After fourth period ended I walked slowly towards the choir room, feeling rather heavy in the chest. (My heart, you weirdos.) Suddenly I saw Oliver, walking towards the band room and I hid against one of the brick walls. As soon as he went inside I ran to the choir door room and yanked it open. Throwing my bag on my chair, I hastily told the teacher I had agreed to do a favor for the band teacher and that I’d be back shortly. I chose to take the hallway between the two rooms.

I heard a piano playing, while opening the door. Standing between the two practice rooms, I looked into the one on my right first, which showcased Oliver in full glory, him at the piano bench, playing along in the open window. I didn’t hesitate. Softly, I knocked on the door, standing away from the window. Without waiting for confirmation, I opened the door slowly.

Oliver looked up from the piano. Turning towards me he said, “Oh, hey.” He was surprised to see me, but repressed it.

“Hi. What is it that you’re playing there?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I moved forward to shrink my distance.

“Something for band I need to learn. I’m supposed to do it on trumpet but I’m too lazy to go get it.”

“Oh.”

Oliver looked at me for a split-second more before turning back to the keys. I closed the door quietly behind me and then stood by his side and watched him play. The door blocked out all sound from the choir room next door.

“Oliver…” I started. What could I possibly say to him now? Oh, yeah, that’s right. “Do you believe me?”

“About what?”

“About what I told you earlier today?” I said tentatively.

Oliver stopped playing, but didn’t turn to face me.

“Yes,” he sighed, still not looking at me. “I believe you.”

“You do?” I was honestly surprised.

“Yeah,” he said, now facing me. “I do believe you Kelly but you know I can’t say the same.”

“I know. But I felt I had to tell you. It’s true.” It was. He didn’t love me but he didn’t have to. Not for me. Not then.

“Yeah.” He played and played the song in front of me. I continued to stand beside him, watching him glide over the keys.

“Do you know any songs?” he asked. “This one gets really annoying after a while.”

I leaned over him and began to play Beautiful Dreamer. While I was playing he closed his eyes as if to drink in the notes. Still playing, I looked with total abandon at the wavy hair, creamy complexion and mole on his neck that made him who he was. I knew then more than ever that I not only loved him, but I’d love him forever. My eyes went back to the keys.

“Mind if I play something else?” I asked, when I finished.

“Not at all,” he replied, eyes still closed.

I played Canon, leaning over him. He took a deep breath right before I got to the chorus, and then slowly opened his eyes. He got a face full of my red hair, green eyes, and chest. I caught him looking, and he set his eyes on mine, seriously. Then his brow furrowed, as he looked at my hands.

“You play well, but your hands are all wrong.”

“I know, but my hands are too small for some of the chords, and I can’t do them right. See?” I asked as I tried to play a chord, with an inch of space between my finger and the last key.

“Oh, wow. That is a problem.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Then a moment of silence, as we looked at each other simply.

“You know, Oliver, I knew you didn’t feel the same, but...well, I felt I had to tell you.”

“It’s ok,” he said chuckling slightly. But it wasn’t how he used to laugh. It was no longer very confident, but rather unsure. It struck me that he was nervous. I hadn’t thought about it before, but this was the first time we had been alone, and in private, for quite a while. His nervousness made me nervous.

“Wait,” he said, tone changed. “Why are you in here? Where are you supposed to be?”

“Choir,” I said, offhand. “I made an excuse though, it’s fine.”

“Well…” he didn’t want me to be in trouble, but he also didn’t want me there for any longer than was totally necessary. Looking back, his nervousness was probably self-restraint. Looking back on everything he ever did, it becomes so unbelievably obvious that he never really trusted himself around me.

“Never mind,” he said, shaking his head. Looking at me he smiled, and said, “It’s nice to see you again. Especially alone.”

He was still hiding. Why couldn’t he just admit that he wanted it then? Did he think I wouldn’t understand? Was he afraid, even then, of what might happen? But since this former version of me had no clues to this in-depth view of his feelings, I soldiered on, mainly just feeling betrayed. Now I know it wasn’t that he didn’t want anything. It was all about him being scared of it, and hiding.

My thoughts about betrayal faded quickly then. He was happy, and smiling. I loved him, and now he knew it. He was glad to see me still. That’s what I cared about.

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you too,” I said, smiling back. I leaned sideways into the piano, my right hip’s curve the same as the instrument. Oliver’s eyes stared openly at me, slowly traveling between my face and everything else. He stared at my waist longer than he should have. He was longing, but calmer, more reserved. Now we were a mix of old friends and past affairs. We both recognized that. His eyes reached mine and stopped. We saw each other, all of each other. And we understood.