snags on the doorframe. Rainey doubles back to tug at her and sees Howard wave
cut
.
“The delectable Miss Dial,” says Howard, and Rainey watches Tina respond as if she were being tuned. Her shoulders pull back, a hip curves out, and she looks down with a shy smile.
“Come on, Teen.”
“Do you like what you hear, Tina?” Howard asks, as if the fates of his young musicians, who wait patient as horses, are in her hands, or as if, perhaps, he is talking about something else entirely.
Tina glances at Rainey. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nods to Howard. Rainey shakes her head and goes back to eye-flirting with Flynn. Howard’s daughter may be off-limits to the male acolytes, but she and Flynn have been trying without words to arrange a meeting. Every time Rainey looks up, meaning
roof
, he frowns at the ceiling, perhaps meaning,
Where the chandelier used to be?
or else,
In your bedroom, are you out of your mind?
She is not out of her mind. She is fifteen and on the pill.
A girl your age is a fully opened flower
, her father says.
“It’s still in composition,” says Howard. “But if you respond to the finished piece, let us name it in your honor. ‘The Tina Temptation.’ What think you, Gordy?”
“Tell him it sucks, Teen,” says Rainey. Howard is stealing everything: her two hours, her best friend, the light he normally shines on her.
Or maybe Tina is the thief.
“It’s not about you, Tina,” says Rainey. “He might as well call it ‘The Howard Ego.’ ”
Howard laughs deeply. Gemma raises her bow and produces a ribbon of sound, but Howard raises his hand. “One more thing,” he says, and Rainey feels his interest sweep across her like a searchlight before it returns to Tina. “How’s the clarinet coming?”
Tina inhales sharply.
“Did you forget to tell her, Miss Temptation?”
“How’s your
clarinet
?” demands Rainey.
Mistemptation
sounds to her like a yearning gone wrong. “Tina doesn’t take clarinet. She doesn’t take anything.”
“I do,” says Tina quietly. “At school. It’s coming fine.”
“You don’t have a clarinet.” Rainey swallows; this is not what she means. Howard smiles. All the acolytes are looking at them.
“I showed her the fingering,” says Howard. “She might have a nascent talent.”
He showed her the fingering—and where was Rainey? Upstairs, thinking Tina had gone home? She can see it,how he stood behind Tina Dial, placed his hands over hers, inhaled her hair, his attention like the light from a star that has wheeled in close. Closer. Oh, Tina. No wonder she didn’t tell: she fell.
“Nascent, that’s great,” says Rainey. “Are you coming or not?”
“Five minutes.”
Howard pounds out two notes, both flat. The bass and violin start up. Rainey takes the two flights of stairs alone to her pink room with the light tread of someone whose fury is as weightless as the air she breathes and gets through an entire side of
Ziggy Stardust
before Tina, looking smug and, at least, embarrassed, appears with a clarinet case.
“Loaner,” she says. She looks helplessly around the room, cradling the case in her arms. “Where should I put this?”
W HAT R AINEY ’ S DOING IN art is developing her métier. Mr. Knecht says every artist has one, and every student must seek one, and Rainey’s is making tapestries. She uses everything: cloth, photographs, lists, snippets of lace, buttons, earrings, ribbon, even bits of flat scrap metal. Mr. K lets her go her own way while the rest of Studio Art II makes linocuts.
The other thing she’s doing in art, on this bright blue afternoon, is harassing Leah. The girl is carving a face on her linoleum block with a stiff anxiety that dulls her work. Mr. Knecht, oblivious to the hazards of placing two lionesseswith a giraffe, has seated her with Rainey and Tina. Tina can’t draw well either, but she has the advantage of not giving a fuck. Also, she has the advantage of Rainey, who leans over when Mr. Knecht
cut
.
“The delectable Miss Dial,” says Howard, and Rainey watches Tina respond as if she were being tuned. Her shoulders pull back, a hip curves out, and she looks down with a shy smile.
“Come on, Teen.”
“Do you like what you hear, Tina?” Howard asks, as if the fates of his young musicians, who wait patient as horses, are in her hands, or as if, perhaps, he is talking about something else entirely.
Tina glances at Rainey. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nods to Howard. Rainey shakes her head and goes back to eye-flirting with Flynn. Howard’s daughter may be off-limits to the male acolytes, but she and Flynn have been trying without words to arrange a meeting. Every time Rainey looks up, meaning
roof
, he frowns at the ceiling, perhaps meaning,
Where the chandelier used to be?
or else,
In your bedroom, are you out of your mind?
She is not out of her mind. She is fifteen and on the pill.
A girl your age is a fully opened flower
, her father says.
“It’s still in composition,” says Howard. “But if you respond to the finished piece, let us name it in your honor. ‘The Tina Temptation.’ What think you, Gordy?”
“Tell him it sucks, Teen,” says Rainey. Howard is stealing everything: her two hours, her best friend, the light he normally shines on her.
Or maybe Tina is the thief.
“It’s not about you, Tina,” says Rainey. “He might as well call it ‘The Howard Ego.’ ”
Howard laughs deeply. Gemma raises her bow and produces a ribbon of sound, but Howard raises his hand. “One more thing,” he says, and Rainey feels his interest sweep across her like a searchlight before it returns to Tina. “How’s the clarinet coming?”
Tina inhales sharply.
“Did you forget to tell her, Miss Temptation?”
“How’s your
clarinet
?” demands Rainey.
Mistemptation
sounds to her like a yearning gone wrong. “Tina doesn’t take clarinet. She doesn’t take anything.”
“I do,” says Tina quietly. “At school. It’s coming fine.”
“You don’t have a clarinet.” Rainey swallows; this is not what she means. Howard smiles. All the acolytes are looking at them.
“I showed her the fingering,” says Howard. “She might have a nascent talent.”
He showed her the fingering—and where was Rainey? Upstairs, thinking Tina had gone home? She can see it,how he stood behind Tina Dial, placed his hands over hers, inhaled her hair, his attention like the light from a star that has wheeled in close. Closer. Oh, Tina. No wonder she didn’t tell: she fell.
“Nascent, that’s great,” says Rainey. “Are you coming or not?”
“Five minutes.”
Howard pounds out two notes, both flat. The bass and violin start up. Rainey takes the two flights of stairs alone to her pink room with the light tread of someone whose fury is as weightless as the air she breathes and gets through an entire side of
Ziggy Stardust
before Tina, looking smug and, at least, embarrassed, appears with a clarinet case.
“Loaner,” she says. She looks helplessly around the room, cradling the case in her arms. “Where should I put this?”
W HAT R AINEY ’ S DOING IN art is developing her métier. Mr. Knecht says every artist has one, and every student must seek one, and Rainey’s is making tapestries. She uses everything: cloth, photographs, lists, snippets of lace, buttons, earrings, ribbon, even bits of flat scrap metal. Mr. K lets her go her own way while the rest of Studio Art II makes linocuts.
The other thing she’s doing in art, on this bright blue afternoon, is harassing Leah. The girl is carving a face on her linoleum block with a stiff anxiety that dulls her work. Mr. Knecht, oblivious to the hazards of placing two lionesseswith a giraffe, has seated her with Rainey and Tina. Tina can’t draw well either, but she has the advantage of not giving a fuck. Also, she has the advantage of Rainey, who leans over when Mr. Knecht
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