The Book of Matthew (The Alex Chronicles Book 1) Read Free Page B

all to hear about how good he was with his “instrument.” As I sat there scribbling in my notebook it hit me: I should learn to play an instrument. The instrument I wrote about in my diary.
    I leaned over the empty seats that separated me and Heather to ask if she knew anyone who played the guitar. She told me about a freshman who played rhythm guitar for an all-student rock band. He gave lessons on Monday nights.
    His name was Matthew Levine.
    That’s how I found myself sitting outside a locked building one Monday evening, early for a 7 p.m. guitar lesson, trembling on the outside from the cool October weather, shaking on the inside from having left the emotional comfort of my dorm room to face the unknown.
    And that’s how I found myself face to face with a beautiful stranger.
    I stood up from the curb and approached him. “You’re Matthew?”
    He nodded and extended his hand. “Call me Matt.”
    I took his hand. It was warm and firm around my fingers. “Alexandra,” I said. “Call me Alex.”
    “All right, Alex. Come on in.”
    He held the door open for me and I walked through into a large, empty room with a high ceiling. There was no furniture and the walls were bare. A musty smell hung in the air. There was a brick fireplace blackened by soot, and the carpet showed signs of age and years of foot traffic. But otherwise there was nothing, no indication as to what this place had been used for.
    Matt flipped a switch and a dusty chandelier above our heads sprung to life.
    “What was this place?” I whispered.
    “I think it was the original cafeteria,” he said.
    Now that I had seen the inside, I was sure I hadn’t toured this building. The tour guide must’ve skipped it for a reason, maybe because it was abandoned and in disrepair and in need of a new purpose. The building seemed like it had a rich history begging to be discovered.
    I was instantly intrigued.
    I looked around the room again and then set my eyes on Matt. He was looking at me.
    “So what I can do for you?” he asked.
    “I’m here about the guitar lessons. You give lessons on Monday nights, right?”
    “Yep.”
    “Are you still accepting people? I mean, can I join?”
    “Sure.” He stood silent for a moment, watching my eyes, as if waiting for me to ask more questions. Maybe he was waiting for me to explain why I had arrived empty-handed to a guitar lesson.
    “I don’t have my own guitar,” I said. “I hope that’s okay.”
    “It’s okay.”
    “It’s just that I’ve never played before.”
    “No problem.”
    “So you have loaners?”
    “Yep.”
    I waited for him to lead the way, to show me where to go. But he continued to look at me, sizing me up, perhaps, and I suddenly grew uncomfortable.
    “So…are the lessons here, in this room?” I asked.
    “They’re upstairs,” he said, finally peeling his eyes away from me. “I’ll show you.”
    Matt led the way to the back of the building, just beyond the chandeliered room, to a flight of steps that was to the left of a swinging door.
    “What’s in here?” I asked, reaching out to push the door open.
    Matt stepped in front of me, blocking the door. “That’s the kitchen.”
    “Can I see?”
    He pushed the door open slightly for me to look in. I caught a glimpse of dark shadows and felt a brief chill of cold air and then he quickly let the door swing closed. “Nothing in there.”
    “Creepy,” I said.
    Matt smiled faintly and started up the stairs two at a time. “So how did you hear about the lessons?” he asked, not attempting to turn around or look back in my direction, forcing me to talk to the back of his head.
    “This girl in my psychology class. Heather something. I don’t know her last name. Her boyfriend plays saxophone in the university orchestra. I heard her talking about him one day and—”
    “What’s his name?” Matt interjected.
    “I think it’s Rob. He’s got a weird last name.”
    “Rob Fenistrino?”
    “That sounds right.”
    “Yeah, I