In Between The Lines

Chapter One

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no!" I screamed. I jolted up, too fast to stop, hitting my head on the beam above me.

"Owwwwww. Crap. That hurt like crap!" I whispered my hand covering the large red bump now forming on my forehead.

I flicked the lamp next to me on and a yellow light illuminated the room. I peered in the mirror across from my disheveled, lumpy, mattress.

There it is, the monster. Greasy brown hair falling in awkward curls and fluffs. Horribly dull blue eyes. Straight nose, covered brown freckles. A uni-brow, a huge forehead, flat-chested, scrawny everything, ugly personality.

I scare myself more than my nightmares do. I thought, pulling my shirt off and grabbing the white school shirt hanging for the beam of headaches.

After pulling my hair into braids, I walked downstairs from the my room, in most households is known as the attic. The sun had not risen yet, and the quiet house was terrifyingly peaceful.

Picking up my violin case I walked towards the door and stopped. Well, I mean they never tell me goodbye anyway, what would change? I thought.

I agree with myself, since when have they acted like parents? Then without a second thought I slipped out the door.

I had my violin case in one hand and my blue necklace in the other, while my back-pack was slung over my shoulders. There was only one good thing about walking to school, the sunrise.

The sun was now peeking over the rural neighborhood, leaving a pink glow on the ground. I looked around me, fake homes, fake faces. This pretty picture is just covering up the reality of it all. This pink beauty is a cover for a big ball of gas. The people you think are perfect have the biggest covers while the people who seem the most imperfect are just made of glass. I thought to myself.

That should go on a poster. I smiled at my cheesy lines. I mean fake or not, its never going to last, I guess I know from experience. It will always be, and was always, only meant to fade.

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Although walking to school had it's one good point it has many more bad points, such as having to arrive at school. High school, one of the worst parts in life, for most people anyways. I'm sure that one girl who wins prom queen will enjoy high-school, or maybe the jock that got a free-ride through college, but the rest of us, not that much.

Here in school has the most masks, it seems like the pressure of society is the leading cause. While of course I have a mask, as much as I think pessimistic, I'm really an optimistic person. Then again that could be fake. After all I've already lost myself. Again, everything is meant to fade, I just beat the clock and did it early.

By the time I reached the school, the sun was already fully visible. The gates weren't open yet, so I climbed on top of the Pillar and waited.

The Pillar was this huge red brick pillar sticking out of the ground surrounded by little patches of grass. I felt like the Pillar had a personality, like a sturdy old man, slowly crumbling, but making the best out of it. Anyway it had the most wanted view of the school, or castle, either name works.

The school I attended was Fidel Fine Arts Preparatory School, but this school has completely different social-standings. It's a whole other level of a horrible, judgmental, society.

I checked my watch, 8:05. I looked towards the main school building. Out of the huge wooden doors came the ever-punctual Mr. Roseword came scrambling out.

I sighed. The huge castle was made out of old gray bricks standing tall and steadfast. There were different parts of the school based on what fine-art you are in, music-drama-dancing-art-academics. Five halls, five sections, five lunchrooms, and one dormitory. Luckily I live with my loving parents so this huge eternal competition doesn't bother me that much.

Sighing a second time I hopped down from the Pillar and began approaching as Mr. Rosewood walked down the long drive towards the gates.

Mr. Rosewood was the Calculus and Pre-Cal teacher at Finel. With a small and stocky appearance he waddled everywhere. His bald-spot has slowly been growing larger every year, with the little hair he has being wispy and snow-white. He unlocked the gates swiftly and with his little demeanor, had a hard time pushing them open. I walked through keeping my head down hoping he wouldn't point me out, but too my demise,

"Oh, Rove! I didn't see you there!" he said rolling on the balls of his feet. That was kinda the point I thought.

"Now, aren't you just the punctual pansy! You're never late to anything are you?" he exclaimed with a broad smile.

"Well, sir, I always need to practice in the morning..." I said pointing towards my violin with a shy smile. His happy-go-lucky expression faded, and his smile became extremely and obviously fake.

"Why, Ms. Leven, shouldn't you be spending this time studying? I can't help but notice you are the top player in the music section. I always figured it was a gift- since you weren't able to get into the academics section- but with ease you climbed to the top of the music section."

This is what I mean by the eternal competition, even the teachers are extremely biased.

I just smiled and nodded at him and continued walking down the drive.

I took the first left of the drive and headed down a stone road on the way to the music buildings.

I walked inside and walked upstairs to the 5th floor, the practice hall.

The music buildings are my church and music is the savior. That might not make sense, but you need to feel the same way to understand. I walked down practice hall to the abandoned instrument room. It was the perfect place to practice. It was a very large room, with one piano and a huge window, where you can look out in the huge beautiful sky and the majestic music garden below. Its very fairy-tale-like.

Right as I was turning the door knob of my sanctuary I heard it. Brahms ballad op. 118 no. 3. I stopped and just listened to the emotion. I barely noticed myself when I opened the door and walked in.

There on the piano, sat this guy, I've never seen, playing his heart out on this piece. He was at the end and he slowly got softer and softer, then delivered the last note.

He sat in a position with his head down which caused his dark hair to fall over his face.

All there was, was silence.

He moved his head up just a little and noticed me up against the door. Then he pulled his hands off the piano and pushed his hair back. He looked straight at me and smiled almost a pity smile or maybe a concealing laughter smile, or... I have no clue.

All I can tell is he played the piece I want to forget the most.