Prologue #2
We all remain frozen until the girl beside me relaxes her arm. Confident she won’t throw a punch anymore, I slowly sit back in my chair, permitting Huxley to sit down also. The Senator relaxes and turns to face the front of the room.
As we all settle into our seats, the professor nods and turns his attention to the full class.
“As you all know, my name is Professor Owen, and this is Music 101. Where you will learn all the fundamental basics of music.”
After giving us the basics of the class and office hours, Professor Owen pulls out a clipboard and starts reading over the page.
“Alright. Let’s start with…” He moves his pen down before he stops at something that makes him hesitate. He stares at whatever it is for a moment longer, tapping his pen against it. Clearing his throat, he looks back up at the class. “Valentina Demarco,” he calls out.
I raise my hand, and his eyes fall on me. A bit of recognition crosses over his face like he knows me, and I freeze at the thought that he might. It’s possible. If she…
Professor Owen nods. “Ah, yes. One of the four horsemen. Why don’t you come on down here and show us your skill.”
The girl beside me and the Senator both groan, realizing this isn’t going to be an easy pass/fail class. But their annoyance doesn’t compare to my fear.
My legs wobble as I stand, barely keeping me upright as I move down the stairs. I should leave. Keep on walking straight out of this class and never look back.
Then I hear someone whisper behind me.
“Piano or violin. Which will it be?”
Are you kidding me?
All because of my outfit?
I nearly reel around and slap Huxley in the face, but I keep pushing forward. Determination steadies my legs enough that I don’t look like a newborn deer as I walk up to Professor Owen.
“So, Miss Demarco.” He looks up at me and pauses, taking in my features now that I’m up close. My mind starts spinning over the possible connection I could have to this man, and it takes everything for my heart not to break.
Professor Owen shakes his head and looks back at his clipboard. “First things first, are you majoring in music?”
“No, Sir.”
He rests the edge of his clipboard against his hip, holding onto it from the top. “Then why are you in my class?”
My eyes widen, and even more fear rises in my throat. I try to clear it before I speak, but my words come out pathetic anyway. “I um…I just—”
Professor Owen lifts his hand to stop me. “I’m kidding, Miss Demarco. This is college. You’re allowed to try new things.”
Thank god. At least now I don’t have to come up with an excuse as to why I’m here. Although the way he’s acting towards me tells me he might already know the answer to that.
He looks back at his clipboard and starts writing something down. “You may sit down.”
I pause, and then, like an idiot, I ask, “I thought you wanted me to play something?”
He looks at me over his clipboard, a hint of intrigue filling his eyes. “Can you play an instrument?”
“Yes, Sir,” I say with a quick nod.
“What is it you play?”
“Piano.”
A soft chuckle from the class hits me, but I don’t have to look to know who it came from.
Professor Owen gestures behind me. “Well, we have a piano right over there, Miss Demarco. Why don’t you show us what you’ve got.”
I turn to the piano without thinking. Because if I were thinking, I would remember that I was an idiot.
Why did I tell him I could play? I was supposed to pretend I couldn’t so I wouldn’t be faced with this situation.
I twist my hair into a ponytail to try to calm the fuck down.
Just play something easy—something that you don’t have to think about.
My hands fall on the keys on instinct as soon as I sit down. I shouldn’t be surprised. This used to be an everyday activity for me for pretty much my entire life, but it still sparks something inside me that I wish I could forget.
Just play and get this over with.
I rack my brain for a song, but my fingers start moving on their own. It takes me a minute to realize what I’m playing, but as soon as it registers, I stop freaking out. Only slightly, at least.
I’m not sure anyone in this room recognizes the song, but I hardly think about that as I close my eyes and continue playing.
Lyrics from the song filter through my head, and a sudden urge to sing along presses in the back of my mind.
I ignore it like I always have, focusing on the other feeling trying to rise to the surface.
I haven’t felt like this since High School—since the last time I played. But I don’t want to feel this way. I’ve tried to keep these emotions locked up—tried to hide them away. Because feeling them meant I enjoyed playing. And enjoying meant forgetting what happened. And I didn’t want to forget.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve missed this feeling.
Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped for all those years. Maybe I would have healed faster.
I’ll never know if that’s true, but right now, in this moment, this feels like healing.
