Free Wild Roses by Deb Caletti Page A

crowning glory was his headful of curly
gray-black hair, but it's like the game you can play with the blond girls at
school--imagine them without the hair and there's not much there. I'm not sure
why women liked him so much. But right then, he was downright ugly. That's the
thing with mean people. Eventually their spirit shows through like mold on
cheese.
    "Entertaining him? I talked to the guy for
maybe a minute and a half," I said. I let the irritation show in my voice. I
didn't care. I plunked a dollop of guacamole on my taco salad, took a forceful
bite.
    "The lesson started late."
    So that's what his problem was. In forty years
when he got Alzheimer's, he might forgive me.
    "He needs to focus on his music. Nothing else."
"I said hello. He introduced me to his brother." "Sounds harmless to me," Mom
said. "She's not having
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    a love affair with the guy, Dino. Hello won't
kill his focus." She speared a tomato.
    "This is not some high school boy, Daniella. We
are attempting to train a genius. He has no room for kissy face."
    "Darn, and I thought you didn't see my tongue
down his throat," I said. I got up. Shoved back my chair. I wasn't hungry
anymore. If there is something that can make you as angry as being unjustly
accused, tell me. Or being disproportionately accused. You do well in school and
you don't do drugs or have sex, but they get mad at you for not making your
bed.
    I went outside to the shed, got out my
telescope. Swore under my breath at the psycho creep. It was late October and
cold out, and I'd wished I'd interrupted my anger by getting a sweatshirt. Too
late now. The clouds were doing this manic fleeing, in a hurry to get somewhere,
and as they whipped past, they'd reveal these bursts of brilliantly clear sky I
hauled out my equipment and set up in the open grassy patch by the front of the
house. It was the perfect viewing place--open sky, the garden ringed with
hydrangeas and a view of the sound. The water smelled cold and deep and swampy
in the darkness, the smell of thousands of years of whale secrets.
    I sprang out the tripod legs of my telescope,
swore at the fact that I only wore socks, which were now wet from dewy grass.
Hey cool. Now I could take them off and be a lunatic like Dino. Dog William
whined for my company from behind the fence. If I was lucky I'd see Mars
in
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    between cloudbursts. It was more work than it
seemed, looking through a telescope, as the Earth was continually moving and you
had to move along with it. You don't realize how fast this actually happens, and
it's kind of both creepy and wonderful when you stop to think about it. And it
makes you realize there is absolutely no way to avoid change. You can sit there
and cross your arms and refuse it, but underneath you, things are still spinning
away.
    Anyway, the telescope always made me feel
better. I could go to a different place and didn't need chemicals or airfare to
do it. I started hunting around for Mars when I heard tires on gravel. Bike
tires. Oh, my God, bike tires. It was inky black out there, so all I could see
was the white of his T-shirt underneath his black coat until he got closer. Ian
Waters put his feet on the ground, balanced his bike with his hands. God, there
he was, all of a sudden. Ian Waters.
    "Hi," he said. His breath came out in a puff.
That's how cold it was getting.
    "Hi," I said. "What are you doing here?" I
tried to breathe. My heart was doing this charming maraca number.
    "Performance tape." He pulled a cassette from
his pocket, lifted it up. "Mr. Cavalli wanted to hear one of my concerts. Can
you see anything tonight?"
    "Mars." I was trying to ignore the fact that
his presence was charging up the night like an approaching lightning storm. I
swear, my insides felt this surge of energy, a hyperawareness. I could smell his
shampoo. I tried to breathe deeply. I mean, this was stupid. This was no big
deal. I forced myself to sound casual. "Want