She jumped.
Standing over her, tray in one hand and violin case in the other, was Jonah.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Yes—I mean no,” she said, flustered.
Idiot, she thought. Stop acting so nervous.
Jonah flashed that smile of his, then sat across from her. He sat erect, with perfect posture, and put his violin down carefully beside him. He gently laid out his food. There was something about him, something she couldn’t quite place. He was different than anyone she’d ever met. It was like he was from a different era. He definitely did not belong in this place.
“How’s your first day?” he asked.
“Not what I expected.”
“I know what you mean,” he said.
“Is that a violin?”
She nodded to his instrument. He kept it close, and kept one hand resting on it, as if afraid someone might steal it.
“It’s a viola, actually. It’s just a little bigger, but it’s a much different sound. More mellow.”
She’d never seen a viola, and hoped that he’d put it on the table and show her. But he didn’t make a move to, and she didn’t want to pry. He was still resting his hand on it, and he seemed protective of it, like it was personal and private.
“Do you practice a lot?”
Jonah shrugged. “A few hours a day,” he said casually.
“A few hours!? You must be great!”
He shrugged again. “I’m OK, I guess. There are a lot of players much better than me. But I am hoping it’s my ticket out of this place.”
“I always wanted to play the piano,” Caitlin said.
“Why don’t you?”
She was going to say, I never had one, but stopped herself. Instead, she shrugged and looked back down at her food.
“You don’t need to own a piano,” Jonah said.
She looked up, startled that he’d read her mind.
“There’s a rehearsal room in this school. For all the bad here, at least there’s some good. They’ll give you lessons for free. All you have to do is sign up.”
Caitlin’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“There’s a signup sheet outside the music room. Ask for Mrs. Lennox. Tell her you’re my friend.”
Friend. Caitlin liked the sound of that word. She slowly felt a happiness welling up inside of her.
She smiled wide. Their eyes locked for a moment.
Staring back into his glowing, green eyes, she burned with a desire to ask him a million questions: Do you have a girlfriend? Why are you being so nice? Do you really like me?
But, instead, she bit her tongue and said nothing.
Afraid that their time together would run out soon, she scanned her brain for something to ask him that would prolong their conversation. She tried to think of something that would assure her that she’d see him again. But she got nervous and froze up.
She finally opened her mouth, and just as she did, the bell rang.
The room erupted into noise and motion, and Jonah stood, grabbing his viola.
“I’m late,” he said, gathering his tray.
He looked over at her tray. “Can I take yours?”
She looked down, realizing she’d forgotten it, and shook her head.
“OK,” he said.
He stood there, suddenly shy, not knowing what to say.
“Well…see you.”
“See you,” she answered lamely, her voice barely above a whisper.
*
Her first school day over, Caitlin exited the building into the sunny, March afternoon. Although a strong breeze was blowing, she didn’t feel cold anymore. Although all the kids around her were screaming as they streamed out, she was no longer bothered by the noise. She felt alive, and free. The rest of the day had gone by in a blur; she couldn’t even remember the name of a single new teacher.
She could not stop thinking about Jonah.
She wondered if she had acted like an idiot in the cafeteria. She had stumbled over her words; she barely even asked him any questions. All she could think of to ask him was about that stupid viola. She should have asked where he lived, where he was from, where he was applying to college.
Most of all, if he had a girlfriend. Someone like him had to be dating someone.
Just at that moment, a pretty, well-dressed Hispanic girl brushed by Caitlin. Caitlin looked her up and down as she passed, and wondered for a second if it was her.
Caitlin turned down 134th street, and for a second, forgot where she was going. She’d never walked home from school before, and for a moment, she blanked on where her new apartment was. She stood there on the corner, disoriented. A cloud covered the sun and a strong wind picked up, and she suddenly felt cold again.
“Hey, amiga!”
Caitlin turned, and realized she was standing in front of a filthy, corner bodega. Four seedy men sat in plastic chairs before it, seemingly oblivious to the cold, grinning at her as if she were their next meal.
“Come over here, baby!” yelled another.
She remembered.
132nd street. That’s it.
She quickly turned and walked at a brisk pace down another side street. She checked over her shoulder a few times to see if those men were following her. Luckily, they weren’t.
The cold wind stung her cheeks and woke her up, as the harsh reality of her new neighborhood started to sink in. She looked around at the abandoned cars, the graffitied walls, the barbed-wire, the bars on all the windows, and she suddenly felt very alone. And very afraid.
It was only 3 more blocks to her apartment, but it felt like a lifetime away. She wished she had a friend at her side—even better, Jonah—and she wondered if she could manage this walk alone every day. Once again, she felt angry at her Mom. How could she keep moving her, keep putting her in new places that she hated? When would it ever end?
Broken glass.
Caitlin’s heart beat faster as she saw some activity up on the left, on the other side of the street. She walked quickly and tried to keep her head down, but as she got closer, she heard yells and grotesque laughter, and she couldn’t help but notice what was going on.
Four huge kids—18 or 19, maybe—stood standing over another kid. Two of them held his arms, while the third stepped in and punched him in the gut, and the fourth stepped up and punched him in the face. The kid, maybe 17, tall, thin and defenseless, fell to the ground. Two of the boys stepped up and kicked him in the face.
Despite herself, Caitlin stopped and stared. She was horrified. She had never seen anything like it.
The other two kids took a few steps around their victim, then raised their boots high and brought them down.
Caitlin was afraid they were going to stomp the kid to death.
“NO!” she screamed.
There was a sick crunching sound as they brought their feet down.
But it wasn’t the sound of broken bone—rather, it was the sound of wood. Crunching wood. Caitlin saw that they were stomping a small, musical instrument. She looked closely, and saw bits and pieces of a viola all over the sidewalk.