I’ve never felt more powerful than in the moments I’m playing. And to feel that again is something I don’t want to let go of.
It’s a comfort that's foreign to me, but it’s also exactly what I need. With moving to a new state and entering a new chapter of my life, comfort is exactly what I should be holding on to.
I open my eyes to watch my fingers move over the keys, and I can’t help the smile that grows on my face.
And just like that, I feel weightless.
Nothing exists but me and this piano. No one around me, I’m alone in my own world—safe and protected from the darkness that tries to pull me down constantly. There’s a light of hope filling my chest, telling me that I’ll be okay.
My fingers still hover over the keys after I play the last note, trying to hold onto this feeling for as long as I can.
Let me stay here.
Clapping pulls me from my wishful thinking. It isn’t loud by any means, but a few people smile and whisper to the person next to them, talking about how well I did. And it finally feels like I did something right. That all those years of forced lessons were actually worth it.
“That was very beautiful, Miss Demarco,” Professor Owen says with a smile that takes away any lingering fears I may have left.
“Thank you.”
He walks back to the center of the room to look over his clipboard, allowing me to head up the steps to my seat with a lighter feeling.
Happiness slowly fills my chest, spreading throughout my body in the chase of producing a smile.
That is, until I look at Huxley. He stares straight ahead as if he couldn’t care less about my performance.
I really thought he would have said something, even just a smile or a nod of acknowledgment.
But he just sits there like I’m not worth his time.
Disappointment replaces the happiness in my chest as I slump in my seat behind him.
Professor Owen files through more students’ names, most of them showing off their talents, but a few admitting they weren’t majoring in music.
Like the Senator, whose name is actually Collin, stood up and proudly announced to the whole class that he was a Political Science major.
The girl next to me—whose name is Bernadette, but she quickly corrected it to Birdie—leaned over to me and whispered, “Like we really need another white male Senator.”
“It’s not like they're going to let anyone else do it, though,” I whispered back.
Birdie then announced that she was a Women’s Studies major and would happily play the triangle if anyone really wanted her to. Professor Owen shut her down kindly.
Nearing the end of class, Professor Owen glances up at the clock and then back at his clipboard.
“Looks like we have time for one more student.” His pen skims up and down the page, looking for the right name to call out. Finally, he taps the top of the page. “How about Mr. number one on the list himself? Huxley Adams.”
I had successfully pretended that Huxley wasn’t in this class, but now I’m faced with the reminder of the guy who dissed my outfit, the instrument I know how to play, and then seemed uninterested after I played.
I hope he’s awful so I can feel better about myself.
I internally scoff because that’s insane. Him being awful wouldn’t change the way I feel about myself.
Huxley stands from his seat and grabs his guitar case. As he walks down the stairs, gasps filter through the room from other girls in the class. Most of them stare and giggle as they watch him walk to the front of the room.
Yes, he’s attractive—with his longer hair, dark brown eyes, and broad shoulders—but for all of them to react this way, it has to be the guitar.
It has to be.
Because there’s no way I’m attracted to him otherwise.
Girls always love a man who can play the guitar.
It’s just the guitar. That’s all.
My eyes scan over his body as he stands next to Professor Owen, and I internally kick myself. Even I can’t pretend that I hardly see the guitar he’s holding and only see him.
But I need to stop. Me liking Huxley Adams does nobody any good.
It’s better this way. Safer.
Professor Owen glances at Huxley and writes something on his clipboard. “You actually play that thing, or is it just a prop like some of the other students in here?”
Huxley laughs, and I ignore the butterflies in my stomach that erupt from the sound.
Really? From a laugh? Stop it.
“No, Sir. I’ve been playing since I was a kid.” Huxley replies calmly, sounding sure of his talents.
“Very well.” Professor Owen nods for him to go ahead and show us what he’s got, but he stands there for a minute. A minute that I’m sure confuses not only me.
Huxley glances back at the piano, and my jaw clenches. If he says what I think he’ll say…
“But I’d actually like to play the piano.”
Motherfucker. Of course, he plays the piano.
But wait. Why did he make fun of me for it if he can play it too?
Professor Owen looks him over.
“If that’s alright,” he quickly adds.
Professor Owen stares at him for a moment before nodding, gesturing behind him. Huxley sets his guitar down and walks to the piano.
The piano I was just at.
The piano that he laughed at me for being able to play.