The Perfectionists (13 page)

“Hello,” Mac said coolly.

“Hey.” Blake was just as breezy and cavalier. He opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

See?
Mac thought as she followed him, her cello case bumping against her knees. Blake
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 Blake and Claire on the trip the orchestra had taken to Disneyland last year—Blake 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. Claire was kissing his cheek, her face pink.

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

Blake led her through the old country kitchen and opened the door to the refinished basement. As Mac 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.

Blake hopped off the last step and turned around and faced her. “They canceled again. Stuff to do, I guess.”

Mac blinked. Blake 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?”

Mackenzie 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, Claire'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 Claire's name.

“Yeah, um, okay,” Mac said awkwardly, ready to walk back up the stairs.

Blake grabbed her arm. “Mac, 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.

Blake's 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.” Mac slapped her forehead. “Wait. I mean,
no.
You shouldn't have kissed me, though. Claire's my best friend, Blake. 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?”

Mac lifted one shoulder. She thought that was painfully obvious.

“And if Claire wasn't in the picture, you wouldn't be saying this right now?”

Mac 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 Nolan 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 Blake, too.

But when she felt Blake 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 Mac 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.”

His breath tickled her earlobe. He smelled like Ivory soap, and a little bit like sugar—the cupcake smell lingered even when he wasn't at work. She felt light-headed.

“Me too,” she heard herself admit. But then she turned her head. “What are we
doing
, though? You have a girlfriend, Blake. This isn't right.”

Blake shook his head. “I'm trying to end things. I want to be with you.”

Mac blinked hard. “You
do
?
Why?
”

“Because you're so . . .
you
.” He nodded.

Mac smiled wryly. “Unfortunately.”

“That's a good thing.” Blake sat up and took her hands. “I've
always
wanted you.”

“Then why did you kiss Claire at Disneyland?” she blurted.

For a moment, Blake looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? Claire kissed
me
.”

“What?” Mackenzie said, peering at him through her glasses. “Claire said you kissed her on a ride, but that she stopped it because she had to clear it with me first.”

Blake shook his head slowly. “Um, no. We were on Pirates of the Caribbean. And I asked her if, you know, she thought you would ever go out with me.” Blake's cheeks were red. “She said you were interested in someone else, but that she liked me—and she kissed me then and there.” He looked at Mackenzie earnestly, lifting her chin. “I
never
would have gone for her if I thought I had a chance with you.”

Mac's mouth fell open. That hadn't been what Claire 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 Claire right now, okay?”

Then they were kissing again. And Mac 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 Claire. She wasn't thinking about anything but Blake's lips, Blake's hands, and Blake's body. In that moment, nothing and no one existed except her and the boy she'd loved for so many years from afar.

ON WEDNESDAY, AVA SHOWED UP
to film studies class early, hoping to talk to Mr. Granger, but he didn't come into the classroom until the final bell rang.

“Okay, everyone,” he said, and turned to write on the chalkboard. “Today we're going to start a new film. This one is called
The Bad Seed
. Anyone heard of it?”

A lot of eager hands shot up, Ava's included. He turned around and his eyes landed on her. “It's the one about the little girl who commits murder,” she said, encouraged.

Granger nodded. “A perfect-seeming child. Daughter of a perfect family. How on earth could she be capable of something so awful?”

Ava's stomach clenched. It was a strange choice of film after one of his students was murdered. She glanced at the others. Mac shifted. Julie tapped her toe incessantly.

Granger walked over to the television and turned it on. “Those of you who have seen it, what would you say are some of the main themes?”

Ava's hand shot up again. She was determined to redeem herself after that big red C. “Nature versus nurture,” she volunteered. “A perfect family should, in theory, raise a perfect girl. What went wrong?”

“Indeed.” Granger's smiled gleamed. “So what
could
go wrong, Ava? Any thoughts?”

“Well.” Ava could feel everyone looking at her. “Maybe some people are just born evil. They can't help it.”

Granger snapped his fingers. “That's one of the central arguments in this film:
Are people born evil, or good?
Very smart, Ava.”

She sat back and grinned. Alex caught her eye and raised his brow.
Show-off
, he mouthed teasingly.

“We can even think of examples in our own life,” Granger went on. “There might be people we know about whom we ask that very question.”

