we know nothing

14 - One for two again

Clara's POV

school

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I passed by sleeping cars and birds, and everything seemed to be resuming or pausing because I could feel time moving in slow motion.

When I arrived, there was no one at school. It was just me. Me and the smell of books, and endless and monotonous cabinets. 

You could see in the corridors how the sun beats in the empty classrooms. The guard knows me and let me in, because I told him I had to repeat in the music room, even though I hadn't played in a long time. Everything seemed to stand still.

My footsteps could be heard very clearly on the school floor, because I was sure I was alone. I looked in every class of fear. It was the first time I had come to school so early.

And I went and thought of August and Stacey. Maybe there was nothing so bad. Maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me.

I arrived at the music room and the air was dry and the smell of books persisted. Art so weird. Next to the window were large drums, and in the back was a large, massive piano with a bench, where I usually sat. 

And the carpet was gray, where there were papers and laptops, but also something new, which I had never seen before. It was a pretty big case that I assumed had a guitar in it. It was lying on the floor, not even the one who brought her cared to arrange it.

I was quite happy, and I took out the book that was to be pasted, and left it just as carelessly on the floor. There was no one, why would I bother leaving things like that?

I was curious, because there were classical guitars in the music room, and I opened the cover without thinking that I was invading someone's property and I saw it - an electric guitar. it was beautiful, red and perfectly intact. 

I only knew how to play the classical guitar, in all the years I hid here, I learned to play only the guitar with Lana. We were fooling around, but she didn't know how to play anything. Just me.

Now everything was dusty, and forgotten. Nobody values ​​music anymore.

But what is that guitar doing there? Did anyone make a donation?

I took it out of the case and sat on the floor with the electric guitar in my arms. It was hard, but worth the effort, no one could hear me anyway. I took the cover, and everything smelled of curiosity and lemon, of all the citrus fruits, and I realized what that guitar was called to play with it ardently. 

I completely forgot about the book whose pages had to be pasted, but I knew a few poems by heart and a few chords and I was going to combine them.

I just had to remember the heavy and beautiful lyrics. The guitar was tuned, or so it seemed, I hadn't held an electric guitar in my arms.

My dangerous curiosity made me look even more closely at the guitar case and the guitar itself. The cover was well compartmentalized and was large and black. 

I opened the zipper and saw a few guitar feathers and a folded and folded sheet a million times.

Nothing was enough for me at that moment. So I opened it and it was a withdrawal form from an extracurricular activity, football.

 I thought it couldn't be...that boy broke his own ball. The boy on the park bench couldn't be him. So I folded the sheet back and put it back in the guitar case.

I took a pen and looked at the neck of the guitar that said 

FENDER SQUIER BULLET.