Chapter 13: Who is Daniel Hunt?

I was still turning that conversation over in my head down in the commons basement as Mr. Riley paced in front of us waiting for the dance designer coordinators to arrive.

Daniel yawned. “If they don’t show up in five minutes may we leave?”

“No!” But it wasn’t Riley’s voice. We all gave our attention to where the stairs emptied into the basement to see a mob of girls come onto the floor.

I sat up. “Shit.” Katie could be easily spotted near the front of the pack.

“Ditto,” Daniel said as she whipped out a floor plan and set it on the floor in front of us. She looked up and smiled at me. Not at Daniel, though. It was very apparent from the way she turned her body away from him that she was going out of her way not to look at Daniel.

“Hi, Sam,” she said. Still smiling, her plucked eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry to tell you this, but the whole faux-skaterpunk look just doesn’t work without the piercings and the hair gel.” Dammit. I had completely forgotten about my hair after the shower. “But it’s nice to see you volunteering to help us out. You can take a break, Mr. Riley. I’ve got this under control.”

“Hi, Katie,” I said when Riley was up the stairs. “You’re looking very fashionably late. But don’t be fooled— we’re not here because we want to be.”

“As if I couldn’t tell from your pained expressions,” she replied flatly, and having used plurals was obligated to acknowledge the other. “Dan.”

He inclined his head. “Kate.”

“Oooh,” mumbled one of the girls to another, snapping her fingers. “This is just like on Kill Bill Vol. 2, when Uma Thurman and that other blonde chick are in the trailer, and they’re standing on opposite ends of the hallway and—”

Katie whirled around, looking like she rather wanted to whip out a katana. Maybe if she added a handle to her flute or something. “Sorry, what was that?” said Katie. “I feel I should warn you that I’m feeling particularly merciless today.”

“Just talking about woodwind players,” the girl said sweetly. “It was nothing.”

“That’s right.” Slowly, Katie turned back around (slips flute back into sword scabbard). “Okay. Tonight’s theme is—”

I raised my hand. “We actually don’t care, so if you could just show us where to staple, that’d be great.”

If she hadn’t had her nails done my face would have been lacerated. Instead, her finger shaking, she pointed at a large container in the corner. “See that? That’s full of decorations. Here’s a floor plan. Supplies are in the closet. Here’s the key. This should only take an hour to get done and if it isn’t or if Mr. Riley comes complaining to me that you’re not being 100 productive I will hunt you both down and pour kerosene down your throats while you sleep and I probably won’t even have to visit separate rooms to accomplish that. These girls are seated eleventh-through-twenty in various sections. I do not know their names but they will help you. Are you still following? Great. I’ll be up in the kitchen with the twentieth-through-thirtieth-something chair violin and alto sax players because last time I checked they were having difficulty mixing the refreshments—” She broke off in a scream and cringed away from the ceiling. “What is wrong with you?”

Everyone stared, mostly at the ceiling trying to figure out who she was talking to. “Uh… whoa, Katie. Did Becky not remind you to take your pills?” I said.

“No,” she said through clenched teeth. “It’s them.” She pointed to the ceiling. “A couple of them thought it would be cute to bring their instruments to entertain and I can hear them squeaking and playing out of tune through four feet of concrete! Oh my God, why?” she shouted again, in what I imagine was the upward direction of the kitchen. “Don’t you play sax?” she said to Daniel. “Can’t you… I don’t know, control them or something?”

His mouth moved, making it look like he was building up to a detailed answer, but then he merely shrugged. “No.” He laughed, shrugging his shoulders even more and holding up his hands. “Nope.”

“Lies! You’re lying!”

The mob of girls was watching this all with morbid fascination. No doubt a few of them were flute players wondering if they were about to be moved up a chair because of a deranged first chair getting sent home. “Are you going to be okay? Do I need to call Becky?” I asked, getting out my cell phone.

“You don’t understand.” In this bristly mood she was in, she reminded me of a seriously pissed off mongoose. I’m not really sure why. “You don’tunderstand,” she repeated. “I had to, like, baby-sit the entire alto sax section with Brandon for an hour and then help Marcus and Susan with the worst of the orchestral strings for another two hours on Pachelbel’s Canon in C because Rhea and Thane wouldn’t have anything to do with it. I can’t believe them. They’re so irresponsible! How dare they leave me with their problems!”

I frowned. “Isn’t it Canon in D?”

Her laugh was a tad on the crazy side. “Well, it was before some sick fuck decided all the ones who can’t play worth a damn should turn it into Canon in C because they can’t handle the key signature for their stupid little bad-musician ensemble club so they don’t feel left out from the people who are actually good. Oh my God. Why not just lock them in a room somewhere and, like, tell them they can come out when they’re good enough or something? Or at least until they can play in tune! God dammit.”

Daniel gave a low whistle.

“Shut up,” she snapped at him. “Don’t judge me. I don’t care if you are seated first, I’ll kill you if you so much as miss an accidental within a hundred yards of me.”

“Right,” I said rubbing my eyes. “I’m going to assume you’re just saying all that to make a point and then I must ask if you’re going to be at the dance.”

“No. I’ll need to curl up in the fetal position in a dark room somewhere for a few hours after this. So, you know. When I come back down here this had better look perfect. Or else.”

“So, between me and Katie, which one of us would be Uma Thurman?” said Daniel after Katie had left.

“Oh, you definitely,” I said, and my own laugh caught me off-guard. “Katie’s… I don’t know. She’s a blonde Lucy Liu or something.”

“‘Now if any of you sonsabitches got anything else to say’—” one girl mimicked and the others laughed.

We started getting to work. “Really, was she just doing that for the attention?” asked Daniel.

“No,” I said slowly. Most of us were still eyeing the ceiling every few seconds. “I’m afraid that was probably genuine.”

“Then that was kind of impressive.”

“Yeah— in an ‘Oh My God, Was That Satan Having A Nervous Breakdown?’ kind of way,” said one particularly unhappy-looking girl. “Who cares? Let’s just get this over with.”

We did. With the girls helping, which was an aspect Riley probably wasn’t counting on, it went swiftly and with not a lot of actual work to be done.

--

We climbed the stairs out of the Smith Commons into fresh air. Setting up had only taken about an hour, so there was plenty of time to kill. I personally was thinking up ways to decline any time-wasting ideas Daniel might have had when, for perhaps the first and only time, Kyle came to the rescue.

He along with May and another girl were sitting at a picnic table on the lawn outside the camp residence hall. He waved us over and Daniel and I sat at the bench with them, under the shade of an oak tree.

“Wow, that was fast,” said May with a laugh. In the light of day, she looked much better than she had in Riley’s cramped office or in the frat house right after waking up. Her eyes were bright when she said, “We saw Katie storm out a little before you guys did. What’s up with her this time?”

