweat and the sweet liquor in the bag.

He sets me down, and I shift silently until my back is flush against one side of the deep window bay. I mess with my ponytail just so I have something to do as he lifts himself up into the bay and leans back against the wall right across from me, his head tipped back and full lips parted.