Harmony

Prologue

Strolling through the corridors of Roosevelt High in NYC—I knew I wasn't exactly valedictorian material. "Bad boy" was the tag I got, and honestly, it fit as nicely as my favorite leather jacket. 

But against the odds, my grades were top-notch. Maybe it was the deep-down realization of the golden ticket I held—a scholarship. It's not like standout opportunities drop everyday for kids from average families like mine.

Name's Reinhart. With my dark hair and gray eyes, thanks to my dad's German roots, I guess I've got some decent looks. I hit the gym, not just to bulk up but to keep disciplined. Sure, I've pushed around a few guys, which I'm not proud of, but I stick to a personal creed. There's this quote by Napoleon Bonaparte, "Victory belongs to the most persevering." That's the code I live by.

Switching gears, let's talk about Emma. She's also got dark hair, but her eyes? They're like frosty blue skies. Whenever she steps into a room, she practically owns it. People say she's got French blood because of her name and those charming freckles sprinkled across her cheeks.

From a distance, I've kept an eye on her, always struck by how she stands out from the other rich kids. Emma rolls up in a silver Aston Martin Vantage. That thing's a beast, yet she never flaunts it. It's like she's playing down the whole luxury vibe.

Her family's wealth could easily put her at the center of any high school drama, but Emma? She avoids the usual parties and hangouts. She keeps things low-key, humble even, as if she's living in a completely different sphere from our typical teen drama.

Her best friend, Lucy, is the geeky type—big glasses, always buried in a sci-fi book. The difference between them is night and day. Yet Emma sticks with her.

Emma's got this soft, almost whisper-like way of talking, making each word seem carefully picked.

She ranks just behind me in school, which is kind of ironic. With all her resources, you'd think she'd be out enjoying life, not stuck in the library. And social media? She doesn't bother with it, despite owning all the latest tech. It's like she's purposefully disconnecting from the stuff most of us can't live without.

All this makes me think there's something deeper, maybe even a bit dark, hidden beneath her calm surface. It's not just her beauty or brains that draw me in; it's the mystery of her. I want to get to know her, not just to unravel the mystery, but maybe to be a part of her world, to understand and maybe help with whatever she's dealing with. She's not just another high school cliché; she's a puzzle I'm itching to solve.

————V————

The bell echoed sharply through the deserted back building of Roosevelt High, where Reinhart and his buddies were having a sneaky smoke. He took one last drag before crushing the cigarette under his boot, signaling the end of their break. They were supposed to head to Principles of Engineering class, but Reinhart hesitated, a familiar rebellious glint in his eye. His friends, recognizing that look, continued on without him. Although Principles of Engineering was his favorite, Reinhart had other plans today.

As his friends' laughter faded, Reinhart veered off the beaten path towards the Music Room. It was almost a certainty that Emma would be there. The rumor mills whispered nonstop about her musical prowess, and curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Upon reaching the Music Room, he hesitated at the door, hearing the melodious strains of a piano piece he didn't recognize. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. Heads turned, and the music stumbled to a stop as everyone's gaze fixed on him. Mrs. Robinson, the music teacher, looked particularly surprised.