“Eh, the usual, probably,” I said. I considered the other girl. She had on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that was such a dark shade of cherry red that I at first mistook it for being black. Her hair had the same black cherry darkness but her makeup was minimal. Not emo, exactly… maybe she only looked that way when she was sitting up against May, who had multi-colored funky bracelets and heart-shaped earrings. The dark girl was bent over a crossword puzzle and frowning in concentration, and did not acknowledging us as we sat down.

“This is Joze,” said May, noticing my gaze. “Say hi, Joze.”

Joze raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up. “Hi Joze?” she said. Her voice was dry and monotone, but again maybe it only seemed that way when in contrast to May’s energetic way of speaking— but I suspected not on this one. “Hey Daniel,” Joze said, marking something on her paper. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Sam.”

“What’s he play?”

“He plays drums,” I said tersely. “What does Joze play?”

Her eyes still didn’t leave the puzzle, but shockingly she smiled. It was strange hearing the same jaded voice coming out of a grin. “Yep, he’s a keeper.”

I stood up. “Hey, smart-ass, what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

May jumped up and pushed me back from across the table at the same time Daniel grabbed my arm to pull me down. May laughed a little. “Easy there, big guy,” she said and sat back down. “So who’re you taking to the dance?”

I became hypersensitive to Daniel’s presence beside me. It seemed his hand strayed a second too long before sliding off my arm. “I didn’t think we had to take someone,” I said.

“You don’t have to,” said May patiently, “it’s just more fun that way. So?”

Kyle chuckled. He was reading a newspaper. “Leave him alone, May. He’s obviously alone in the world.”

She flicked his ear with her finger. “That’s not nice, Mister I’m-Too-Cool-To-Ask-People-Out-To-Dances. He’s just afraid he’ll get turned down,” she confided to me in a loud voice from across the table.

“Not true,” he said. “Besides, Miss I’m-A-Big-Fat-Hypocrite, who’re you taking this year? Didn't you say you were going to try playing the straight and narrow for once?”

May blushed a little. “Well, at least I tried,” she said. “I asked Cheng Li to go with me but he was already taking Pauline.”

“Pauline?” said Kyle. “Third chair viola Pauline?” He laughed. “Oh my God.”

“I know, tell me about it! I really have to find someone else quick before all the good ones are taken.”

Joze grunted. “Are you even listening to yourselves? It's a band camp dance. You're making me sick with your caring.”

May turned her attention to Joze. “And who’s your date? Joze,” May said in a stern and disbelieving voice when Joze only glared at her. “I know for a fact Jaron, Chad, Brandon, and Tommy all asked you to go with them.”

Joze’s eyes widened in a So what? face. “I guess that means they all got turned down, huh?”

Daniel leaned across the table. “You know there is one boy who would absolutely love it if you’d say yes—”

“I know the boy and the answer is, now and forever, no. I don't like boys who can't keep their mouths shut. Besides, what’s your excuse?”

And Daniel mumbled something about how he hadn’t thought he was going because of the elevator thing and hadn’t thought about it at all.

May and Kyle had been in their own whispered conversation behind his newspaper for a few seconds, and suddenly May turned to Daniel. “We’ve got an entire hour,” she said. “Go on, ask someone.”

Daniel looked momentarily alarmed. “I can’t just go up and ask some random person. They’d mace me.”

May sighed, smiling. “No they wouldn’t! You just have to be fearless and sound like you know what you’re doing and they’ll totally buy it. Trust me, works every time.”

“Said the trumpet to the saxophone,” said Kyle, and he and Joze shared and eye roll. “Total fearlessness, that’s not so much to ask, is it, Daniel? Well, go on— show us, May.”

Daniel’s panic transferred over to May’s face. “What? I thought we were talking about Daniel.”

Kyle folded his arms across his chest. “Well, we were, but since you’re such an expert at this, why don’t you do it? Right here, right now, on the lawn. Think of it as a public service.”

“Fine,” said May, “I will. And I’ll be amazing at it. Now, watch this Daniel, I’m probably only going to get one shot at it…” she muttered, buying time as she scanned the grass. Her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh, perfect.”

Raising her hand over her head, she waved at a group of people coming out of the music residence hall. “Yoo-hoo! Rhea, dearest!”

The people glanced up and back, but one of them— a petite, slender girl with straw-colored hair in a sundress— continued to look over. When she saw who had called her face bloomed in a cheerful smile. She was toting a large instrument case behind her but waved back with a free hand. “May, my love! How are you?”

May climbed on top of the table and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Would you like to go to the dance with me?” she called out over the entire lawn. Several people raised their heads to see who was yelling.

The girl, Rhea, beamed and half turned away in blushing embarrassment. She looked back, though, and called out happily, “I thought you’d never ask— I’d love to go to the dance with you! I have to go put my cello away, though. Pick me up at the costume rooms?”

The three of us stared. Daniel mumbled, “I feel so... cowardly.”

I said, “They make it look so easy.”

“It’s because they’re girls,” said Kyle, observing May and Rhea’s verbal dance with partial interest. “They’re allowed to be touchy-feely.”

May closed the deal with Rhea and sat back down, looking pleased. “And that,” she said, “is how it’s done. Now your turn.”

It was okay when it happened. It was known that we were poking fun at May, that it wasn’t serious, it was just to prove some point, any point— if you’d asked me, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what the point was, and probably would have denied that there was a point, but if there was it would be any one except the one that was hovering over the picnic table, holding us at gunpoint. But that would have been bad form to discuss in front of others.

Daniel turned. “Sam, dearest!”

“Daniel, my love!” I looked at him as if I wasn’t expecting it. It was okay, because it was supposed to be funny. They would laugh, and it wouldn’t really mean anything.

“Would you like to go to the dance with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask— I’d love to go to the dance with you! I have to go put my cello away— oh, wait, just kidding.”

They laughed. They got the joke and the moment was broken. We stood from the table and everyone moved toward the music building to get uniforms.

“The dance is themed so we get to pick out ‘Swing Era’ type outfits from the acting camp’s costume rooms, instead of our usual uniforms,” May explained. “They’re not really authentic,” she added. “The costumes, I mean. At least not for the girls. I think the guys actually have to wear appropriately-timed suits, but whatever they have planned it’s got to be better than the band T-shirts.”

I only half listened. The rest of my attention was on Daniel and Joze, who walked a few steps ahead. Random scraps of their conversation floated back to us. (Joze said, waving her arms, “Did he put you up to this?” “No.” “Bullshit! I don’t care if he’s the Queen of England, I’m not dancing with that singing twit!”)

Kyle had dropped back to May and me when I was eavesdropping. My ears caught the last of whatever he was saying: “… hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know,” said May.

