The Book of Matthew (The Alex Chronicles Book 1) (21 page)

“Um, okay,” I said. “But I think you should think about it. I mean, if it’s something you want badly enough…”

Matt was shaking his head. “No way. Never.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

He sighed. “Here you go again. Trying to dissect me.”

“Here
you
go again. Being all secretive.”

We were silent for a few minutes until we reached the edge of the sidewalk that ran parallel to Main Street. Kentmore Hall was a half-block walk away.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you hate it when I ask too many questions. I’ll let it go.”

Matt was quiet a moment, and then he said, “I owe my father enough as it is.”

“You do? Like what?”

“I don’t owe him money if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“All the money I made this semester—it’s for me.”

“I know that,” I said. “You’re saving to buy a second guitar.”

“My father wants me to get into finance, like him. Be an accountant or something boring like that.”

I said as little as possible, to keep his momentum going and to make sure he kept talking.

“My grandfather was an accountant,” he continued, “and my dad’s this hot-shot executive. My father thinks I owe it to the family to keep the tradition going.”

“So you feel trapped by obligation.”

“Sorta. I thought about not going to college at all—just having some dumb job that would give me lots of time to focus on the band.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision to go to college,” I said.

“I guess. I’m just here to make him happy.”

“All those papers you wrote on microeconomics and financial planning beg to differ. I thought you were all about money.”

“I am. I mean, I wouldn’t mind having a job in the financial field for the money and power and security. It’s just that it’s not my first choice. And I don’t want to be forced into it.”

We reached Kentmore Hall, the place where Matt and I had shared so many sweet and silent and awkward moments together. I expected to find the front door locked, but it was open. I held it open for Matt to enter first.

“No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to do,” I said.

Matt walked in front of me. As we passed the kitchen, I glanced fleetingly at the darkness that crept from underneath the crack of the door.

“My father can,” he said. His voice echoed in the stairwell. “You think I got enough money to pay for college? He offered to pay for the whole thing as long as I promised to be a finance major and get a good job after graduation.”

We walked into the practice room. Matt placed both of the cases he was holding on the floor.

“I weighed my options,” he continued. “It was either: be an uneducated and broke guitarist in a band with no degree to fall back on, or get a free education and a good job and find the time to play the guitar. For me, the choice was obvious.”

I was stunned and yet not at Matt’s final confession. I was stunned at the revelation of a secret I hadn’t expected. I wasn’t stunned at the fact that it had never been revealed until that moment.

“So what about the car your father bought you?” I asked.

Matt sank into a nearby folding chair. “What about it? He bought it for me as a bribe.”

I dragged another chair over from a few feet away and sat across from him. “A bribe?”

“Basically. My father thought my relationship with Christine might get in the way of my studies. He was afraid I might drop out of school to marry her. Then the money he spent on my education would’ve been wasted. So he bought me a car to remind me to stay the course, metaphorically speaking.”

“Didn’t he realize that a car would make it easier for you to see Christine because then you could drive home whenever you wanted to see her?”

Matt shrugged. “I guess not. All he knew is that guys love cars. I wasn’t about ready to argue with him.” Matt leaned forward and gave me a crooked smile. “My new car served its purpose, if you know what I mean.”

I sighed. “You honor me with your lips, but your heart is far from me,” I said.

It was a line from the Old Testament. The prophet Isaiah had said it about hypocrites who worshipped God in vain.

“What?” Matt said.

“I’ve known you for eight months.”

He did the math in his head. “Sounds about right.”

“Unless you were backed into a corner you never really let me know you.”

Then came the all-familiar crooked smile. He pulled his chair closer to mine so that our knees were touching. He leaned in, so close that I could feel his breath on my face. “But I always let you
feel
me,” he said.

I pushed my chair back slightly with my feet. “Matt, I need to tell you something.”

His smile faded away and his shoulders shrank. “Okay.” He sat back in his chair.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…” I said.

