Blaze was with him, as were Teddy and Lance.
"Well, isn't this a nice surprise," Marcus drawled, tightening his grip.
"Let me go!" she cried, hating the sudden panic in her voice.
"Let her go," Will added from behind her. His voice was unwavering. Serious. "Now."
Marcus seemed almost amused. "You should watch where you're going, Ronnie."
"Now!" Will demanded, sounding angry, moving into view.
"Take it easy, Richie Rich. She slammed into me--I was just keeping her from falling. And by the way, how's Scott doing? Has he been playing with any bottle rockets lately?"
To Ronnie's surprise, Will froze. Smirking, Marcus turned his gaze back to her. He squeezed her arms harder before finally releasing her. As Ronnie took a quick step back, Blaze lit a fireball, her expression nonchalant.
"I'm glad I was able to keep you from stumbling," Marcus said. "It wouldn't look good to be all bruised when you go to court on Tuesday, would it? You don't want the judge to think you're violent, in addition to being a thief."
Ronnie could only stare at him, speechless, until Marcus turned away. As they walked off, she saw Blaze toss him the fireball, which he caught with ease and threw back to her.
Seated on the dune outside her house, Will remained quiet as she recounted everything that had happened since she arrived, including the events at the music store. When she finished, she twisted her hands together in her lap.
"And that's all of it. As for the shoplifting I did back in New York, I don't even know why I took that stuff. It wasn't like I needed it. It was just something to do because my friends were doing it. When I went to court, I admitted everything because I knew I was wrong and that I wasn't ever going to do it again. And I didn't--not there, and not here. But unless the charges are dropped or Blaze admits what she did, I'm not only going to get in big trouble here, but I'm going to be in trouble back home, too. I know it sounds crazy and I'm sure you don't believe me, but I swear I'm not lying."
He covered her clasped hands with his own. "I believe you," he said. "And trust me--nothing surprises me about Marcus. He's been crazy since he was a kid. My sister had him in a class and she told me that the teacher once found a dead rat in her drawer. Everyone knew who did it, even the principal, but they couldn't prove anything, you know? And he's still up to his usual tricks, but now he has Teddy and Lance to do his bidding. I've heard some scary things about him. But Galadriel... she used to be the nicest girl. I've known her since I was a little kid, and I don't know what's been going on with her lately. I know her mom and dad got divorced, and I heard she took it really hard. I don't know what she sees in Marcus, though, or why she's so intent on ruining her life. I used to feel bad for her, but what she's doing to you is wrong."
Ronnie suddenly felt tired. "I have to go to court next week."
"Do you want me to come?"
"No. I don't want you to see me standing in front of the judge."
"It doesn't matter--"
"It will if your mom finds out. I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me."
"Why do you say that?"
Because I saw the way she was looking at me earlier, she could have said. "It's just a feeling."
"Everyone feels like that when they first meet her," he assured her. "Like I said, once you get to know her, she'll loosen up."
Ronnie wasn't so sure. Behind her, the sun was dropping, turning the sky a bright shade of orange. "What's going on with Scott and Marcus?" she asked.
Will stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Do you remember that night at the festival? After he did his show, Marcus seemed all hyped up about something, so I tried to keep my distance from him. It was like he was scanning the crowd, and when he spotted Scott, he got this... weird look on his face, like he found what he needed. Next thing I know, he had balled up his cup of French fries and hurled it at him."
"I was there, too, remember?"
"But remember what he said? It was odd. He asked if Scott was going to shoot a bottle rocket at him. And when he said almost the same thing to you just a little while ago, you sort of froze."
Will looked away. "It's nothing," he insisted, squeezing her hands. "And I wouldn't have let anything happen to you." He leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. "May I ask you a question? Totally different subject?"
Ronnie lifted an eyebrow, unsatisfied by his answer but deciding to let it go.
"Why is there a piano behind a plywood wall at your house?" When she seemed surprised, he shrugged. "You can see it through the window, and the plywood wall doesn't exactly match the rest of the interior."
It was Ronnie's turn to look away. She disengaged her hands and buried them in the sand. "I told my dad that I didn't want to see the piano anymore, so he put up the wall."
Will blinked. "You hate the piano that much?"
"Yes," she answered.
"Because your dad was your teacher?" She looked up in surprise as Will went on. "He used to teach at Juilliard, right? It only makes sense that he'd teach you to play. And I'd be willing to bet that you were great at it, if only because you have to love something before you can hate it."
For a grease monkey slash volleyball player, he was pretty perceptive. Ronnie dug her fingers deeper into the sand, where the layers felt cool and heavy.
"He taught me to play from the time I was able to walk. I played for hours, seven days a week, for years. We even did some composing together. It's what we shared, you know? It was something for just the two of us, and when he moved out of the apartment... I felt like he hadn't only betrayed the family. I felt like he'd betrayed me personally, and I was just so angry about all of it that I swore I'd never play or write another song again. So when I first got down here and saw the piano and heard him playing it every time I was around, I couldn't help feeling that he was trying to pretend that what he'd done didn't matter. Like he thought we could just start over. But we couldn't. You can't undo the past."
"You seemed friendly with him the other night," Will observed.
Ronnie slowly pulled her hands from the sand. "Yeah, we've been getting along better in the last few days. But that doesn't mean I want to play again," she said.
"It's not my business, but if you were that good, then you're only hurting yourself. It's a gift, right? And who knows? Maybe you could go to Juilliard."
"I know I could. They still write me. They've promised me they'll make room if I change my mind." She felt a surge of irritation.
"Then why don't you go?"
"Does it matter that much to you?" She glared at him. "That I'm not just who you thought I was? That I have some special talent? Does that make me good enough for you?"
"Not at all," he said. "You're still the person I thought you were. From the first moment we met. And there's no way you could ever be a better fit for me."
As soon as he'd said it, she felt ashamed of her outburst. She heard the sincerity in his tone and knew he meant what he'd said.
She reminded herself that they'd known each other for only a few days, and yet... he was kind and smart and she already knew he loved her. As if sensing her thoughts, he sat up and scooted closer. Leaning in, he kissed her softly on lips, and she was suddenly certain that she wanted nothing more than to spend hours and hours wrapped in his arms, just like this.