“You just accomplished more in two minutes than I did in half a week. I have no regrets about giving this to you.” He put some money in her hand.

I stared. “Whoa, what’s that?”

May smiled and waved the money in her hand. “Ten dollar bill. We had a bet going.”

“That she could get Daniel to ask you to the dance,” said Kyle before I could ask him not to.

I frowned at May. “I thought you were better than that.”

“Oh, please!” May rolled her eyes, looking embarrassed but somehow also pleased with herself. “Don’t give me that, Sam. What’s wrong with going to a dance with a friend? Daniel just needed a push, and I just happened to give it to him—like I just happened to get ten dollars out of it and cut Kyle’s ego down to a manageable level at the same time.”

“Manageable level?” said Kyle.

May put her hand on his arm. “Think of it as a public service.”

--

There was a window looking into an office next to the entrance to the costume rooms. The person on the other side doing paperwork reminded me of an overweight bus driver turned school cafeteria person. May, Daniel, Joze, and I stayed back a step while Kyle leaned inside and showed off his most charismatic smile.

He cleared his throat and struck a gallant pose. “Hello, my good sir, might I ask if this is where—”

The secretary looked up. “I’m a woman.”

“Oh, Jesus,” May gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth to stop the giggle from coming out. I would have paid vast amounts of money to have been able to see Kyle’s facial expression. His shoulders went rigid and after a beat he merely said, “Oh. You don’t say?”

“I could die happy right now,” I said aside to Daniel, who was trying not to chuckle behind his hand.

The woman, unperturbed, pointed to her left, at the doors to the room. “There’s a list. If you’re on it, come back and I’ll let you in. But don’t waste my time if you’re not.”

We lined up in front of the door and found our names, but I paused. They were in alphabetical order and I saw “Adams, May R.” at the very top, then “D’Adriano, Josephine L.”, “Preston, Kyle T.”, and I even remembered “Zelenka, Rhea I.” But there were two Daniels— “Hunt, Daniel G.” and “Kaiser, Daniel S.”

I sighed. Even when just confronted with his last name I was forced to admit an early defeat. I would have to remember to ask him about his last name, if nothing else. That would be my goal. I went back to the window and signed in, hoping nobody would wonder too much about the weird initial in “Schuyler, Samuel V.”

No sooner had I wished that then Kyle appeared at my side. “What does the ‘V’ stand for? Violet? Victoria?”

The accident with the secretary had gotten him in an off-mood. “It’s a Roman numeral, asshole,” I replied smoothly. “I’m the youngest of four brothers and after the second one my parents just started numbering us.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Nice,” he confessed.

The costume rooms were a series of interconnected long halls with mirrors at every turn; a labyrinth plastered with open double-breasted suits, wide lapels, tapered trousers, flapper skirts, vintage jewelry, and patterned neckties. When you entered the rooms, the air was so thick with them that you breathed fedora hats.

Of course, as a get together of band, choir, and miscellaneous performing arts camps, it went without saying it would end up, at the very least, one of those passive-aggressive we’re-not-really-competing-but-there’s-still-a-winner competitions. You could see it in the eyes of the people getting ready, a gleam when they said something, the way their attention touched on the person beside them for a second too long as they looked in the mirror. There was a lot of ferocious seizing up and internal comparisons, along with a lot of smiling and laughing and general fake affection. I sighed. This was exactly the kind of thing I tried to avoid with band camp. The drama could suffocate you if you weren’t used to the atmosphere.

So it was a bit of a surprise to see Rhea in a knee length, honey colored spaghetti-strap gown, which was somehow very Roaring Twenties and very modern at the same time, floating through a curtain of striped blazers with a legitimately joyful expression on her face, glowing with the contentment of the innocent. The eyes of a few choir boys followed her progress across the room until they met Joze’s gaze, which promised a fair amount of violence, and they quickly returned to adjusting their suspenders.

“You look amazing,” said May when Rhea stopped in front of her. May’s hand came up and she made a miniscule adjustment to the matching honey-colored flower on Rhea’s flapper headband. There was something so personal in the action that struck me and I realized. So they weren’t joking.

“Thanks,” said Rhea. “It makes you think of the word ‘gossamer’, doesn’t it? Anyway, the Jazz Band’s in the third room. Follow me, I’ll show you.”

In the third room, the girls went their separate way. A large, manly arm blocked us from following and we followed the arm up to the face, and unbelievably— or maybe not so much— it was Mr. Riley.

Kyle groaned at seeing Riley dressed for the era. “Oh, that is so wrong. Please tell me that’s not what we have to wear.”

Riley grinned. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

It actually wasn’t that bad— for Daniel and myself, that is. I couldn’t really tell with Kyle, who would have probably made a big deal about it anyway. It was beginning to get dark outside and Daniel and I were sitting by ourselves in the hallway when Kyle finished. He was the last of us guys done, and came storming out with a smug Riley hiding camouflaged in the shadow of the clothes rack somewhere behind him.

I laughed when I saw him. I couldn’t help it. Riley had made certain Kyle found one of the more flashy blazers, whereas Daniel and I had been assigned boring solid colors. The shoulders on the blazer went out horizontally to a ridiculous degree, and Kyle’s fedora hat had— I’m sure also thanks to Riley— a huge fake and absurdly dyed feather in it. There was so much excess glitter he left a glitzy trail behind him when he walked.

He stood in front of us and waited patiently for me to stop laughing. He was waiting for quite a while.

“How high do those pants go?” I asked when I caught my breath. A laugh burst out of my lungs again, which I tried to stiffle.

“About mid-ribcage. Hey, fedoras all around,” said Kyle stiffly and threw us a couple hats, sans feathers. “Why were you laughing at me, Samuel? It could have just as well been you.”

“Because you look like a peacock that went to Las Vegas and didn’t quite make it jumping over an electric fence, Kyle. Wait, wait… let me get my cell phone out. I need to take a picture of this.”

“Suicidal, and at such a young age… what a pity,” said Kyle as he loosened his tie. “Jesus. Somebody died in this suit, I just know it. Where are the girls? The sooner we get over there, the sooner we can burn these. I hope they got horrible outfits.”

Actually, they didn’t. They came out together, each in something different, although like Rhea each one looked only vaguely Swing era, like you were looking at modern dresses through flapper-tinted lenses. Joze had managed to find a long backless halter dress in that dark cherry red purple color of hers, along with a matching velvety hat and elbow-length gloves. Her makeup was heavy and dark but somehow tasteful. May looked the most authentic with a white and yellow dress with stockings and a cloche hat, also with more makeup than usual. Rhea walked between them, leading the pack. All of them had tons of appropriately colored bead necklaces.

Heads turned. Boys whistled. The effect of them all approaching at once, with bee-stung lips and hair pulled up, was somewhat spoiled by the horrified looks on their faces when they spotted Kyle.

