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When I hear the screen door shut later that night while I'm wiping down a table, I can't help but smile. "I didn't think you'd come help tonight."

Carter chuckles from behind me. "Well, someone told me I need to stop being a sore loser."

I turn around to flash him a smile, and my stomach skips a beat when I see his. I don't know why, but lately whenever I'm around Carter, I just get this fuzzy warm feeling inside of my stomach, like his presence effects me somehow. I try to stop thinking about it and instead toss him the rag I was using, then walk over to the counter to grab the broom.

"That's the spirit. Now start wiping down the tables, would you?" I demand with a playful smile.

"Whatever you say, princess." Carter hums, and then starts cleaning the tables.

As I begin sweeping the floors, the radio starts playing a Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen, and a memory flashes before my eyes. The image of Jake singing along in the car as we drove to the beach, windows open and blowing my hair around, and the sound of my uncontrollable laughter as he belted the words poorly. My heart tugged in my chest, bringing me back to reality, and I blinked away the fast-forming tears.

With precise steps, I walk over to the radio and change the channel hastily, leaving on some pop song that I usually can't stand, but now prefer it to the memory invoking Bruce Springsteen. I stare at the radio with hard eyes for a moment before looking up, and I see Carter looking at me questioningly from across the room. He straightens up and starts padding towards me when he sees my expression, his brow pulling together in a furrow.

"I never took you as the pop type," He says in an attempt to lighten the mood, but doesn't approve of the weak smile I give in return. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, trying to think of what to say, and eventually mutter, "I just hate that song."

"Amelia, look at me," Carter says slowly, but I keep my gaze trained on the ground, very much aware that if I look at him, my resolve will break. He takes a few steps closer to me until he's close enough to tilt my chin up with his hand and force me look into his inquisitive gaze. "What's really wrong?"

I shouldn't tell him. I mean, I know I shouldn't. But that doesn't stop me from saying quietly, "That song just reminds me of my ex boyfriend. It's stupid, I know."

"Jake?" Carter questions, equally as quietly, and I nod slowly. "It's not stupid."

His hand falls slowly from my chin, but he doesn't move away, and keeps the proximity between us small. I bite my lip and look away, trying to think of how much I want to divulge, but end up speaking without a filter.

"No, it is stupid, because why should I be so affected by a song? I mean, why should I care about Jake anymore? He's just some asshole who cheated on me," I ramble, and then look up at Carter and groan. "And you totally don't want to hear any of this, because you don't even like him, and now I look like some pathetic girl who is still strung up on a guy who cheated-"

"Damn, Mina, calm down," Carter says, and thankfully, he's laughing, so he doesn't totally think I'm a nut case.

I covered my face with my hands and groaned again, which only made Carter laugh harder, and I felt my cheeks flush. A moment later, I felt him pry my hands away from my face, and I eventually let them fall down and pout at him.

"I'm sorry, I ramble when I'm upset," I mumble, looking up at him sheepishly.

Carter just grins. "It's okay, it's cute." His words send my heart thumping erratically in my chest, and before I can stutter some nonsense statement out of my mouth, he speaks again. "I know what it's like to care about someone when all you want to do is not give a shit. Believe me, I know. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

I offer him a small smile and say, "Thanks, Carter," but I really want to know what he means by that.

"And another thing," Carter looks at me as he sobers up, his expression serious. "You're not pathetic, got it? Hell, you're handling things like a normal person. That's more than I can say for myself."

Again, his words send curiosity racing through me. What was the hidden meaning behind his words? I wanted so badly to know, but selfishly, I wanted him to stay in this good mood more. So I didn't ask him, but just nodded, my gaze boring into his. After a moment, I glanced down and noticed he still hadn't let go of my hands, and felt heat creep up my cheeks again.

His gaze followed mine, and when he saw what I was looking at, he dropped my hands immediately, leaving cold air hit my now-empty palm. I took an awkward step back and he ran his hand through his hair, coughing out an uncomfortable laugh. I forced my gaze to go from the wood paneling to his face, and he smiled awkwardly.

