"I'd love to believe that," Sullivan said, and now his voice was furious. He grabbed my hand and wrenched it so that I was staring at my own skin, inches from my face. "But I have to tell you, they don't give you that for nothing. You're my student, and I want to know what or who you promised to get this, because it's my responsibility to keep stupid, brilliant kids like yourself from getting killed, and I'm going to have to clean things up now."
I should've had something to say. If not witty, than just something.
Sullivan released my hand. "Were you not good enough on your own? Best damn piper in the state and you had to strike a deal for more? I should've known it wouldn't be enough. Maybe you thought it would only affect you? It never affects just you."
I jerked down my sleeves. "You don't know what you're talking about. I didn't make a deal. You don't know."
But maybe he did know. I didn't know what the hell he knew.
Sullivan looked at the partially rubbed-off letters above the keyboard and clenched and unclenched his hand. "James, I know you think I'm just an idiot. A musician who sold out his teen dreams to become a junior-faculty foot-wipe at a posh high school. That's what you think I am, right?"
Nuala, who actually read my mind, would've been able to word it better, but he was still pretty close for a non-supernatural entity. I shrugged, figuring a non-verbal answer was really the best way to go.
He grimaced at the piano keys, running his fingers over them. "I know that because I was you, ten years ago. I was going to be somebody. Nobody was going to stand in my way, and I had a bunch of people at Juilliard who agreed with me. It was my life."
"I'm not a fan of morality tales," I told him.
"Oh, this one has a twist ending," Sullivan said, voice bitter.
"They ruined my life. I didn't even know They existed. I didn't even stand a chance. But you do. I'm telling you right now, they use people like us to get ahead. Because we want what They have to offer and we don't like the world the way it is. But what you have to understand, James, is just because we want what
They have and They want what we have, doesn't mean we end up with something we like. We don't."
He shoved back from the piano and got up from the bench.
"Now sit down."
I didn't know what else to say, so I gave him part of the truth. "I don't really want to play the piano."
"I didn't either," Sullivan said. "But at least it's not an instrument they particularly care for. So it's a good one for both of us to be playing. Sit down."
I sat down, but I didn't think Sullivan knew as much about Nuala as he thought he did.
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U told me u were psychic once. I wish i could ask u what my future was. Am i always like this, on the outside looking in? Thats what i loved about luke. He made me feel like i belongd smewhere.
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When I pulled the six-pack out of my backpack, Paul looked as if
I'd laid an egg. I set it down on the desk next to his bed and turned the chair around backwards before sitting on it.
"You still want to get drunk?"
Paul's eyes were twice as round as usual. "Man, how did you get that?"
I reached behind me to get a pen from the desk and wrote the list on it without quite knowing why. I felt better after I did.
"The archangel Michael came down from on high and I asked him, 'Lo, how can I getteth the stick from my friend Paul's ass?' and he said, 'This ought to go a long way.' And gave me a sixpack of Heineken. Don't ask me why Heineken."
"Is that enough to get me drunk?" Paul was still looking at the six-pack as if it were an H-bomb. "In the movies, they drink forever and never get drunk."
"A beer virgin like yourself won't." I was acutely pleased that I didn't have to worry about Paul vomiting, thanks to foresight on my part. I liked Paul a lot, but I didn't think I wanted to dedicate any of the minutes of my life to cleaning up his barf.
"And it's all for you."
Paul looked panicked at that. "You aren't drinking?"
"Anything that is mind-altering makes me nervous." I dumped the pencils and pens from the mug that served as our pencil can; they clattered and rolled every which way on the desk. I handed Paul the pencil can.
"That's because you always like to be in control of everything,"
Paul said, weirdly observant. He looked into the mug in his hands. "What is this for?"
"In case you're shy about drinking out of a bottle."
"Dude, there's like, pencil crap and who knows what in here."
I handed him a bottle of beer and turned back to the desk, picking up one of the markers that I'd dumped from the pencil can and finding a scrap piece of paper. I scrawled busily, filling the room with the scent of permanent marker. "Sorry to offend, princess. Bottom's up. The pizza should be here soon."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm ensuring our privacy." I showed him the sign I'd created.
Paul is feeling delicate. Please do not disturb his beauty sleep, xoxo Paul. I'd put a heart around his name too.
"You bastard," Paul said, as I stood up and opened the door long enough to tape it to the outside. Behind me, I heard the click of him opening the bottle. "Dude, this smells rank."
"Welcome to the world of beer, my friend." I crashed on my bed. "Like all vices, it comes with a warning that we usually ignore."