Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(38)

I pull my focus away from Jack’s face, texting Terrell back. Sure, I’m on my way.

I have a good memory. People, places, things. That’s why I do well on exams. I got a really high score on my SATs, which I don’t think proves whether or not I’m smart, just that I can remember a lot of basic shit, like how to get to Terrell’s place. But apparently not the important things, like who Terrell is. And when I kissed him.

His house is white, with a bright-red door and 63, large, at the top.

It has a white picket fence, but some of it has fallen over, and each panel is cracked and chipped.

There’s a creak of hinges, followed by the slam of wood. I look up and Terrell is there—huge smile, circular eyeglasses, and medium dreads pulled back.

“You look tired,” he tells me as I walk in, and we go down his short hallway—wallpaper dark green, carpeted floors black—and straight into his living room. I didn’t really get a good look at Terrell’s place when I came here a few days ago. First thing I notice are the shelves, brown wood, filled with well-worn books and magazines. There’s a bulky, old TV in the center, placed on top of a DVD player with DVDs cramming the little shelf space beneath.

“School’s tiring,” I say, still scanning the room.

Going to Niveus has afforded me the unwanted knowledge of what is good—expensive—and what is not. Despite the fact that the curtains are old and dark, the dining table and wooden chairs are scratched and worn, and nothing in here is remotely expensive, it feels like it is. It’s nice and homey.

Nicer than I’m used to.

Terrell takes a seat on the green armchair, and I settle on the bigger sofa. He watches me, and under his gaze, I feel naked.

“Tell me about it?” he asks, and the way he does almost makes me think that he actually cares. People normally say this to further the conversation, not because they really care, but his face looks interested in my answer. Today was particularly crappy, though. Mr. Taylor wasn’t in, so I couldn’t use the music rooms outside of class time.

“I don’t like complaining about school usually, because I guess I’m lucky I even go there. I just…” I pause, trying to think whether it’s even worth going into. I usually block out the bad and move on. I never really talk things through with people, just kind of hope things’ll get better on their own, which they often don’t.

“There’re a lot of rumors spreading about me,” I start.

Terrell nods. I wonder if he’s heard them too, like Dre has. Or seen the pictures, or the video.

“Do you know who’s spreading them? Why they might be doing it?”

I shrug. “No clue.”

He nods again. We sit in silence, the conversation complete.

“How’s music for you these days?” he asks, which reminds me that I’m supposed to know who Terrell is.

“I’m applying to a few decent colleges for composition,” I tell him.

He perks up, interested again.

“Like?”

I hesitate. “Juilliard is my first choice. And I’m trying to go for one of the scholarships.”

He whistles. “That’s tough.”

I nod. “Yeah, it is, but my teacher, Mr. Taylor, is helping me. He went there.”

Terrell smiles at me. “Got a piece you’re working on?”

“There’s this one I’m going to send in for the audition, but I keep getting stuck on it. It was so clear in my mind over the summer.”

I think everything going on at school is blocking the flow.

“Maybe you need another pair of ears on it,” Terrell suggests. When I don’t say anything, he pulls at his ears and smiles. “My ears are always available.”

He lets go of them and I realize how big they are. It’s kind of endearing.

Only Mr. Taylor and Dre have really heard my piece, and Dre only did because I was lying next to him and started humming the tune.

I blink hard, erasing the memory.

“Thanks. That would be great.”

There is a silence, where Terrell just stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. It makes me nervous. I look around his living room again.

What if he’s seen the video? a voice whispers. What difference would it make if he has? He’s still talking to me, isn’t he? Doesn’t think I’m a burden because of it, like everyone else. I need to stop thinking about these possibilities.

“And you? What are you planning on doing after high school?” I ask, feeling really hot.

“Nothing too interesting, probably gonna try to find a job.”

I haven’t heard a response like that in so long. I used to think like that too.

“In an ideal world, I’d maybe go to college.” He shrugs. “The world’s not ideal, though.”

I nod, feeling awkward and privileged all of a sudden, even though I’m really not. I’m counting on scholarships, and if I don’t get one, then that’s it for me and college.

“Want to watch a movie?” Terrell asks, now up from the chair, leaning beside his TV.

“Sure, I don’t mind anything.” All I watch are kid films because of my brothers. I stopped watching movies when I realized they were a magic trick. In real life, prom isn’t the best night of your life. In real life, your first time is with a boy called Scotty in the back of his dad’s Rolls-Royce. In real life, parents aren’t together. Not even close. In real life, your dad, the only person who’d probably get your music struggles, is behind bars.