"Let's keep cleaning, yeah?" Carter proposed.

I nod, a little too enthusiastically. "Uh, yeah."

I straighten up and grab the broom that had fallen to the ground to continue where I left off. The only noise other than the scratch of the broom bristles against the wood floors is that stupid pop song on the radio, and I can tell by the way Carter glares at the radio that it isn't just me who hates it.

Eventually, after a few minutes of the song, Carter throws his rag on the table and looks at me. "I'll be right back."

I don't even get a chance to say "okay" before he's out the door, the screen slamming behind him as he disappears into the darkness of the night. I finish sweeping half of the dining hall before the door swings open again, and Carter returns, this time with something in his hands and a smile on his face.

I arch an eyebrow as he passes me, tossing me a quick wink but no explanation. I turn and watch him quizzically as he plugs something in, and then produces his phone from his pocket, his body hiding the device he brought in. After a moment, The Beatles start playing over the shitty pop music, and Carter turns around with a grin.

"I hope you like classic rock, because I refuse to listen to anything else," Carter muses, and then flicks the off switch on the radio.

I roll my eyes at him and tease, "Did listening to the classic rock radio station every night not tip you off to the fact that I do, in fact, enjoy that music?"

Unaffected, Carter just grins wider. "Perfect. I was worried for a second."

"Why's that?" I ask, my eyebrows still raised.

He picks up the rag on the table from where he threw it down before disappearing and glances up at me, mischief dancing in his eyes and a boyish smile on his face. "I prefer my girls cute and with a good music taste."

Thankfully, he looked down and continued cleaning, because I didn't have the decency to hide the shocked blush creeping on my face after the words left his mouth. I struggled to pick the broom up again, and when I did, I turned around so Carter wouldn't see my beet red face. Why the hell did that affect me so much? And why did I like it?

As I force myself to sweep the floors, I drown out the sounds of the music and struggle understanding why Carter's words, and his presence in general, made my heart beat wildly against my chest. I only came up with one answer, and I wasn't sure if I liked it. Could all of these flirtatious comments and butterflies mean that I liked Carter Miller?

I snuck a glance at the boy, who was mouthing the words to the song animatedly, bobbing his head up and down as he wiped down the last tables. Without realizing it, a small smile crept on my face as I watched him act with his guard down, and in that moment, I confirmed my suspicions. For better or worse, I liked Carter.

"So," Carter says suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. "How's that composition going?"

Dazed from the internal war I was waging with myself, I just blink at him and ask dumbly, "What?"

He glances at me and raises his eyebrows. "The one your parents wanted you to learn on the piano for your audition."

"You remember that?" I ask incredulously before I can stop myself.

Carter coughs and rubs the back of his neck, something when he does when he's nervous, and looks away. "Uh, yeah. I mean, you just told me this morning."

Even though I had only told him this morning, I was happy he remembered. I smiled at him and realized that it hadn't been a mistake to tell him my problems, after all, because he actually listened, and he actually cared. Who would've thought?

"It's not as bad as I anticipated," I tell him honestly, ditching the broom to retrieve the dust pan. "It's tough, but not impossible."

"Can I hear it?"

I turn to look at him, surprised by his sudden question, but he just offers a small shrug, as if saying he couldn't explain the request either.

"Right now?" I ask dumbly.

But Carter surprises me again when something comes alight in his expression and he tosses the rag onto a table. "Yeah, right now." He walks over to me and pries the dust pan out of my frozen grip and discards it, then levels his gaze with mine as he raises a brow. "You coming or what?"

I open my mouth to refuse on the basis of the auditorium being closed, and the composition wasn't finished, and so much more, but all that comes out is, "Okay."

Carter grins widely and grabs my hand, a foreign notion that seemed to come so naturally to him, and he drags me toward the door. I stumble over my feet before regaining some kind of composure and walking with him out the screen door and towards the auditorium. I stared at our interlocked hands for a moment, feeling my stomach twist in unexpected nerves, and then look at Carter as the reality begins to set in.