The silence shattered as May started laughing.

“Holy shit,” said Joze, condescending. “Were you hit by an ugly bus?”

“Ugly…?” Kyle frowned. “Ugly what? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Like an ugly stick, but bigger, I think,” Rhea said helpfully, but trying not to hurt his feelings. May stood next to her, offered her arm, and Rhea took it. “See you at the dance, then! Remember we play first, so don’t be late.”

I looked to Daniel to confirm. “We play first?”

He nodded as we exited the building. “Yep,” said Daniel. “I think its tradition, but the Jazz Band has the first couple numbers, and we also close the concert. Anyway, I have to go get my saxophone. See you at the Commons.”

I hated walking there alone. I felt very out of place out in the normal world. Down in the Smith basement, a sizable crowd had already formed. I was surprised, but Riley had said something about activities before and after. It was a bit of a shocker to see a lot of people had taken the effort to dress up. The lights had been dimmed some, but I looked over the crowd and spotted Dr. Miles. He had also dressed for the occasion in an old green suit and was leaning against the wall behind the small stage that had been set up. His eyes were half-open and he looked either very bored or deep in thought.

I sidled up to him. “Hey.”

I’m sure he knew I’d been there since I’d entered the basement, but he expressed surprise at seeing me beside him. “Oh, hello, Sam. Ready to play? Have your sticks?”

I pulled them out of the inside pocket of my blazer and gave them a twirl between my fingers. “All set. So, how come the girls have better outfits then we do?”

His eyes continued to lazily scan the room. “Considering they’re the only three girls in the Jazz Band, I figured we could afford to get them something special. I thought it was interesting that they all chose dresses that looked like their instruments.” Well, I could see how May’s and Rhea’s might, but I wasn’t sure about Joze’s. “Oh, dear,” said Miles. “Think fast and look sharp, Sam.”

“What? Why?” I snapped to attention, unsure why all of a sudden, especially since Dr. Miles didn’t change his manner at all, continuing to slouch against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

A man with short dark hair, even darker eyes, and very white teeth came up to us. His expression said, I’m terrific, do your worst, and he was smirking. The overall impression was one of a metrosexual pirate.

Miles gave a small smile and held his hand out in greeting. “Long time no see, Gassy. How’s it going?”

The man snatched his hand out of midair and twisted it down between them. “I told you not to call me that in front of students!” he hissed, all of a sudden not so cool, calm and collected.

No reaction registered on Miles’s face. “Oh, right, sorry, Dr. Ansari— or is it still just professor after all this time? Sam, this is Professor Gaspar Ansari, we were at school together at Julliard. He… well, he teaches too, now, obviously, but embarrassingly I can’t think for the life of me what it is he does. Countless sleepless nights from the yodeling seem to want to point at it being something to do with singing. Hmmm…”

Ansari looked about two seconds away from strangling Miles. With a deep breath and a look over at me to make sure I was still there, he managed to hold himself together. His voice was rich and melodic and made it sound like he wanted to be wearing a cape. “Ah, Everett, the sneering, eternally uncompromising worker, as usual. I always said you should have become an accountant. I just came by to tell you I have quite the group put together this year.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dr. Miles purred back. “Isn’t someone in your family in my band?” he added, and I felt he had done so explicitly for my benefit.

Professor Ansari continued speaking right over him. “I have some amazing soloists, too. Broadway talent in the making. I think we just might blow your little group out of the water.”

“Excellent. I wish you the best of luck.”

“It’s going to be the best vocal sound you’ve heard in years.”

“Can’t wait to hear it, Gas. Get going, Sam, we’re on in five.” I gratefully left them alone, and heard over my shoulder as I walked away: “…never yodeled and you know it!”

I was glad to be in the back of the band and took my seat at the set, taking the time to make some adjustments. There was a small thud and I looked up. Rhea was beside me, hoisting a double bass onto the stage. How she managed to get so close without me knowing was beyond me. My eyes got wide. I felt a growing urge to assist her as she, in delicate high heels, maneuvered herself up onto the stage, supporting and following after her instrument like its dancing partner.

“Hey, uh…” I said. “Do you… need a hand?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine!” Rhea disappeared and reappeared around the other side of the bass. “It’s really not that bad… it’s like a big cello, is all.” She laughed self-consciously and gave her bow an experimental swish, the motion suggesting she could just have well been holding a saber.

“Oh,” I said. “Uh… right, you play cello, too, huh?”

She giggled. “Well, not in this dress I don’t! But yeah, the cello’s my main instrument. I just do this for Jazz.” There was a split second gap in the conversation and she blushed. “Um… Marcus should be here any second,” she added. “He’s our only other person in the rhythm section, since Dr. Miles isn’t playing piano with us tonight…”

I scanned the stage. It was an 20-or-so-person band, and this was the first time I’d seen them all together. May leaned against her stool, holding her silver trumpet like a gunslinger might his pistol. When Joze slunk to her seat, hefting a bari sax, someone in the audience shrieked “MARRY ME!” and the crowd tittered. Joze appeared very close to murder but a boy with a tenor sax next to her pulled her down to her chair. Daniel wasn’t on the stage yet, and I stretched my neck to look over heads to see where he was.

“Shouldn’t everyone be here by now?” I asked Rhea, but she must have not heard.

“Hello,” said a silky voice near my ear. “You must be the new drummer.”

I whirled around, sticks at the ready. He caught them in his hand and wouldn’t let go when I tried to pull them back. He was, well… tall, dark, and handsome, with long eyelashes and a captivating smile. And he wasn’t Daniel. I couldn’t stop myself from being disappointed.

“Unless you want your pretty face kicked in, I suggest you give me back my sticks,” I said. He looked surprised for a spilt second, then laughed as if this were the most adorable thing he’d heard all week. His teeth were white and straight. Something clicked. “Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Ansari, would it?” I asked.

My other hand was taken hostage and shaken. “Yes, actually,” he said. “Marcus Ansari. And you’re Sam Schuyler. You don’t recognize me?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Um, no. Should I?” Where his relative the professor had an alright act going on with his charm and could even pull off a bit of elegant and dashing if he wanted, Marcus had taken them all to a new level and then perfected them.

He laughed again. But when I gave him an indifferent stare for his efforts, he elaborated: “First chair violinist of our little Academy, among other places, at your service.” He looked into my eyes and turned my hand around in his, bringing it to his lips. Or at least that had been his intention before his head snapped forward violently, as if struck. I’d been panicking so bad I hadn’t seen Daniel, who had snuck up behind him, and been the one to smack him over the back of the head. I snatched my hand and sticks back while Marcus was distracted.

