The phone rang and I picked it up.
“Hello, Jim?”
It was June’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about today,” June said.
“It’s not your fault,” I said.
“I’m still sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“I wanted to know… are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you, June!” I said.
“I’ve got homework tonight, but I think I can get my mom to let me go out tomorrow night. Can Cunt Whore visit you then?”
“You have an open invitation, June.”
“Thanks, Jim.” June hung up.
I was confused about June’s call, but then I heard another click on the line, before I heard dial tone.
I remembered that kind of click when Merry was a few years younger eavesdropping on my phone calls.
There were two extensions in our apartment, but the only other person in the apartment was Kristen, who was sitting on what was usually my favorite recliner. Lynette was at the hair stylist per Kristen’s orders.
I realized that somebody was listening in on June’s side.
I figured that tomorrow night was going to be interesting.
I got to bed early, and Kristen didn’t have a problem with that. We hugged each other tightly, and I fell asleep quite quickly.
It took a lot of convincing from Kristen for me to not go to school.
After Kristen drove off, I considered walking the three miles to the school. It wouldn’t take that long, and it would give me some time to think about things.
As I was about to leave, however, the phone rang.
I picked up the phone.
“Don’t even think of walking.”
It was Kristen. She hung up immediately.
Am I that fucking predictable?
I went downstairs to the practice room and started taking my frustration out on my electric piano. Kristen recently purchased me an upright grand piano, which was similar to the ones at the school, and I decided that an acoustic piano was better for taking out my frustrations.
When I was angry, I played very hard.
I was in the middle of the Funeral for a Friend, from Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road intro when I saw daylight flash into the room.
I turned, while continuing to play the chromatic finale of the song that leads into Love Lies Bleeding and noticed my music teacher walk into my practice room. I stopped.
“Elton double tracked that part,” Mr. Proilet said. “You’re trying to play two keyboards on one to get his sound.”
“Elton used a professional studio,” I shrugged.
“Kristen said you’d either be here or in the next room playing pool. A lot of musicians and mathematicians play pool, you know.”
“Don’t you have class?” I asked.
“Teachers can take days off. Especially music teachers that only have commencement to worry about.”
“I think I fucked up with June,” I said, knowing that my teacher knew about the rumors.
“You fucked up. How?”
“She’s black, I’m white. Everybody hates me.”
“Wasn’t that the idea?” Mr. Proilet asked. “Didn’t you want to show everybody that your feet were made of clay?”
“I didn’t want people to hate me!”
“The only people that hate you are the assholes.”
“There are plenty of people that fit in that category.”
Mr. Proilet laughed. “Tiny ‘accidentally’ bumped into Reggie Woods yesterday after the incident in the gym. He made it perfectly clear that people that aren’t nice to Jim Crittenhouse will find they will have Tiny Jonas to deal with.”
“Really?”
“How do you do it?” Mr. Proilet. “June and Tiny have been going together for years. You ‘discover’ him this year, you’re best friends, and he doesn’t mind you with June.”
“June’s mom is going to confront us tonight.”
“Oh?” Mr. Proilet seemed surprised by that.
“She listened in when June called me last night. She knows that June’s coming over here tonight.”
“You don’t seem nervous,” my teacher said.
“What can June’s mom do to me? I’m not her son. She can forbid June from coming, but she can’t touch me. I’m younger than June, so it will be difficult to say that I’m taking advantage of her.”
“For somebody so smart, you still let some assholes dictate to you.”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Proilet sighed. “If June’s mom does that, she’s an asshole, and you already know how to deal with her. Why can’t you do that with people like Reggie?”
“He’s black.”
“So is June’s mom.”
That was true. “Well, I know why she’s going to dislike me. She knows what June calls herself when she’s with me.”
“And nobody else does?” Mr. Proilet asked. “You call a black girl a whore, and black guys will get offended.”
“June chose that name, and I never called her that.”
“Did Lynette choose her name?”
Mr. Proilet seemed to be pretty well connected into the school gossip mill. “Kristen chose that one.”
“I won’t lie to you, Jim. I don’t totally understand you. You have an amazing gift, and you know it and you use it. I’ve seen a lot of so-called prodigies come and go, but none of them has the drive that you have. I’m willing to call in favors to see that you develop the potential you were born with. You seem to have a perfect love life, and…”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m the most popular guy in school. The cheerleaders love me, every girl wants my baby.”
“As I said, I don’t understand you,” Mr. Proilet said, getting back on track. “You put into motion this… this totally amazing and unexpected plan to make people think of you as a regular guy, but when they do, you retreat into yourself. Do you want that or do you not?”
“I want that.”
“Then you will have to expect assholes like Reggie Woods. If you didn’t have June, you could have Sherry Jordan. And then, somebody else would have a secret crush on her and resent you. When it was just you and Kristen, people resented you because they secretly wanted Kristen. When they saw what the two of you were capable of doing together, and saw that it was greater than what you did before you met her, they cut you slack. You made the right choice, and it was obvious.”
“And?” I asked.
“It didn’t happen overnight,” Mr. Proilet said. “You won over a lot of people, including me, when you put together that ’Hooked on a Feeling’ session. Do you know people are still making copies of copies of a cassette of that? Anyway, people started realizing what you and Kristen were around November. Somehow, the cheerleaders adopted you, and after the Christmas concert, you arrived. It didn’t happen overnight.”
I nodded. His recollection was about correct.
“Do you know that band enrollment nearly doubled for next year? The kids saw our Spring Concert and our performance of the musical at the junior high, and it seems to have piqued their interest. They love the jazz band so much that it’s now seen as hip to be in the band! You did that!”
“Really?”
“You don’t do marching band, but even that has stepped up. People are excited over the music program now, people that would never have considered it before. If I wanted, I could probably ask for an increase in my salary to handle the additional people, or even ask for an assistant.”
“Wow. You need more prodigies, Mr. Proilet!”
My teacher laughed. “Jean, please.”
“Sorry.”
“I can’t handle prodigies. Luckily, I didn’t have to handle you. You already know everything I teach in the junior and senior Music Theory classes. I have no idea how to keep you from getting bored in the next two years.”