The Perfectionists

Chapter 12

THAT SAME NIGHT, AFTER A few hours of practicing the material in the Juilliard audition packet, Jane parked at the curb at Carlos's house. He lived in a neighborhood of old Victorians near the Auradon public library; she used to come here all the time and play on his trampoline in the backyard. They'd held competitions to see who could jump the highest and who could do the best flip. Had Lonnie ever joined them? Jane wondered. She couldn't remember.

She slammed the door to her car and took a deep, resolved breath. Okay. It's just band practice. And that kiss? Never happened. And it's never going to happen again. Besides, the whole band would be here this time. Carlos wouldn't kiss her in front of all those people.

She grabbed her cello case from the trunk and walked briskly up the front path to the door. Carlos's doorbell was the same as always, deep chimes playing the first few notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. The door flung open, and Carlos stood in his socks, a pair of dark jeans, and a forest-green T-shirt. His smile was cagey and shy.

"Hello," Jane said coolly. "Hey." Carlos was just as breezy and cavalier. He opened the door wider. "Come on in."

See? Jane thought as she followed him, her cello case bumping against her knees. Carlos did want to forget. This was going to go easier than she thought. And as she passed a line of pictures in the hallway, she spied one of Carlos and Lonnie on the trip the orchestra had taken to Disneyland last year—Carlos had quit orchestra by then, but he'd begged his parents to buy him a ticket anyway. He wore Mickey Mouse ears and was making a devil's sign to the camera. Lonnie was kissing his cheek, her face pink.

They were supposed to be together, Jane told herself with determination. And she was just the friend.

Carlos led her through the old country kitchen and opened the door to the refinished basement. As Jane tromped down the stairs after him, it occurred to her how quiet the house was. She walked into the large basement room, which smelled a little musty and had a dehumidifier chugging in the corner. Several music stands and amps were set up by the TV, but the room was empty.

"The others aren't here yet?" she asked.
Carlos hopped off the last step and turned around and faced her. "They canceled again. Stuff to do, I guess." Jane blinked. Carlos didn't seem as bummed about it as he had the last time. Had he told them not to come?

She squeezed the handle of her cello case hard. "Oh. Well, in that case, I should probably go practice for my audition."

He nodded, but Mac thought she detected disappointment flash across his face. "Yeah, I bet you're stressed. What are you playing?"
Jane bit her lip. "I'm debating between the first movement and the fourth of Elgar's Concerto in E Minor. And I think I'll do Tchaikovsky's Pezzo capriccioso for the big finish. I don't know, though. I've been second-guessing myself a lot. I did Popper's Spinning Song for the state solo competition last year, and it's still in good shape. Maybe I'll do that instead." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"My mom has this friend Darlene who works at Juilliard and has an in with the admissions. If I wanted to, I suppose I could just ask her what she thought. But that seems like cheating." The only thing worse than not getting into Juilliard, she thought, was getting in dishonestly.

"Well, Lonnie's going with Popper," he advised. "You should stick with Tchaikovsky. You'll stand out more."

He grimaced slightly, as if he realized that he'd said Lonnie's name.

"Yeah, um, okay," Jane said awkwardly, ready to walk back up the stairs. Carlos grabbed her arm. "Jane, wait. Stay. Please. Even just for one song."

She was surprised at the emphasis in his voice. Her heart thudded against her chest. But she cleared her throat. "I don't think this is a good idea," she said. "Not after....you know. Last week." She definitely wasn't going to say kiss out loud.

Carlos gaze dropped to the floor. "I was afraid you were going to say that. I totally shouldn't have kissed you, right? You're not . . . into me."

"No—I mean, yes. I am." Jane slapped her forehead. "Wait. I mean, no. You shouldn't have kissed me, though. Lonnie's my best friend, Carlos. I can't do that to her."

He put his hands on his hips. "Wait, back up to that first part. You are into me?" Jane lifted one shoulder. She thought that was painfully obvious.

"And if Lonnie wasn't in the picture, you wouldn't be saying this right now?"

Jane stared at her embroidered flats. She couldn't get mixed up in this. She needed to focus on Juilliard. It was bad enough she would probably be interviewed by the police soon. It was bad enough someone probably had seen her go upstairs shortly before Ben did. And then there were those pictures she'd posted. . . . She was going to be questioned, she knew it. Too much stuff was going on already—she couldn't get mixed up with Carlos, too.

But when she felt Carlos take her hand, she didn't pull away. His touch seemed to weaken her, her limbs suddenly feeling like noodles. He pulled her to the couch, which was soft and plush and had a crocheted afghan on it that Jane had always loved. He cupped her face in his hands and gave her a tender smile. "You are so beautiful," he gushed. "I can't stop thinking about you and me at the cupcake shop."

Jane's mouth fell open. That hadn't been what Lonnie told her. In fact, it had been quite the opposite. And all this time, she had hidden herself away, letting them have their space. Her blood began to boil.

He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her suddenly down on his lap. "Let's not talk about Lonnie right now, okay?"

Then they were kissing again. And Jane did as she was told: Her mind went blank. For once, she wasn't worrying about how she looked or sounded—or about what she was doing to Lonnie. She wasn't thinking about anything but Carlos' lips, Carlos hands, and Carlos's body. In that moment, nothing and no one existed except her and the boy she'd loved for so many years from afar.