Daniel sighed. His tenor hung from around his neck and his suit and lazy, dangerous smile took me to a deeper, darker place than the Smith Commons basement. I couldn’t have had that dream at a worst time, could I…

“Dammit, Marcus. I swear, I look the other way for two seconds…”

Marcus straightened up and turned around with an irritated huff, but his attitude wilted when he met Daniel’s expression. “Hey, Daniel. I was just saying hello to our new drummer. He’s absolutely charming, isn’t he?” That last bit was said a little dryly.

“Yeah,” Daniel said with impressive serenity. He took a step forward. “Have your guitar?”

Marcus met him with a step of his own and produced an expensive, darkly lacquered guitar seemingly out of nowhere. “Yes, I do. All ready.”

Cue spaghetti western showdown music. There were a few intense, claustrophobic seconds of silence between them. They matched hard stare for hard stare.

Daniel said, “Maybe you should go sit down.” Although he sounded like what he was actually saying was, “Sit down, bitch.”

Marcus’ jaw clenched, but he said, “Okay.” Which translated to something like, “Fuck you.”

But he sat down, anyway.

Rhea had been watching around her bass and laughed a little behind her hand as they both stalked off. “Ooh. That was impressive. I have goosebumps.”

“Why?” I asked.

She shrugged. “It’s not everyone who can boss the concertmaster around.”

--

I admit it. I was avoiding him.

After the first few Jazz Band songs and when we left the stage for the next group, I had avoided the actual dance floor like a field of steel bear straps. The music wasn’t all Swing performers. After a wave of them had gone, CDs were produced and modern music played. Due to the three camps’ prosperity, they could afford an impressive bar with food and drinks, and a section of the basement was set aside with tables and chairs for those taking a break from the dancing. I moved to that side of the room and various conversations drifted past me.

“…fell right off the stage in the middle of his dance routine— got right back up, but he had this look on his face and we were trying so hard not to laugh…” “—Oh, you want to hear bad? He was the worst guest conductor, ever… he was sweating so much, Amy and I…” “… outrageous. We kept putting M&Ms down her slide and she didn’t notice until dress rehearsal when she went to tune and all these M&Ms…” “… then he wrung his tie out, and it dripped! It was so gross, and we were…” “…who knew Chinese food would stay good that long? I mean…” “…just stood up, right in the middle of the song, and we’re like, what are you doing…?” “…sounded so good, I was fangirling about it for hours, and he kind of dances when he performs, did you notice how…” “…and to say the least that was the last time she used a baton!”

Ah, band camp.

And choir camp, and miscellaneous performing arts camps.

But mostly band camp.

A crowd had formed around one of the tables. With no reason not to, I went over to see what was happening.

Joze and Marcus sat across from each other at a table and a tray of lemon slices adorned the middle. Each of them had a slice in hand, and if the vast number of discarded half-sucked slices around the table were any indicator, quite a few contestants had fallen out of this competition.

The party had broken Joze. She was actually smiling and looking animated. Her gloves and hat were off and she gave her lemon slice a slow, leisurely lick without flinching. “Guess who's going down, Marcus?”

Marcus wasn’t looking quite so amiable. His tie and jacket were off and the first few buttons on his shirt were undone. He shook his head. “You are. I can win this.” Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Joze grinned. “Yeah, sure looks like it.” With that she bit down on the lemon, tearing off a piece. Marcus laughed in disbelief. “See this face?” said Joze. She hadn’t made much of one, but her mouth was slightly pinched. “I could make this face all night. Come on, Marcus, just say it: you are the best, Joze. Say it.”

“No, just… give me a minute…” He took a preparatory breath and put the lemon in his mouth.

I smiled and moved on. Behind me, the crowd made a loud “Oh!” followed by cheers, presumably as Marcus spat out his slice.

An arm wrapped around my shoulders. I tensed. How could he have snuck up on me? But then the smell of lilacs caught up with me and I relaxed. “Oh, hi… um, O Captain, my Captain?”

“Hey, tiger.” Indra, my first chair, winked at me and gave my shoulder a comradely pat. As first chairs went, I really liked Indra. She was the same age as all the other senior campers (i.e. me, Daniel, Kyle, May, et nearly all) but affectionately called almost everyone, even other first chairs, things like “tiger”, “kiddo” or “sport.” She was dark like midnight and reminded you of a fox, and she made a point of learning the name, chair, and strengths and weaknesses of every person in the percussion section— not an easy task considering how many of us there were.

And she always smelled like springtime. “How come you weren’t at the concert last night, young man?”

I whipped my head around, checking for Riley. It spooked her, but I told her not to worry. “Actually,” I said, leaning in, “I was there. Okay?”

She narrowed her eyes, ready for the punch line but suspicious when there was none. “You trying to pull a fast one on me, Sam?”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“’Cause you know that don’t work. If you’d been at the concert you would’ve been backstage to take my place if I got hit by a car on the way to the concert hall.”

I was alarmed. “Indra, has that happened before?”

“Yes,” she said, with a straight face. “Anywho, how is this, with the Jazz Band? How’s that going for you? Osten told me last night he was done. You know what he’s up to now?”

I told her. She gave me a look. I shrugged. She said, “Oh, dear God am I ever gonna have a word with him about that. African Drumming, really, I just don't understand that. But then how are you doing?”

The same thing had occurred to her as it had me: that if second chair Osten couldn’t handle it I, another nine chairs below him, would barely be able to stay afloat.

“It’s going well,” I said. “Dr. Miles has been”— a pain in the ass—“a big help. It’s fun.”

“Great!” And Indra was the sort of person that, when she said “Great!” really meant it. “Glad to hear it. You sounded good, too.”

“Oh, no, I made so many mistakes.” Which is nearly always the first thing out of a musician’s mouth when they speak with other musicians. I’m not sure why.

We were about to part when I threw out innocently if she had seen the first chair tenor sax recently. Because, if I was going to avoid him, I had to first off know where he was. That only makes sense. But when she said she hadn’t seen him that’s when I began to wonder if maybe I wasn’t the only person trying to avoid someone. I didn’t see him again until the band was setting up for the final number.

I was nervous, anyway. The song was the hardest piece out of the ones I’d learned that morning, a fast, jazzy salsa, and I wasn’t confident of myself on it yet. I really started to suspect he’d been avoiding me— him, avoiding me!—when he wouldn’t make eye contact as the band was setting up. All while Kyle was making the last announcements over the sound system, advertising after-dance activities, he wouldn’t look. Absolutely would not.

With a few finger snaps from Miles, the song took off. It was a lot of improv solos and it was difficult to keep track of measures when my ears wanted so badly just to listen. It was the first time I’d heard any of them— Brandon, the first alto, Tommy the first trombone, Marcus on guitar, even Joze and Rhea— and I was impressed. The entire chart was one big lead trumpet solo, so May was in trumpet heaven. It blew my mind that these kids, people the same age as me, could be so good at improv. To my credit, I made it almost to the end without tripping.

