Keeping the Bad Boy

Chapter 28

It took a lot to convince her that I was going to be okay and that she should go home. Ryder had to explain the whole process to her while she sat there with this horrified look on her face. I finally took her hand and led her to my room. She had asked me why I had the scar and I told her a motorcycle accident when I was fifteen and her haunted look got worse as I described the injury to her. But she only saw the majority of the scar. The rest of it curls around my left hip-bone and along the bottom of my stomach, ending just below my belly-button. The motorcycle had rolled on me, causing the cut cut to lace around my body like a whip. I guess she's going home, but I really wish she would stay here with me. No matter how many fights I get in, no matter how mad I get, no matter how mean I am, I know Ryder will always love me. Sometimes I feel as if Courtney is the same way, then others, I truly do not know.

On the first day back to school, most of the snow has melted due to unexpected high temperatures this early in January. Conner went home early that year and I haven't seen Courtney since that day. It's January 10. I walk through the school with my head held high as I hear the faint, broken whispers of my name twisted with the words "broken", "sent him to the hospital", and quite possibly my favorite "hates the family". I knew they were talking about Conner. I wander down the hall to Mr. Madison's classroom. He was knelt down by the piano, polishing it. "Good morning, my boy," he says without turning around. "What brings you to me on this fine January morning?" He stands, stretches, and turns around to face me. I run a hand through my hair and I hear him take a deep breath. He pushes his glasses up farther on his nose. "I see. I know many things have happened and you are silently contemplating which one you need the most help with. I strongly suggest you bring up the one closest to your heart." "Courtney saw me right after I beat up Conner," I blurt out. "I figured it would have something to do with her. Okay, she has faith in you, that much I am sure, but-" "But nothing! A few weeks ago she almost broke up with me," I say and his expression hardens into confusion. "I don't think, even a person as strong as her, can ever love anyone like me." Mr. Madison straightens and walks over to retrieve a violin and bow. He hands me the violin. "Here," he says as I take it from him. I reach for the bow, but he yanks it back. "No. Pluck the strings," he says, holding the bow away from me, his eyes glowing. "I don't see how this is helping. Plucking doesn't-" "Pluck!" Mr. Madison says sharply as the bell rings. He shakes his head. I raise the violin to my shoulder and pluck each string. "See, it doesn't even-" "Pluck notes," Mr. Madison insists. "I can't without the bow." "I said pluck notes. Not play notes, Samuel." With a sigh I press the strings down on the fingerboard and pluck out notes. They don't sound horrible, but without the bow to really make a violin sing, you are ticking out a sequence of notes that-with the bow- would flow together in a harmonious way. "See, Samuel? Now take the bow and play the open notes," he says, handing me the rosined bow. I hold the instrument by it's shoulder and play the open notes. "Now play the exact notes you tried to pluck." I did as he instructed and the notes blended together wonderfully. "What does this prove exactly?" I ask him. "Sam, you are a violin. Aged and battered with sorrow, but a violin that is aged sounds much more beautiful when played the right way. But you are a violin without a bow or a skilled violinist. Only a skilled violinist that knows to always carry an extra bow can play you. Courtney is that violinist. You carry a part of her in your presence, just as your violin holds your presence in it's life. Very few people can an instrument as fine as you, Samuel, but you must know that when the right musician comes along, you mustn't waste their talent. She has the bow and is doing her best, but even Paganini made mistakes-at least I imagine Paganini made mistakes. One would never know. Courtney definitely isn't Paganini by any means, but it takes someone as talented as him to be able to slide the bow along your strings and not make you screech and hiss. Keep this in mind Samuel, next time you see her. Work with her and mold to her as a violin works and molds with it player. Let your strings be played Samuel. Let them be played and sing a wondrous song."