Allegra (27 page)

The weeks pass slowly. I don't return to school, and no one seems to expect me to. I can't bring myself to dance or play the piano. Dad has left the tour and moved back in; he sleeps on the couch in the music studio. I hear him and Mom talking late at night. Mom continues to work, and Dad stays home with me. He tries to give me space by spending a lot of time in the studio, but I know he's also keeping a close eye on me.

I spend my days reading, stretching and watching mindless
TV
. I did chat online with Angela, but when she told me that the situation between me and Noel was all over Facebook, I decided to stay completely away from the computer, too.

A police officer came to question me one night, but I haven't heard anything else about the investigation. Mom and Dad have hired a lawyer, just in case I need one, who spent an evening asking me questions, but he didn't give us any indication of what will happen next. I could tell by his questions that he thought it was inappropriate for Noel to be spending time alone with me.

Mom only made one more attempt to talk to me about it. We were alone, making dinner together. Out of the blue, she said, “It never occurred to you, honey, that it might have been wrong for Mr. Rocchelli to work alone with you, especially at night?”

I just narrowed my eyes and replied, “You never thought it might have been wrong for Marcus to be here, alone with you, in the middle of the night?”

That shut her up.

Living in limbo, not knowing what's going to happen next, is killing me, and not an hour goes by that I don't think of Noel and wonder how he is doing. Does he hate me for what has happened?

Christmas comes. Dad, Mom and I end up staying home. Mom makes a turkey dinner; they both give me some gifts, but the day is anything but festive. I sleep a lot. When I'm not sleeping, I'm thinking about Noel.

These are the darkest, shortest days of the year. It's harder and harder to get out of bed. I've never felt so helpless.

At the start of January, we receive a letter asking us to appear at an information-gathering meeting at the police station on January 10. Suddenly I go from constantly sleeping to not sleeping at all. I toss and turn at night, wondering what will happen at this meeting. I try to mentally prepare myself. It's imperative that I remain calm. For Noel's sake, I have to convince the authorities that nothing inappropriate ever happened.

E
ighteen

Finally the day arrives. We gather around a table in a small room at the police station: my parents, my lawyer, Mr. Carter, Noel, his lawyer and Officer O'Neil.

“So.” Officer O'Neil takes a moment to look at each of us. “This was to be an information-gathering meeting only,” he says, “but I now understand that Mr. Noel Rocchelli has a statement to make that may change how we proceed. Mr. Rocchelli, what is it you wish to say?”

Everyone's focus turns to Noel. His gaze is on the table. I notice how pale he is, and how there are now dark circles under his eyes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “As you all know, Allegra and I were writing a piece of music together. It started out as an assignment for her, but I very quickly discovered the talent she had for composing, and despite myself, I found I couldn't resist working on it with her.”

Breathe, Allegra, breathe
…

“Because I became so caught up in the composition,” he continues, “and even had hopes of getting it published and performed, I admit I lost my objectivity regarding my relationship with a student.”

He pauses here, and I feel everyone lean forward, myself included, anxious to hear where he is going with this. Is he going to admit his feelings for me in front of these people?

“As both of us have said, there was no inappropriate behavior between us, except for one hug, the kind of hug you give a friend when you can see the friend needs one. However, upon reflection, I now understand that I should have remained in my role as teacher, not friend, with Allegra. It was a grave error in my own judgment.”

A grave error?
How could he help his feelings for me? I slump back in my chair.

Noel glances at me before he continues. “The reason I am a music teacher,” he says, “is because of my great passion for music, and for composing music in particular. Allegra has a rare talent for composition. When we worked together, I would forget she was a seventeen-year-old high-school student. In some ways, working with her was like working with a colleague, a fellow musician. That is probably why I lost perspective in my relationship with her.”

I feel everyone's gaze turn to me. I just stare at the table.

At this point Mr. Rocchelli leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath. The room is completely still. It is clear that he has not finished what he wants to say. I hold my breath.

He continues, and his voice becomes wobbly. “I have cherished my work as teacher at Deer Lake High, but as you all know, the outpouring of rumors, speculation and outright lies that has been humming on the social network sites since mid-November has been overwhelming.” He pauses to rub his face with his hands. “Even if I am cleared of any wrongdoing,” he continues, “it would be very hard, if not impossible, to resume teaching under that cloud.”

The truth of what he is saying hits me like a punch to the stomach.