And as fate would have it, it was Daniel’s solo that did me in. I should have seen it coming. That he had arrived a day late and still snagged first tenor sax out from under the other contestants should have tipped me off. But after so long thinking about him as just That Guy, the Annoying One, the Stalker, the Average Nobody Kid who called me back, it had simply never occurred to me that he might be good.

So that he might be better than good, that me might be near perfect, that he might make the most sensuous sound I had ever heard in music, like the soul of the song moaning hot and desperate and crooning its needs with perfect syncopation and growling its accidentals, carrying them out with flair confidence had definitely never occurred to me.

So yeah, needless to say, I messed up. It happened in the last minute of the song and didn’t mess him up, thank goodness, but it did take a quick hiss from Rhea to snap me back (“Sam!” “Shit! Sorry!”).

The crowd never noticed my trip and loved the band. They all knew good music when they heard it and with soloists like that, and the band deserved nothing less than a standing ovation.

I felt so inadequate.

The lights came on and people began to file out of the basement. The players left to put their instruments away and, still feeling angry for my mistake, I helped Dr. Miles move the set and the amps to the elevator, which had been blocked off during the dance.

“Good work, Sam,” he said. Other than one or two stragglers, the basement was empty. “Besides that blip at the end”— I couldn’t help but blush in shame—“you did quite well.”

“Then you’re not sending me away to African Drumming?”

“Not this week,” he said, but he smiled.

I cleared my throat. “So, where’s Professor Ansari?” I asked innocently.

“I believe he’s helping chaperone the after-dance activities,” replied Dr. Miles in the same fake tone. He wasn’t going to help me out with this one.

“What did he think when he heard the band?” The band was good enough that Miles didn’t have to conduct, and he hadn’t been playing with us, so he might have had a chance to speak to Ansari while we were playing.

“If I had to guess, I imagine it was probably along the lines of ‘Oh drat, foiled again.’” He climbed into the elevator with the set and amps. “I’ll take care of this. I understand you have an appointment with Mr. Riley?”

I nodded and felt a tightness in my chest. Just me and Daniel, alone for a couple hours in the basement. Our avoiding-each-other tactics wouldn’t be much use to us now.

Daniel came back from putting away his sax. He looked incomplete without it suddenly. Riley was right on his heels and made a rehearsed speech designed to instill the fear of Riley into us in the event that something might go wrong or go missing (such as ourselves) when he was away overseeing activities.

Riley explained what we were to do, allowed us to put in a CD, and left to do his teacher thing. We were alone. This time we didn’t have the girls to help us and it went slower. We didn’t talk, which was torture. The after-concert adrenaline rush made me want to bounce off walls and talk the legs off large hoofed animals. Daniel couldn’t have picked a worse time to be antisocial. While not exactly chilly, he was distant and oddly formal. As to why, my mind could only think it could have something to do with Marcus. Could that have upset him that much? Or perhaps it was my mistake in the last song, during his solo?

“He couldn’t have put on something more energetic, could he?” I said at random, meaning the Nat King Cole CD that was playing. “I swear I’m about to fall asleep.”

Daniel did this kind of half-smile thing and didn’t answer and turned back to cleaning the tables.

“The concert was good. Don’t you think?” I asked pointedly. He would have to say something now.

He shrugged. I hadn’t thought of that response, but he did say something: “It was okay.”

“Your solo was good.”

“It could have been better.”

See what I mean?

I stopped trying to make conversation. In my mind I pictured any attempt being shot down. Some twenty minutes into this, when we were beginning to mop the floor, Riley stopped by again. We weren’t immediately killed so he must have been at least somewhat pleased with the progress.

After he was gone I put aside my mop. “I’m taking a break,” I said to the world in general. I wasn’t sure if Daniel was back to hearing me or not.

So I was very surprised when he also put down his cleaning supplies and sat next to me on the bench without so much as a sigh of annoyance.

I sat stock still. This was unexpected. Now what?

“For an undeserved punishment this isn’t so horrible,” I offered casually.

“No, not too bad,” he murmured.

The conversation sputtered and died.

I tried again. “I really did like your solo there at the end.”

Frowning, he turned to me. “What?”

Jesus, now what? “I liked your solo?” I said. I was becoming irritable now. “Sorry, was I not supposed to say that? Is it like when you wish actors good luck?”

“It’s not that.”

I sighed and held up my fingers to demonstrate. “Man, I am about this close to giving up.”

“You’re this close? I—” He inhaled sharply, preparing to launch into an explanatory rant, but finally subsided into silence with a sigh next to me. “So you liked it? Are you kidding? You practically sabotaged me.”

Now it was my turn to round on him. “Sabotage?”

“Well you messed up the drum part right at my solo,” he said.

So that was it. “It wasn’t on purpose. I was just… surprised.”

“Surprised?” he demanded.

“You were good,” I said. “You were really good.”

“You thought I was going to be bad?”

I threw up my hands. He might as well be a girl. “I hadn’t thought about it at all! I was caught off guard and the drum part was hard anyway and I was listening to you and my hands got all mixed up and I didn’t mean to do it. I’ve never heard anything like that, it was perfect. It was like, like that was the only thing you could’ve played it was so right, that there was nothing else that could’ve been played. Actually that doesn’t make sense, never mind. But you made that up all by yourself, and it sounded like… stuff.” That’s right. Just shut up, Sam.

Daniel was leaning with his elbow on his knee, peering up at me with his chin resting in his hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so genuine. Or enthusiastic. It looks good on you.”

“You want a black eye?”

“No, seriously. Do you fanboy often?”

“No, seriously.” I touched his chest. “Do you want a black eye?”

My hand on his chest gave him pause. It gave me pause, too. “You really liked it?” he said.

My first instinct was to throw a sarcastic, resounding NO back in his face, to show him. Like any budding artist, it would have absolutely killed him to have his work, his baby, shot down. Knowingly or not, he’d thrown himself at my feet and mercy.

I nodded. “Yes. A lot.”

The pressure on my fingertips increased as he leaned into them. “The Sam I knew wouldn’t have admitted it,” he said, a smile on his lips. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Still smiling, he sat back on the bench and I lowered my hand to my lap. “Well,” he said. “I owe you apology. I’m sorry, Sam. I should have known better.”

I shrugged. “So that solo, that was just off the top of your head?”

Daniel gave a small laugh. “No, for this concert we wrote them ahead of time.”

“How long were you working on that one?”

He went forward again with his elbows on his knees, but so he wouldn’t have to look back at me. “Uh… I don’t know,” he said. “Since this morning?”

Holy shit, I thought, but then that sunk in and I gave him a shove, pushing him off balance. “Dammit,” I said. “I knew you were working on band stuff. You’re such a bad liar. How did you know it would sound okay just on paper?”

