Page 20 of Score
“Don’t be late. This studio time burning through all my coins.”
“Ten o’clock. See you then.”
After we disconnect, I rub my hands together to generate some warmth. My mother’s voice in my head from when I was a kid makes me smile.
Out in the cold with no hat and no gloves.
The smile dies as more recent memories intrude. Mama staring at the photo album filled with past holidays. When we were still a family and my father hadn’t…
“Shit.” I curl my hands into fists and shove them into my pockets. AllI seem to have for my father are curses these days. He ruined our lives and kept going, a bulldozer rolling over dandelions without a second thought. The fact that he seems happier than ever, while my mom…
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to tamp down the fury threatening to choke me. He won’t ruin my life with his selfishness. In a few months, I’ll graduate with my bachelor’s in music and go straight to New York for my master’s at Juilliard. No looking back to the small town outside of Richmond, Virginia, where I grew up. The only thing left there for me is my mother, and I’ll get her out as soon as I can. If she’ll let me. She still loves the community that sprouted up around the church she and my father spent two decades building. My siblings… well, they’ve made their own choices and can stay there with them.
I enter the exhibit hall and spot my professor. Nearly as tall as I am, Dr. Sonya Garrison is a dark-skinned woman who wears her hair slicked back in an elegant knot. I’m sure she’s well into her fifties, but she’s still lissome and trim, with smooth, flawless skin. Always impeccably dressed, tonight she wears a close-fitting ribbed turtleneck and wide-legged slacks—winter white, head to toe. She looks like a queen and the newly renovated fine arts building is her domain. Dr. Garrison personally oversaw the much-needed modernization, making this building Finley’s new crown jewel.
“Mr. Bellamy,” she says, her smile widening when she sees me. “Glad you decided to join us.”
“Didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” I tease.
This elective is a waste of my time, but Dr. Garrison is one of Finley’s finest. If I were an art major, I’m sure I’d appreciate what a qualified and excellent instructor she is, but I’m not, so this “arts outing,” as she called it, stands between me and the thousand bucks I’ll earn for tonight’s studio session.
“You’re young, gifted, and Black.” She chuckles, unfazed by my frankness. “You can never have too much culture.”
“If you say so.” I fake a scowl and peer over her shoulder to inspect the pad in her hand. “Just make sure you check me off your little list, Dr. G. Ibetter get credit for coming to this shi—um… show… this artshowon a Friday night.”
“It’s a limited-time exhibit by Chap Brody, one of the most famous Black sculptors in the world.” When my expression remains unimpressed, she drawls, “There’s food inside.”
“Now see, you shoulda led with that.” My grin is as playful as her scowl is harmless. “You burying the lead.”
“Boy, go look at some art. Music isn’t everything.”
I stop and frown at her, genuinely offended because music absolutelyisevery-fucking-thing. At least to me and she knows it.
“Music is not theonlything,” she amends, giving me a light tap upside the head like one of my aunties would do. “Get in there and don’t eat all the canapés.”
Chuckling, I kiss her cheek before she can stop me.
“Inappropriate, Mr. Bellamy,” she says, eyes narrowed, but brimming with laughter.
Offering Dr. Garrison a farewell salute, I make my way through the French doors leading to the exhibit. The faculty and staff at Finley College are one of the main things that drew me here. I had scholarship offers from all over, but my choice was about more than my education. Not only did I respect Finley’s music department, but I needed the smaller setting and the community I knew existed here. After all the shit that went down with my parents, I could have easily gotten lost. It was my mom who encouraged me to consider her alma mater because it was a place where Iwouldn’tget lost, but might instead find myself. I’m headed to New York, to Juilliard, when I graduate, but you can’t beat an HBCU. I needed this place, these people to ground me, before I soar.
As promised, there is a loaded buffet and I sample a little of everything on offer. I greet a few classmates, most of them wearing the same rueful expression I probably am. Who voluntarily chooses to attend a sculpture exhibit on a Friday night?
And then I spot her across the room, standing in front of a sculpturecast in copper that has her full attention, like there’s no one else in the exhibit hall.
“Verity?”
Her name cannons from my mouth before I have time to debate or analyze if I want to see her.
Who the hell am I kidding? Of course I want to see her. I’ve wanted to see her since I left Petra’s apartment a few weeks ago.
She turns her head sharply, shock stamped on the face that is even prettier than I remembered.
“Monk? What are you doing here?”
“My professor made me do it,” I say, taking another step closer so I can breathe in her fresh scent with just a hint of something citrusy beneath.
“You have Dr. Garrison, too?”