Granger dimmed the lights, and everyone quieted down as the film came on the screen. It was just as scary as Ava had remembered, and the little girl in the movie reminded her a lot of Nolan. When the final bell rang, she started to pack up her books, pulling nervously at the hem of the gray Theory dress she'd worn because she knew it made her look serious.

“Hey,” Alex said, turning around with a grin. “Want to go off campus for lunch today?”

She smiled at him. “Thanks. But I need to talk to Mr. Granger.”

“Oh, right. Good luck.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Ava waited until everyone else had left the classroom before she stood up and slowly walked to the front of the room. Mr. Granger was erasing the chalkboard, his back to her. Outside the classroom she heard the hallway filling with the chaos of freed students, lockers slamming and kids shouting. When Mr. Granger finally turned, he looked surprised to see her there.

“Ava. What can I do for you?”

The essay trembled in her hands, the big red C at the top catching her eye. She bit her lip and tried to sound as confident as possible. “I wanted to talk to you about this grade, Mr. Granger.”

He sat down on the edge of his desk. “I see. Do my comments make sense to you?”

She shrugged, still staring down at the paper. “I guess so. You thought it was stupid.”

“Not stupid.” He stood up off the desk quickly, and all at once they were standing so close together she had to look up to meet his gaze. A warm, citrusy smell came off him, like tangerines sitting in sunlight. She swallowed.

“The essay was very well written, Ava. Your prose is among the most sophisticated in the class. But the arguments were unfocused, nothing like your previous papers.”

Ava nodded. “Yeah. I was kind of distracted when I wrote it.”

“It was a tough topic, and this was a tough week,” Granger said, his green eyes steady on her. “It's hard to lose a classmate—or, in my case, a student.”

Ava bit her lip, casting her eyes down.

Granger leaned back against the desk. “Perhaps you were at a disadvantage because of your group.”

“Um . . . right.” Ava tried to gauge his expression. What did he mean by that?

He looked at her expectantly, and she tried not to sound shaky as she forged ahead. “What I came to ask is, I'd like to rewrite the essay for a new grade.”

Mr. Granger paused for a second, then nodded. “That sounds fair,” he said. “Why don't we meet and talk about it. What's your schedule like this week?”

“I'm free whenever works for you,” Ava said agreeably.

Granger pulled out his iPhone to check his schedule, then frowned. “Actually this week is pretty difficult for me, especially right after school. Would Friday work—maybe around seven?” He smiled at her encouragingly.

Ava's shoulders relaxed, the tension flooding out of her. “Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you so much, Mr. Granger. Should I meet you here?”

He glanced at the wall, giving it a wry smile. “Unfortunately for me, the drama club is in dress rehearsals for
Guys and Dolls
, and the auditorium is flush with that wall. It'll be pretty loud in here.” He thought for a moment. “What about my house? I'm just a few blocks from here. Besides, I have a book on villains by Chuck Klosterman I'd really like to lend you.”

Ava blinked. She'd never been to a teacher's house before. But he was going out of his way to help her with her paper, so the least she could do was come to him.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll be there.”

“Great.” He put his phone back in his pocket and quickly wrote down his address for her. “I think you're really talented, Ava. You have a lot of potential.”

“Thanks, Mr. Granger.” She squared her shoulders and turned to walk out of the classroom just as the door opened from the hallway.

“Excuse me?” a man said, stepping into the room.

“Yes?” Granger stood up fast, straightening his papers.

The man strode across the room. “I'm Detective Peters. I'm wondering if I could speak to Miss Jalali.”

His gaze turned to Ava. Ava shrank back, wondering how he knew her name—but then, maybe it was a cop's job to know. Her head felt faint. What
else
did he know?

“I just have a few questions for you, Miss Jalali,” Peters said, perhaps noticing the nervous look on Ava's face.

“That's fine with me,” Granger said, his smile mild. “We're finished here. You can use the classroom.”

“Actually, I need to take her down to the station,” Peters said.

Ava's heart sank. “Th-the station?” She could feel Granger staring at her.

“We can't technically conduct interviews on school grounds, but I got permission from the office to come into the school.”

“W-will you tell my parents?” Ava blurted.

Peters's mild expression didn't change. “That you're being questioned, yes. But everyone is being questioned, Miss Jalali. Is there
more
I should tell them?”

Ava shook her head faintly. “Of course not.” Then she turned to follow the cop out of the room. Alex was waiting just outside the door. When he saw her with the cop, his mouth dropped open.

“They're just asking me some questions,” she said quickly, trying to erase the concern from his eyes.