It's Like Music In My Ears

CHAPTER 1: THE GRIND

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the empty music room, casting long shadows across the polished floor. I hit the keys again, the melody echoing in the quiet space. I’d been at it for an hour now, maybe more, but I wasn’t going to stop until it was perfect. It had to be perfect if I was going to beat her.

Her.

Melody Summers.

Even her name annoyed me. Too sweet, too perfect, like she was born to be the best, and she knew it. And that grin she had when she played—like she owned the stage, like everyone else was just an audience in her one-woman show. The worst part? She was good. Really good. And I hated that. But there was no way I was letting her take first place at the contest. Not this time. Not when I was working harder than I ever had.

I shook my head, pushing her out of my mind. Focus. My fingers danced over the piano keys, picking up speed. The notes flowed together, but something wasn’t right. I stopped, replaying the sequence in my head, trying to figure out where it went wrong.

The music room door creaked open, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. For a second, I thought it might be her, coming to spy on me, but it was just Mr. Jacobs, the janitor, making his rounds. He gave me a nod and went on his way. I relaxed a little, but the irritation lingered. Even when she wasn’t here, Melody found a way to get under my skin.

I started playing again, my fingers moving more aggressively now. I needed to nail this. I needed to make sure I was the one standing at the top when this was all over. Because if there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that I couldn’t stand the thought of losing to Melody Summers.

Not now. Not ever.

The notes came faster now, my frustration driving the tempo. Each mistake felt like a slap in the face, a reminder that I wasn’t there yet, that I still had a ways to go. I could almost hear Melody’s voice in my head, cool and smug: *Nice try, but not quite.*

I shook it off. No way was I letting her win. I could picture her practicing too, probably in some perfect, sunlit room with her perfect hair and her perfect posture, hitting every note like it was nothing.

It wasn’t fair. She made it look easy, while I had to sweat over every chord, every transition. But that’s what was going to make the difference, right? My hard work. My determination. I was going to outwork her, outplay her, and when I stood up there on that stage, the judges wouldn’t have a choice. They’d have to give it to me.

I switched up the piece, moving into something slower, something that forced me to think. It was like untangling a knot, each note needing to be just right to unravel the melody. The focus calmed me, helped me push her out of my mind.

But then, like clockwork, she slipped back in. The memory of the last time we faced off, just a few months ago, replayed itself like a bad movie. The whole school watching as she walked away with first place, that smug smile on her face like she knew all along she’d win.

I remember the way my stomach had twisted, how I’d forced myself to clap along with everyone else, even though I wanted to storm out of there. I’d told myself it wouldn’t happen again, that next time I’d be the one standing up there, taking the applause. But here we were, and I couldn’t shake the doubt.

What if it wasn’t enough? What if no matter how hard I tried, she was always going to be a step ahead?

I cut myself off mid-thought. I couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t just about talent; it was about who wanted it more. And I wanted it more than anything. More than her.

I took a deep breath and started again, letting the music pull me in, blocking out everything else. This was my shot, and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I was deep into the piece, my fingers moving on autopilot, when the door creaked open again. This time, it wasn’t Mr. Jacobs. I glanced up, and there she was—Melody Summers, standing in the doorway like she owned the place.

My fingers fumbled on the keys, the music crashing to a halt as I jerked back in my seat. She looked at me with those sharp blue eyes, and for a split second, I couldn’t read her expression. Was that a smirk? Or just her usual calm confidence? It didn’t matter.

“Hey,” she said, her voice smooth as always. “Just wanted to wish you luck for next week.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out what angle she was playing. Was she serious? Wishing me luck? It didn’t sound like a threat, but coming from her, it felt like one. Like she was so sure she’d win that she could afford to be nice about it.

“Thanks,” I muttered, forcing the word out. It came out stiffer than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. She just nodded, like she hadn’t noticed, and then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the keys, my pulse still racing from the surprise. Luck. She thought I needed luck. As if this was just some game we were playing, as if she didn’t take me seriously. Well, that was going to change. Next week, she’d see how much I’d improved, how hard I’d worked. Luck had nothing to do with it.

I packed up my stuff, the adrenaline slowly fading, replaced by a dull ache in my hands. I didn’t realize how late it was until I stepped outside, the sky already dark. I hurried home, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement.

When I finally walked through the front door, my parents were waiting in the living room. My mom glanced at the clock, raising an eyebrow. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” I said, heading straight for the stairs. “Practice ran long.”

They didn’t push it, and I was grateful for that. I wasn’t in the mood to explain or to talk about next week’s contest. All I wanted was to crash.

In my room, I collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. But instead of sleep, my mind kept drifting back to Melody. Not the competition, not the music, just… her. Random thoughts, like how she always seemed so composed, how nothing ever seemed to faze her. I couldn’t figure her out. One minute she was all business, the next she was throwing me off with that wish of luck.

What was her deal, anyway? Did she really think I needed her luck? Or was there something else behind it? Before I knew it, my thoughts started blurring together, and somewhere between wondering and worrying, I drifted off to sleep.