I remembered every word that I had intended to say, but they wouldn’t come out. One look in his green eyes and I knew that despite all the shit we had been through together, he deserved more from me than a memorized script.

“I’m sorry about the situation with your father,” I said. “Not that I could’ve helped you, but I wish you would’ve told me sooner. I wish you’d told me a lot of things sooner. As far as your dad is concerned, I think you should do what you want. Quit school. Marry Christine. Whatever. Go your own way.”

Matt was watching my eyes, silent, waiting for more words.

I took a deep breath and summoned the courage to continue. “Our night in the park two weeks ago—that was wonderful. One of the nicest birthday gifts ever.”

Matt smirked.

“But as far as you and I are concerned…that night in the park was our last,” I said. “I need to go my own way, too.”

His eyes grew large. “What? You mean…?”

I nodded. “This isn’t going to work. We both know it.”

At first there was a look of desire in his dark green eyes. In a flash it faded and changed to something else. Understanding? Acceptance?

“I know,” Matt said, sighing. “You’re right. This isn’t going to work.”

Yes. He understood and he accepted.

It felt like zero gravity had taken over and rendered our bodies weightless. We floated in space above the floor of the practice room and held each other’s gaze. Finally, that unstoppable force made his body do what it was intended to do. He leaned in and kissed me softly on the cheek.

He stood up and looked down at me, sadness in his dark green eyes. “Goodnight, Alexandra.”

With that kiss on the cheek, he left me.

II.

I slipped the white, ankle-length gown over top of my clothes and zipped it up the front. Then I took a step back to observe myself in the full-length mirror. The nervous butterflies started almost immediately. I inhaled and exhaled quick and deep to calm my nerves.

It was high-school graduation day.

All that was left to do was put on the white shoes I bought to match. I had remembered to break them in. No more bleeding heels.

And, of course, I had to fasten the cap and align the tassel so that it hung down the right side of my face. I pushed my hair behind my ears to showcase the diamond stud earrings my father had bought me as a graduation present. They sparkled as their image reflected in the mirror.

My mother had given me a matching diamond bracelet, but I didn’t have it on. It was in my pocket, where I could easily pull it out and put it on should she happen to notice I wasn’t wearing it.

I glanced at the clock radio and realized that I had overestimated how quickly it would take to get ready. I was early yet again. The graduation ceremony wasn’t for another two hours, and I wasn’t due at the school for an hour. The ride itself would only take fifteen minutes.

A knock on my bedroom door startled me.

“Alex?” a voice said. “Can I come in?”

It was my mother. I didn’t respond, and there was no need; she would come in anyway. The door opened and she stepped inside.

“Let me have a look at you,” she said.

I turned to face her and she looked me over head to toe. I hoped she wouldn’t mention the bracelet. She wasn’t able to see that I wasn’t wearing it because the sleeves of the graduation gown came down to my knuckles. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t bring it up.

“You look beautiful,” she said. “And the earrings look great.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re not wearing lipstick,” she said.

“You know I hate lipstick.”

“I know you do.”

“Then don’t make me wear it,” I said.

“Okay,” she conceded, smiling gently. “You look beautiful without it anyway.” She picked up the cap from my bed and handed it to me. “Don’t forget your cap.”

“I don’t know how this stupid thing works,” I said.

“The elastic part goes in the back,” my mother said. “The non-elastic part forms a ‘V’ on the crown of your head just above your forehead.”

I positioned the cap the way she instructed and pulled in on. I tucked loose hair behind my ears.

My mother beamed. “There! Now let me fasten it.” She found some bobby pins sitting on my dresser. “These should do the trick.”

After fastening the cap, my mother took one final head-to-toe look at me. I arched my back and straightened my shoulders to look more grown-up and important than I really was. My mother clapped her hands together in joy, tilted her head to one side, and cried.

