Dibs! (Lesbian, GxG)

Chapter 12

"Callie?" Mr. Neven asks me. "Can you come up here, please?"

     Several people whisper to one another as I put down my violin and slowly stand myself up. I awkwardly move past some people in my way, and I step down from the carpeted steps. I get to his desk, waiting for him to finish grading the last of the papers in front of him.

     The music teacher clasps his hands together and leans over his desk so he can talk quietly. "Has there been something going on with you lately?" he asks.

     Ho yeah, more than you know, I think. I nod.

     "Alright."

     "Why do you ask?" I question. 

     Mr. Neven motions for me to walk around his desk. When I do, I wait for him to speak up again. "In the last couple of recitals, you've been given low scores." As if I need some proof that I'm doing bad, Mr. Neven pulls out a couple of sheets from the piles. I don't know how he can keep track of them. "You see here?" he says, holding up the papers.

     I take a look, and my heart drops as a comment says that I've been shaky with the violin when I run the bow over its strings. There are other comments as well, but they're illegible. "I know you grade a lot higher than this in this class," he continues, "but it seems like you've been distracted lately."

     An awkward moment passes. "So, what do you want me to do?" is the only thing I can say.

     "Well." Mr. Neven puts the papers back down. From the corner of my eye, I can see a couple of guys snickering to one another. Assuming they're talking about me, I ignore them, and try my best to focus on Mr. Neven's next words: "I think it'd be wise if you could fine a tutor."

     "Um, excuse me?" Call me oversensitive, but did he just imply that my musical talent had decreased so bad I need a tutor to help me with what I already know?

     It looks as if he's now realizing how stupid that sounded. "I apologize, that's not what I'm getting at," he says. Then, what the hell are you trying to say? "I mean someone who's been in your shoes before. A fellow violinist, or someone who knows you really well, perhaps."

     I open my mouth, but I forget what I was going to say. Mr. Neven dismisses me, and I return to my seat. Picking up the violin again, I pick up where I've left off. If I'm in dire need of someone 'tutor-y', then how the hell am I doing this well right now? I think bitterly. 

___________

Nancy drives up to the curb in front of the school. She rolls down the passenger window and leans to tell me, "Get in!"

     I open the door and get in the car. I strap myself in, and Nancy nearly defies the laws of physics as she zips us out of the parking lot. I have to grab at the door handle and the armrest to keep myself from what feels as if I'm going to fly out of the car through the window. 

     "Why are you looking like that, Callie?" my sister asks me as soon as she hits the road. I glare at her. "What?"

     "From now on, I'm driving," I say.

     She gives me a confused look. "Um, okay then." She stops sharply at the stop sign, causing us to jerk forward. "So, how was your day?"

     "Shitty."

     "That goes in the toilet." I roll my eyes at her stupid response. "Why was it bad?"

     I tell her about the meeting with Mr. Neven while I'm trying to avoid the urge to throw up from how fast we're going. Frankly, I'm surprised Nancy hasn't been tracked down by the police so far in this drive. "Nan, holy crap! Pull yourself over!"

     My sister does, and she parks the car. "Thank you," I say.

     "No problem," Nancy says, proud that she hasn't run over a mailbox while she was parallel parking. "So, you thinking about taking his advice?"

     "Ugh, not you, too," I groan. "The last thing I should add to my list of things to do is have an emotional conversation with someone." Nancy points at herself. "You don't count, Nan."

     "Oh, now I know how you feel towards me," Nancy mutters. "Do you know anyone here at the school that you can talk to?"

     I shake my head. "My classmates are assholes, you know that." I think about May and Annalee. "Except for a couple. But yeah, I stand by my statement."

     "Ah." Someone stares at us as they drive by. "Wasn't there a violinist last year that you know?"

     Looking at Nancy, I ask, "Are you talking about Randy?"

     "Yeah! That's his name!" Nancy says, snapping her fingers. "Have you thought about going to him?"

     "Um, Nan," I start, as if I'm talking to a five-year-old. "He's in a university far away from here."

     Nancy scoffs. "That's what you think," she says. "I passed by him a couple of days ago."

     My ears perk up. "Really? Where?"

     "At the college I go to," Nancy responds. "Apparently, Randy was offered to stay in Washington for about two weeks, helping the musically-talented people at the college to improve their skills. You can go to his house and see if he'll talk to you."

     "There are offers like that?"

     She shrugs. "I just told what I know about it," she says. "It could be that he lost his scholarship, and he's forced to attend here instead for all I know. But hey, you can ask him."

     "I don't even know where he lives," I say. It's sort of true; Jules pointed out the direction, but I don't know which is their house.

     "Oh." Nancy starts up the car, and to my relief, she starts driving slowly. "Doesn't he have a sister your age?"

     Sliding down in my seat, I grumble, "Yeah." Why is everything connecting to Jules? At least, that's how it feels to me.

     Nancy doesn't notice my annoyance, or doesn't care. "Great! You can talk to her tomorrow, and see if you can go to her house after school," she says happily.

     "That'd be a good plan . . . if tomorrow isn't Saturday," I point out.

     My sister turns left, and I'm starting to recognize the street we're on. Sometimes for fun, Nancy would go on a different route to home every day. Half the time she gets lost for several hours, but 'it's all in the good ol' fun!' I had once promised to myself that I would find whoever told her to go on a different path and smack them.

     "There's this thing called the internet," Nancy says. "Go onto Facebook, or Instagram, or whatever social media you go on and talk to her there. There, problem solved."

     I have a feeling this would actually create more problems.