Red Hair, Black Soul (Red & Black #1)

35 | The only responsible one

"No?" The brow arches higher. "Because you seem quite... absent-minded. Can I ask what - or who - put that dreamy look in your eyes?"

Ms. Brownstone doesn't know about Jed. I'm not planning on telling her and Everett promised me she wasn't going to hear his name from his lips, either. There is no one else who knows about my relationship with Jed and I prefer it to stay this way, at least for now.

"I got an A from the last calculus test." I tell her. "And I don't like this subject, so acing it means a lot."

That, of course, is a lie. I hate calculus. I'm no good in calculus. Getting an A from a calculus test is impossible in my case. And I'm pretty sure that Ms. Brownstone knows it. I don't want to bother with coming up with another lie, though, so I decide to settle with this one.

"Congratulations." Ms. Brownstone's tone only confirms what I already know. She doesn't believe me at all. "I'm glad to see you've successfully blended into the school life and pay attention to your marks. Staying on the surface in high school is hard. And I think you need to start thinking about your studies, don't you?"

I nod. It's still November, so I have some time to think. If only one considers a month some time. Hell, not even a month really. From all I know, the first applications deadlines finish somewhere in the beginning of December. I've been so caught up with my dynamically changing life I haven't thought about it.

"I guess so." I shrug. "I'm not sure what I want to do yet. I think I'll take a gap year."

In fact, the idea popped in my mind right in this second, but it seems like a plan.

"This might be a good decision." Ms. Brownstone nods. "Still, it would be better if you looked through some universities. Don't make any hasty decisions, though. Remember this is your future we're discussing."

Future. Such a foreign word for me. For the previous year, I've only been living in the past. Right now, with Jed, all I do is catch the moment. Will I be able to switch and start thinking in the categories of future so quickly?

"I know. I just don't see myself in any particular job at the moment. I don't really have any hobbies or special interests." Anymore.

Ms. Brownstone's head cocks to the side. "Really? And what about music, Ada? Have you tried returning to it?"

I stiffen in my seat, something I do every time someone mentions music in my presence. I haven't touched my piano in over a year. I don't even know where my violin is. My voice is so untrained I couldn't hit a single note. Hell, I don't know if I'd still be able to read notes or if I have forgotten their names already. 

The closest I came to playing music was at the beginning of the school year, when I performed the cup song in front of Al, Jed and Makena. I also sang a little back then, but it was nothing challenging, so I don't count it as any sort of a vocal exercise. I also refuse to think about the fact that the trio heard me singing. I don't want any of them to know I am - or used to be - somehow connected to music. This part of my life is over and I don't think I'll ever go back to it.

"No." I shake my head. "I haven't."

Ms. Brownstone only nods. She knows it's not safe to discuss my music with me. She tried a few times, and each ended with the session being cut short and me storming out of her office and the whole building. I don't think my reaction would be as strong now, but there is still a part of me that bleeds when someone mentions the one thing I lost irrevocably. Or chose to lose it. It doesn't matter now anyway.

"You know, you could always take some job predispositions test. I'm sure your school pedagogue has some in her office and if not, I can bring some for you to do at home." Ms. Brownstone suggests. 

"I'll think about it and let you know." I smile faintly, though I know I won't. I already know what the results of the tests would be. A hundred-percent musician's soul. What is the point of confirming what I already know?

Ms. Brownstone squints on my phone when it starts buzzing in my back pocket. I can tell she's surprised. My phone never calls during our meetings. My parents and brother know where I am and don't want to disturb me, regardless of the fact that sometimes, I'd love them to. Previously, I never had anyone else who could call me. That's why I don't have the habit of muting my phone before school or the meetings. Now I have Makena and Jed. And considering that Makena prefers to text rather than call, I can guess who awaits on the other end of the line. 

"You can answer it if you want." Ms. Brownstone says when the phone starts buzzing for the second time. "I can tell it's important."

"No, it's not." I assure her without looking in her direction. Unlocking my home screen, I enter the settings to switch on the mute mode. Right before I can do it, another, shorter buzz breaks the silence, causing my face to turn red. 

Quit acting inaccessible. It won't work. The message pops onto my home screen. I press the little x in the corner of the message window to close it. Instantly, another one appears, blocking the settings menu. 

I know you're thinking about me.

I press the x again. This time, I success in muting the buzzing ringtone. Right when I'm about to shut off the screen, another message comes.

I know cauz I'm thinking about you, too.

If that's possible, my face flushes even redder. I must look like a fire engine by now. Before any more messages can assault me, I quickly turn off my phone and slide it back into my back pocket. I then raise my eyes only to see Ms. Brownstone looking at me with that expression of hers. The one that tells me she's not buying anything of what I'm telling her and has her mind set on finding out the truth. Seeing that I'm looking at her once more, she sends me a sweet smile and crosses her legs.

"Well, that is what I call an insistent caller." She says.

I sink back in my seat, letting out a puff of air. My eyes zero in on the lock of hair lifted by my exhale. For a second, I wonder how many messages I've gotten since I last checked barely a minute ago. Then I look at Ms. Brownstone. Find her still grinning.

I roll my eyes mentally. My therapist is once more acting like a hormonal teenager. 

Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one responsible in this world. And that says a lot.