"The auditorium is locked," I tell him, and I'm almost ready to use it as an excuse until I blurt, "But they always keep the window by the stage unlocked."

Even in the darkness, I can catch the impressed smirk Carter throws me. "Very sneaky, Mina."

And then came the annoyance that followed when Carter lifted himself onto the window pane and slid through the window while I struggled to pull myself up in the first place. His laughter echoed in the auditorium as I huffed and puffed as I kept jumping up and trying to finish pulling myself into the window, but continuously falling short.

"Stop laughing!" I huffed eventually, crossing my arms and giving myself a break from the embarrassment that is my lack of upper body strength.

"It's not even that high," He points out.

Still, I groan, "Not everyone has the freakish ability to haul themselves into a window."

"Freakish ability?" Carter echoes, and I can practically hear his smirk. "Do you mean muscles? Or perhaps upper body strength? You climbed in a tree just fine earlier."

Half because I didn't want to talk about the entire tree incident, and half because I wasn't going to let him insult my lack of upper arm strength, I throw my arms up in exasperation and exclaim, "Fine, I didn't even want to play the stupid song for you anyway. I'm going back to the dining hall."

When I turn on my heel to do just that, I hear a thud, and glance behind me to see Carter now standing back outside with me, in front of the building. He's attempting to stifle his amusement, but I can still see the traces of a smile on his lips and narrow my eyes a little at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Carter holds his hands up in surrender. "I'll help."

As much as I wanted to do it myself, the past few minutes proved that wouldn't be happening any time soon. I look at him suspiciously, not even sure why he was so damn determined to listen to me play piano anyway, but I nodded slowly.

He grinned, taking a step closer to me. "Now, don't hit me."

Even though he gave a warning, when his hands wrapped around my waist, I still squealed and swatted his hands away. My cheeks reddened at the contact of his hands on my bare skin, where my tank top had ridden up, but he didn't let go when I hit his hands.

Carter chuckled, his chest dangerously close to my back, and leaned in to speak directly in my ear, sending chills rolling down my spine. "Just trust me, princess."

I didn't answer, but no answer translated into an 'okay' for Carter, because after a second I felt him lift me into the air. My eyes widened in surprise and my hands gripped the window sill until I was finally high enough to climb in on my own. I maneuvered my feet through first and sat on the window pane before sliding down on the other side, into the auditorium.

I looked around the empty room, illuminated by the light streaming through the various windows, and settle my gaze on the piano. There was a steady stream of light coming from the highest window in the auditorium, which faced the moon, shining right on the piano and the bench on the stage.

A thud came behind me to let me know that Carter had joined me inside, but instead of acknowledging him, I walk toward the piano. The compositions we had been working on earlier are still on the display pane, just as I had left them this morning. Carefully, I sit down on the bench, my eyes grazing over the moonlit keys.

My hands hover above the keys for a second, and before I can think about it, I just start to play. It was like a second nature to me, whether I liked it or not: the ability to play, with or without looking at the composition, and pick up the unrehearsed parts as I went along. A few lines into the composition, I feel Carter's presence as he slides next to me on the piano bench, and I can feel his gaze on my face as I play.

The sounds of the piano filled the silence between us, and my brow knit together as I carefully read the difficult composition, willing my fingers to keep up with the demands of the notes. I got more than halfway through, which is lines further than I got with Mrs. Brady, before I began to miss some notes. To Carter, it was probably unrecognizable, but to me, it was so frustrating that I withdrew my hands from the keys.

"Wow," Carter breathes out, and I glance at him to see he's staring at the composition. "You made that," He points to the scattered notes on the page. "Look so... Easy."

I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. "I messed up a bunch of times, and missed more than five notes."

Carter settles his awestruck gaze on me. "I didn't notice."