“I worked through it when you were in with Miles.”

I crossed my legs and turned away from him. “Do inspirations often strike in the wee hours?”

“No, but there was… inspiration.”

A silence followed.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all,” I said, this time very sarcastic. I pushed myself off the bench. “Well, at least it was worth it.”

He followed me. “What do you mean?”

I looked over my shoulder and shrugged. “I liked it, didn’t I?”

We resumed cleaning.

“I’m a little suspicious now,” said Daniel.

This obviously required some response on my behalf. “Now you’re suspicious,” I said. “Do tell.”

“Now that you know I’m good, you’re being friendly,” he said with a smirk. “I never took you for that type.”

I glared. “Type? What type? The hell you talking about?”

“Talent gold digger.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Nothing else has changed besides that,” he said. “Unless there’s something I’m missing. What am I supposed to think?”

He walked away to retrieve a trash can when I didn’t immediately respond. When I did try to speak it got stuck in my throat and nothing came out. I clenched my fists around the handle of my broom and turned my back to him, closing my eyes and biting my lip as I took one last breath before the plunge.

“I… saw your face. When you played,” I said, feeling very tacky. I heard Daniel stop moving behind me and I took another breath. “My first year I was here there was this really good violin player. He was the first chair before Marcus, and he was the dorkiest person I’ve ever met.”

“What does this have to do with your talent digging?” said Daniel in jest.

I don’t think he knew just how much will power it was taking for me to say what I was saying. “Shut up,” I said. “Anyway, this guy, the first time I saw him on stage I thought, What a loser. You know, another one of those idiots who practice so much they sound good, but it’s all just technical skill and you think, great, I have to sit through another fifteen minutes listening to a violinist see how fast he can get his fingers to go.” My throat was dry. I tried swallowing. “So he gets up, tunes with the accompanist, and starts playing and… it was beautiful. It wasn’t stale and emotionless at all. It was weird, when you watched him play, he got on the stage this loser but when he played he wasn’t a loser anymore. He was just this part of him that was his music, so he was beautiful, too, I guess, at least when he was playing.”

I paused to think. This time Daniel did not interrupt. I found that if I didn't think at all about what I was saying, it made it easier.

“There wasn’t a person in the camp that thought he was dorky after that,” I said. “He wasn’t a nobody when he played. You make assumptions about people, but you really see them, whether that’s for better or worse, when they play with everthing they have. You know them in such a close way that isn’t possible otherwise.” I’d said too much. Now I sounded like the dork. I stopped and finally turned around to face Daniel, who had fallen strangely silent. He wasn’t smirking anymore. He’d seen through my lame attempt to make it not about him, and was smiling softly.

My own face was stony and expressionless, a wall against whatever his final reaction might be. Daniel didn’t say anything, and my nervousness prompted me to start speaking again. “It says something about a person, that they can be that good and passionate and can be absolutely devoted and in love with something. They tend to be like that in everything they do.” Oops. I hadn't meant to say that last part.

“Anyone can learn to be like that,” Daniel said, being humble. “I’ve known real jerks that could play like what you’re saying. I mean, look at Marcus.”

“Marcus isn't a jerk, he just needs to pull his head out of his ass and go roll around in some trash for a while," I answered without thinking. "The point is, they can’t fake it. And, even if they are jerks, at least they care enough to try.”

We studied each other while Nat was thinking of someone Unforgettable.

Daniel set down what was in his hand and crossed the room to me. He got really close and I stumbled half a step back. He moved forward with me again, like a kind of dance, and took the broom out of my hands and let it drop to the floor so there was nothing in between us. His thumbs hooked themselves through the belt loops on my pants, keeping me still. The look in his face, similar to when he had played, made my heart pound loudly in my chest.

He made to speak and I tensed, finding it hard to breath, but he hesitated when the song ended. The silent seconds stretched on longer than usual. The CD must have ended. We stood painfully still and watched each other, and a new song started. It was a different voice, a new CD. I didn’t know who it was.

“Someone guessed all my favorite artists,” Daniel muttered, and sighed. His hands returned to his sides. “Want to take a break?”

I had a feeling this wasn’t what he’d been intending to say. My pulse still pounded harshly in me. I could hardly hear myself when I said, “If he catches us we’ll get shot.”

Walking away, he made a childlike shrug as if to say, We won’t let him catch us, then, will we? Suddenly he stopped and turned back around. “Actually, do you want to dance?”

I think I would have reacted more reasonably if he’d produced a dagger and asked if I wanted to have a knife stuck in me. “Uh. What? Isn’t this song kind of slow for dancing?” I can’t even explain why that was the only thing I could think of to say. Even a simple, “I don’t dance,” or more appropriately "Guys don't dance with guys" would have done. At least it would have, with anyone else.

“It’s “I Get a Kick Out of You”,” said Daniel. Like that should explain it to me.

“So?”

“So it gets faster. Have some faith in Frank.”

Oh. Sinatra. I listened to the song. “Ah,” I said as I backed away. “This kind of dancing. Like slow dancing but not.”

“Yeah, like that,” he said and added “I’ll teach you,” before I could say anything along the lines of not being able to, like I should have in the beginning. He took my hand and put his other hand on my waist. No choice, now.

Dancing with a skittish, scratch-happy cat would have been easier for him, but he valiantly stayed with it. We talked. At first about how to not step on each others’ toes, but then about nothing in particular, just little things. It seemed to me it was the first normal, civil conversation we’d had. I gradually relaxed. It surprised me how soon after and we were beginning to laugh. I was clumsy and kept looking at our feet, until he would check me and make me look up. The song changed a few times, and we adjusted our steps to fit the tempos. His hand repositioned itself more onto my lower back and I thought, Well okay, then, and considered commenting on it if only so he wouldn’t think he’d gotten away with something, but I just moved my hand to his neck and didn’t say anything. We danced better like that, up close to each other, anyway.

At some point he grinned. “Do you know how to spin?”

I’ve got you under my skin, crooned Frank Sinatra. I scoffed. “Forget it. You’re not spinning me. Go indulge your sick fantasies on someone else,” I said and we smiled at each other.

“Do you want to spin me?”

“No, that’s okay.” I didn’t say it was because I’d have to stand on tiptoes to get my arm over his head. I tried so not to give in… I looked up and frowned at the song lyrics. What the hell? Shut up, Frank.

“Okay, it’s kind of tricky,” he said after a second and I groaned. “The last time I did this I was six and I was dancing with my sister, so it’s probably not quite as tricky as I remember, but…”

“How did it go, with your sister?”

“As I seem to recall, not too well. Here, let go with that hand.” He twirled me in a lazy circle and my face broke from pretending to be tortured and into a snort. God, this was so cheesy.