…

A half-hour later I was in the school gymnasium. The room was filled to near capacity with 227 graduating seniors, a sea of blue and white robes. Several teachers and adult chaperones swam about, squeezing in between our social circles. They were, respectively, double checking the roll call list and doing what they could to calm our nerves.

The air was thick with noise. Hollow voices bounced off the shiny, wooden floor, pounded against the cement walls, and reverberated until they dissipated into space. Every overhead light shone down on us, flooding the room with intense bright whiteness. This, combined with the density of bodies, made the room extremely hot.

I heard an unfamiliar male voice call my name.

“Alex?” It sounded distant and hollow, like it was coming from inside my own head.

I searched around for the source of the voice, standing on tiptoe and straining my neck to see above all the mortarboards. I stretched my gaze to all corners of the room but saw nothing; no young face stared back at me and no eyes connected with mine.

As I was about to give up the search, I felt a hand on my left shoulder, followed by that foreign voice in my ear.

This time it was softer, more palpable.

“Alex?”

I turned and came face to face with Dr. Cramer. Deep lines creased the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hair had turned completely gray.

“Hi, Alex,” he said. “Remember me?”

I stared up at him. “Uh, yeah. Hi, Dr. Cramer.”

“I haven’t seen you in…let’s see now…it’s been a year, I think.”

“I guess so.”

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Great!” He looked around the room. “Should be an exciting day!”

I stared at the thick stripes on his tie. “Definitely.”

“I just came over to wish you good luck.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Couldn’t ask for better weather,” he said.

“Yeah, beautiful. So what are you doing here?”

“My son’s graduating today, too,” he said. “Daniel Cramer. Do you know him? He’s floating around here somewhere.” He scanned the room in a fruitless effort to find his son.

Daniel Cramer, or Danny as he preferred to be called, was a geek. He was quiet and shy and a bit puny for his age, slim as a pole and shorter than most of the girls at our school. When he did open his mouth, it was for one of two reasons: when a teacher called on him to give the correct answer to a question a classmate had gotten wrong, or to work his magic on his beloved musical instrument. Danny was smart as a whip and could play a trumpet like nobody’s business. It was this latter activity, his association with the marching band that ultimately made him a geek.

Seeing as he was only one and a half or so social cliques away from me, I was familiar enough with Daniel Cramer. But since he looked so unlike his father, I’d never have guessed he was Dr. Crazy’s offspring.

Poor kid.

“I know him,” I said. “Shy kid, right? Plays the trumpet?”

“That’s him. His mother wishes he were more outgoing but I keep telling her he might outgrow his introversion.”

“Uh, sure. So what are you doing
here
? I thought only teachers and chaperones were allowed in the gymnasium.”

“Oh, right. Well, I’m a chaperone. Just doing my part to keep an eye on things,” Dr. Cramer said. “But enough about that. How’s your mother?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“She’s so proud of you, you know,” he said. “All she ever does during our therapy sessions is go on and on about you.”

Yeah, right, I thought. All I could picture was the doctor writing frantically in a notebook during their therapy sessions, trying to keep up with my mother as she rattled on about what a horribly unappreciative daughter she thought I was. “I’m sure,” I said.

“She does,” he said, the wrinkled skin around his eyes pulling taut. “She’s excited and, frankly, a little nervous about you going away to college in the fall. But she’s confident that you’ll do well and achieve great things. Including…” He leaned in as if sharing a secret. “…write a best-selling novel one day.”

“Right, okay,” I said, suddenly feeling my face flush with embarrassment and also from annoyance. Was he looking to have a therapy session with me right there in the middle of the goddamned gymnasium? On my graduation day?

He gently gripped my shoulders and looked down at me. “I wish you the best of luck with everything. I hope you and your mother work out all your issues.”

I took a step back, forcing him to withdraw his hands from me. “I don’t have any issues, and if I did, they wouldn’t be any of your business. But thanks for your concern. I’ll be fine.” I turned to leave, to wriggle my way through the sea of students.