"Yeah, well, the people at Juilliard will," I mutter under my breath distastefully.

He shakes his head, and I look at him, catching his expression as it softens considerably. The moonlight made his features look softer, despite the shadows it cast upon his face against his cheekbones and jawline. Carter's eyes were the brightest thing in the room, light brown with honey flecks in them and a tint of green, just staring at me.

"You can play like that," Carter says slowly; not mockingly, but rather in review. "But you don't want to go to Juilliard."

Despite his lack of accusation, I still tense up at the subject, and laugh bitterly, going on defense immediately. "Don't waste your breath, I've heard it all before. I'm wasting my talent if I don't go, I'll disgrace my family, I'm not living up to my full potential. I get it, I'm supposed to love piano just because I'm good at it. But I don't."

"I never said you had to," He counters, catching me by surprise. "If you don't love it, then don't do it."

His words shocked me, and I stared at him blankly, our shoulders inches apart. "Seriously?"

Carter's eyes flickered in between mine, as if he was trying to read me, before he says evenly, "What's the point of life if you're doing something you're not passionate about? It's your life, Amelia, which means you should live it as you see fit."

Although his words encouraged me, and even sent a shot of hope through my chest, I hated how personal the whole exchange had become. In an effort to get the attention off of me, I raise my eyebrows and fire back, "And you're passionate about street fighting and getting thrown in Juvie?"

His expression hardens at my words, and I immediately regret saying them. They hung in the air between us for a moment, and when I was sure he was going to get up and leave, Carter spoke.

"Good point," He nods slightly, as if validating his own words.

But still, I can't help but push. "That's it?" I scoot a little closer to him, like I might miss his whole reasoning if I'm not close enough to hear. "No explanation?"

Carter shakes his head, his eyes following my movements, and I see his eyes darken. "No."

Before I think better of it, I ask, "You don't trust me?"

It's a dumb question. We've known each other barely two weeks at most and half of the time I've known him, I've hated him. I thought I barely trusted him myself, but despite this, I told him more about me than anyone other than Poppy knew. So in reality, I guess I couldn't blame him for not trusting me, but for some reason, I thought there was an unspoken change in our friendship the second he apologized for judging me without getting to know me first.

"I do trust you, more than I probably should," He admits quietly, and runs a hand through his hair, his hard gaze settling on the piano keys as he clenches his jaw. "Just not tonight, Amelia." His eyes lift to meet my gaze, and I'm pinned down his desperate stare. "Please."

His voice, soft and pleading, is what makes me drop it. Or maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to put me in a trance, where all I can do is nod and agree with him. Whatever it was, it was making my heart beat quicken in my chest.

"Okay," I agree softly.

It was silent between us for a moment, and I broke our eye contact so I could look at the keys again, my fingers reaching up and brushing over them. I wish I knew what to say to lighten the mood, to make him forget the sadness and pain he was hiding with his secrets, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

Luckily, I don't have to say anything, because Carter speaks. "You want to know how I got stuck here instead of Juvie?"

His question catches me by surprise, considering just a minute ago he was pleading me not to push it. Although my curiosity was overwhelming, I shook my head, meeting his hard gaze.

"Carter, you don't have to," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to pry."

His lips quirked into a small smile at my words. "Yes you did. You're a very curious person, Mina." I smile a little too, knowing that he was right. "It's okay. You're right; I trust you, so what's the point in waiting?"

There's a short silence, and I glance at him to see he closed his eyes, as if collecting his thoughts.

"As you know, my father passed away. He got in a car accident when I was fifteen," Carter sets his jaw, opening his eyes to glare at the piano. I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but decided against it, and continued on in a different direction. "He was always the one working in the family. My mom didn't have a job. When he died, she struggled to keep us afloat, but her single income didn't support us. She remarried last year to Richard, and he's loaded, but he lives up to the nickname Dick."

I could see how ticked he became at the mention of his step father, and before thinking better of it, I slipped my hand in his and squeezed it.