“Wait, I think we have to…” I started, but he began spinning me back. It was too late to not end up slamming into him with my back and his arm wrapped over me, arms all tangled.

We chuckled embarrassedly. “Like that?” “Not quite...” I felt his laugh on my neck, but then it stopped as he realized. We had held the pose for too long. It hadn’t really been awkward until then. I felt his chest stop against my back as he held his breath. The air stopped hitting the back of my neck. For a moment I was afraid to move. Slowly, I looked over my shoulder at him. “I tried to tell you,” was all I said. It was at the end of a song, as the tracks changed, making it all the more quiet.

He gazed at me, eyes hungry and searching, his face not changing. “Oops,” he said, not sounding at all remorseful. From the look in his eyes I thought he was going to bend his head and press his lips to my neck. The hairs on my nape betrayed me and stood on end in anticipation, but he never did. I turned back around and, his fingers curling tight around mine, we unraveled ourselves until we were standing apart.

Daniel stood back and wiped his brow. “Riley’ll be back any minute. We should get this stuff put away…”

I teased him. “Tired already?” My body was flushed and glowing from the failed twirl.

“Well.” He shrugged. He was game. “The way I see it, that’s your fault.”

“Oh, right, my fault,” I said and leaned into his side, drawing his attention back from the cleaning supplies, which were scattered and abandoned around the room. “Because I really had to twist your arm to get you to dance with me.”

He smiled at my sarcasm, eyes slyly hooded. “I could have gone longer, but you kept taking my breath away.”

I faltered. His tone had been serious. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I tried to laugh. “Man, that’s so—” The look was back in his face, like when he’d been soloing. I stopped talking. Had our arms been up, we would have been close enough for dancing.

We were reading each others’ minds. I couldn’t keep from glancing down at his mouth, and he was quite past trying to hide what it was he was after, which made me look to the side in embarrassment then back into his face, to start the cycle over. Look what he’s done to you, I thought. Look what he’s brought you to.

And I wasn’t completely sure if I meant it in a bad way or a good way.

His hand came up and touched my shoulder, began caressed down my arm like he was hypnotized. “I would really like to kiss you right now,” he said after a moment. It was spoken like he was asking permission. I knew this was what he’d wanted to say before, when his thumbs had been through my belt loops.

My eyes must have grown ten sizes, but I resolutely did not look away. “Oh,” I said weakly. “Wow you just said it I wasn’t expecting—”

Luckily he either already knew or didn’t care about my expectations. Even when he’s insistent he’s still gentle and while I stammered he put his hands on my face to steady it and quietly kissed me.

Like I’d been administered an electric shock, I tensed and my hands flew to grasp his arms, maybe to pull him off. But I stopped. I blinked, hard, a few times and my eyes closed. It seemed rude to have them open when Daniel’s were closed so fearlessly. My fingers relaxed, gripping his forearms only to keep me stable.

The first one was more of a peck, but when I didn’t stop him he came back and made it deeper and warmer, pressing against me hard and coaxing my lips open. His enthusiasm was contagious, and it snowballed, and I let him. God, I thought, while I could still do that coherently. Wanton much, Sam? All the energy and pleasure he would have put into an improv was there, but an inexorable yearning was a part of it, too, and he couldn’t hide that. How long had he been thinking about only this? His energy was like that of a man who stumbles upon water in the middle of a desert.

We broke for air and I let my head fall into the hollow of his neck to catch my breath. My thoughts whirred around me, out of control. Better than Katie, so much better… I must have been shaking. Daniel’s arm was around me and I heard him say jokingly, “Tired already?” He was as nervous as I was, just as scared.

I felt the chill of reality setting in. I grasped his shoulders. “The way I see it, that’s your fault,” I said and gave a short laugh. Anxiety and a surge of lust, taking me by surprise, threatened to completely sweep me under. I was no match for years of wanting, strengthened by the remote and intense bout of celibacy that had been band camp for the last week. It was almost numbing. I hardly felt him kissing feverishly all over my face, his hand passing down my back. He found my mouth and sucked at my lips until I responded and kissed back. Why aren't you stopping him? Just the thought of us there, running our hands all over each other, what we were doing, made me lightheaded in a way that wouldn’t have been possible with a girl.

The song was “My Funny Valentine.” It made me remember something, and I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away. “What’s your last name?”

The question surprised him. When I broke away he had been expecting the worst, and it was only a little question like that. “Oh, uh…” There was a long pause. A really long pause. “Hunt,” he said suddenly, like he was answering a really tough question on Jeopardy. Who is Daniel Hunt? Suddenly he started to laugh and shook his head. “I’m sorry, that was just… oh, that was horrible. The only name I could think of was ‘Sam’, and I’m like, no, that can’t be right, and… I’m sorry, it was nothing. Never mind. I’m an idiot.”

Hard to think when the blood’s all somewhere else. I could sympathize with that. He was laughing and blushing and his lips were darker than they had been before and gosh, I'd done that, hadn't I and it was the first time he’d struck me as being absolutely adorable. It made me look again. Wow. It could have just been the sex written all over him, but he was actually really handsome. He saw it in my face and we lunged at each other again. His hand was in my hair and the electric sparks returned, except now I couldn’t think of how I had ever done without them. When it stopped being two guys and started being just two people, it kind of actually worked.

“Ahem.”

We froze. The articulation of it was very Kyle, but it wasn’t him. The voice was different. This voice had grey in its hair. I’ve never felt as cold in my life as I did then, in the split second before Daniel and I let go and jumped away from each other. The blood drained from my face then rose up in a ferocious wave when I spun around and saw who it was standing at the bottom of the stairway, looking at us with wide and disbelieving eyes.

Mr. Riley.

---

CLIFFHANGER BWAHAHA.

A/N: I apologize for all the faults of this chapter (like the thirteen thousand new characters, to name one of many). Lucky 13 is for everyone who is (still) reading-- and not giving up on me! Love and peas to: oh my god, magalina, Kidiu Anaji, captainwhizbang, darkdancer27, Curb Crasher, Osunale, CatseyeRose, Chiko76, ddz008, Abby, fruitie.licious, Lunar Chasmodai, Annwyl, mia5081, Kian, firedraygon97, Athnyha, Ayenti Hwann, FrankieG, Navi, Duuude, Orangeena, isagallagher, and Tani Barton. You guys had some really good comments on chapter 12. Welcome also to everyone who's stumbled upon Dial Tone by complete accident and decided not to go running in the opposite direction. Thank you!

p.s.: They seem to always end with... "And there was Mr. Riley zOMG!" The least I could do is spice it up a bit: "And there was Riley... with a chainsaw!!"

p.p.s: For some reason I hear Adam's voice from MythBusters saying that last part. He sounds really happy.