Two days later, Tyler's chair remained empty, and the silence between us was still intact. After class, I approached Mr. O'Sullivan, offering to deliver Tyler's makeup work as an excuse to visit him at the Maison. Mr. O'Sullivan replied that Tyler's manager had already done the job for me, but since I felt like brown-nosing, I was free to erase the board.

I sniffed a marker when he wasn't looking.

After school, I got in my car and was halfway to the Maison before I realized what I was really doing. I stopped at the red light, considered how much easier it would be to just go home... Then the light turned green, and my ego vanished.

Besides the Fairway Country Club, La Maison de Champagne was the finest building in Harbor Village. One night in the Maison was a world's worth of luxury—fine wine and dining in the restaurant, mud baths and massages in the relaxation center, tennis in the courtyard and when the weather permitted, champagne by the pool. I made it one foot past the Maison's giant sparkling foyer before I was lost in the magnificence.

The air was cold and sweet-smelling—caressing your skin like a silk chiffon scarf as you stepped carefully along a waxed marble floor so shiny that the high, peaked ceiling reflected clearly in its surface. I gazed overhead, at rows of chandeliers with great spires of crystal drops and saw a shining future in its silver light—stages, and audiences, tiaras and gowns. Bouquets and long-stemmed roses and programs with my name inside—and the bittersweetness of another curtain falling on another grand performance...

And then I was me again.

I heard a scream, followed by wild giggles, and noticed a trio of pre-teen girls at the far end of the foyer, crowded by the double ballroom doors. Something about the way they completely ignored the Do Not Disturb sign, and the square of red rope guarding the doors, urged me to approach—and ogle with them.

"Hey, guys. What's going on?"

"It's Tyler Moore! The hotel closed off the ballroom just so he could practice. It's, like, even better than a free concert..."

It was a free concert. I peeked through the crack between the doors, watching a lone figure working his magic at a grand piano, filling the hall with an angel's chorus...

I slid the doors open and darted between them, much to the shock and dismay of the three girls. They assaulted me with vicious whispers, their Lip Smacker pouts aligned with wrath.

"Hey! What are you doing!"

"Don't ruin it!"

"He'll call security!"

"No, he won't. I'm his biggest fan." I closed the door in their precious faces without a second thought.

I turned towards the hall, awed not by its size, but by the mighty voice that filled it. The ballroom was empty, dimly lit, twin spotlights flooding the room's focal point—Tyler.

His back was to me, but I knew without even seeing his face that his drive, his focus, his very soul, was somewhere in this song. And it was beautiful.

I approached with caution, walking silently, carefully along, hardly daring to breathe should I interrupt a single, perfect note. The song was a ballad—a slow, haunting melody with lyrics from a dark poet.

The Walrus and the Carpenter, they took us by the hand

And somewhere by the boiling sea, they left us in the sand

Our love was hot, she was burned

The sand had turned to glass

Feed my soul to the starving waters,

With the oysters, hand in hand

The piano carried on where Tyler left off—a delicate projection of notes, ascending like a tidal wave, rising higher and higher until the final note—a beautiful, resounding crash. Like rollers from the sea he sang of.

"It's not finished." Tyler stayed put, still studying the keys. "The chord progression is off, I'm better at guitar. And the ending... I don't know it yet."

I neared the piano, admiring the big glossy instrument, intimidated by all the tiny, black and white complexities I would never understand. "The song is perfect. What's it about?"

Tyler stared at me, saying nothing.

"How did you know I was here?"

"The air—it changes when you have an audience. You can feel it." Tyler shifted, making room for me on the bench. "How'd you know I was here?"

"Madilyn." I tapped one of the smooth, bright keys. And then another. The notes came out high and clunky, so I put my hands in my lap where they belonged. I glanced about the empty ballroom and imagined rows of round white tables filled with white china plates and bouquets of white roses. And there was more than enough room for the cake table, a band in the corner, and the first dance, right here where Tyler and I were sitting. I could see it perfectly. "This place is beautiful. Katrina should have the wedding here."

"I could pay for it... if you want. Consider it my wedding gift."

"That's really sweet, but I'm pretty sure she would never go for that. She does want you over for dinner though." I tucked my hair behind my ear. "So do I."

His eyes were hard as emeralds. "Even though I flooded Robin's bathroom—and burned it down?"

"It was an accident; you didn't mean to. And anyway, with a house like that I'm sure the Eastons have home insurance. At the very worst her parents took away a credit card or two—she'll live."

Tyler glared at the piano. "She deserves it. I'm not going to apologize for what happened."

"Then let me. You're right, Tyler. I haven't given you a chance—that's my fault, not yours. I overreacted—when I saw that video of you and Quinn, I was so mad I didn't stop to think about how it affected you. Robin is... a handful—that's putting it as nicely as I can. I just hope she doesn't do anything else with that video..."

"Robin can't make me feel any worse than I already do. But I want you to know, Ali, just because I missed the funeral doesn't mean I don't care about you."

"I know. And you don't have to tell me why you missed the funeral—it's your business. But one day, if you decide to tell me, just know you can trust me."

"I already do."

"Good." I gave him a playful nudge in the side. "Maybe now you can come back to class."

"But education..." Tyler struck the keys in a short, lively tune, "kills meditation..." More happy notes. "And inspiration." A tinkling flourish. I clapped, Tyler took a bow.

"I like that you're feeling inspired and all, but I'd also really like it if you stayed in school. We're supposed to graduate together, right? That's why you're back."

"Yep. That's definitely why I'm back."

We each stared at the piano, quiet. He glanced at me. I glanced at him. We looked away, smiling bashfully...

"Wanna know a secret?" He slid closer, until there was no space between us, our knees touching in complete confidence. "In Central Park, there's a tree with our names on it."

"Oh, really?"

"Oh, yeah. Tyler plus Ali. Heart, arrows, the whole shebang."

I laughed. "That's amazing. You have to show me one day."

"Why wait? I can show you now." Tyler rose from his seat, collecting the sheet music scattered across. I was cemented to the bench, too thrown to move.

"What do you mean? New York is, like, a thousand miles away."

"It's forty-five minutes by plane. If we go now, I can have you back in time for dinner."

"Tyler, this is crazy. I can't leave the state! I can't even drive on the highway without asking!"

"That's why we're flying." Tyler grinned. "You said you always wanted to live in New York. That was half your dream, remember?"

"Yeah, it was, but—"

"Then what are you waiting for?" He looked down at me, waiting for my answer.

How can I tell him about Boston? I was lucky Madilyn hadn't given me away. One day, I would have to tell the truth. That when he returned to New York after graduation... it wouldn't be with me.

"But what about your song? It's not finished."

"Neither are we." Tyler tossed the papers in the air—and kissed me.

***