“Allegra,” he says, “you have done nothing to cause this situation. You need to know that. I was the one who should have been more professional. I do not in any way hold you responsible for what I have to do.”

I look up and meet his eyes. There is only sorrow there. I brush away tears.

“Even though it may look like an admission of guilt,” he continues, “I have submitted my notice of resignation from the Lakeview School District, effective immediately.”

The room remains completely still. Shock has paralyzed me. He is dead wrong. This is completely my fault. All I had to do was tell Talia that she was wrong, that nothing had happened between us, and we wouldn't be here.

Officer O'Neil taps his pencil on his pad of paper. He turns to Mr. Carter. “Well,” he says, sighing. “Here's what I recommend then. Given that Mr. Rocchelli has resigned from teaching, and given that there isn't any conclusive evidence that anything truly inappropriate happened between Allegra and Mr. Rocchelli, I am going to recommend that we not proceed with the investigation.”

Mr. Carter nods solemnly. “I'm terribly sorry that things ever got this far and that Deer Lake High is losing a fine teacher, but I have to agree with Mr. Rocchelli: it would be impossible for him to return to his teaching duties. As far as any charges are concerned, I agree that they should be dropped.”

Dad slides his arm around my shoulders and pulls me toward him. I don't look up, but I hear the legs on Mr. Rocchelli's chair scrape the floor as he rises. A moment later I sense him standing behind us.

“Mr. and Mrs. Whitford,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. I don't move, but my parents turn to look up at him. “I apologize for any pain I have caused you and Allegra.”

Neither of them responds.

“You have an extraordinarily talented daughter. I wish her well in the future.”

Our eyes meet for a brief moment, but there's a universe of unspoken words in that moment.

Mr. Rocchelli turns and leaves the room.

An impossible heaviness floods through my body as the truth of what just happened sinks in. I have single-handedly destroyed the man's career. The man I love.

I wish I were dead.

Without Noel, without the music, there is no reason to get out of bed. Dancing is pointless; it's hard enough to get up to go to the bathroom, which I don't have to do often because swallowing food or water has become almost impossible.

I'm aware of my parents tiptoeing into my room, bringing herbal tea and my favorite foods, but I can't bring myself to eat. I'm also aware of them sitting on my bed, stroking my hair, talking gently, but I don't hear what they say. I just want them to go away so I can fall back to sleep, that blissful place where I don't have to feel anything.

Days pass, possibly weeks; I have no idea.

“Enough's enough already, Allegra.”

I'm jolted from the fog by a flash of sunlight. Mom is pulling open my blinds and pushing open the window. A blast of cold air swooshes through the room. I note, numbly, that it must be morning, given the direction of the sun. How many mornings have passed since that awful day at the police station? As another wave of remorse washes over me, I pull my covers back over my head, blocking out the sunlight. Instantly they're yanked off.

“You've got to get out of bed and have a shower,” Mom says firmly. “We've given you your space, but now it's time to get on with life.”

Get on with life?
Right. How do I do that when I've ruined Noel's? For the hundredth time, I wonder what he is doing. Is he missing me the way I'm missing him?

Dad is standing in the doorway. He looks sad. “Your mom's right, Legs,” he says quietly. “It is time to get going again.”

A surge of annoyance rises up in me, but I decide it would require more effort to fight with them than to get up. Slowly, stiffly, I pull myself out of bed and walk across the hall to the bathroom. Glancing in the mirror, I note the long coils of greasy hair that fall over my shoulders. My skin, usually clear, is covered in angry-looking pimples. I shrug, and my housecoat falls to the floor, revealing a much skinnier version of the old me. Stepping into the shower, I let the water pummel my head, hoping to clear the fog, but nothing changes. I go through the motions of washing my hair and my body, but the effort of it exhausts me, and when I'm done it's all I can do to get back into my robe, stumble across the hall and climb back under the covers. Dad is the first to appear at the door. I open my eyes long enough to see him standing there, but sleep quickly returns to spare me from any conversation.

More days and nights pass. Once a day Mom airs out my room and bullies me into the shower, but that's as far as she can get me to go. A family friend, a doctor, pays me a visit, and I answer her questions to the best of my ability, but all I want is for her, too, to leave me alone. She mumbles something about the hospital, but I don't understand what she is saying. I notice that Mom is putting some pills on my tongue and waiting to see that I swallow them before she leaves me with my meals, which I barely touch. Each time I drift off, I hope to stay asleep, forever.