Vibrato

Chapter 1

Moving to a new school sucks. 

Unless you’re some ethereal socialite, which I’m not.  The most adventurous I’ve ever been was when my best friend in kindergarten (her name was Leslie) told me to stick my head in the worm-infested soil near the playground.

“Just do it,” she tapped her foot impatiently, swinging her blonde pigtails.

I swung myself down from the monkey bars that I was previously exploring, and, like any other overly-curious kindergartener with a hyperactive imagination, I plopped myself next to the earth and did the deed.  Well, I only did the deed halfway because by then Mrs. Robertson spotted my fearless conquest and yanked me out of the ground.

“You’re not an ostrich,” Mrs. Robertson scorned me as we returned back inside the classroom.

The joke was on her.  Ostriches don’t stick their head in the ground; it’s a myth.

Here I am, on the steps of a highly prestigious school in a foreign country, thinking about Leslie’s blonde pigtails and sticking my head in the dirt.  I shake my head and continue to trek up the steps.  I try not to notice the group of uniform-adorned girl-clones giving me weird looks.  I can practically hear their clone-girl thoughts.

She’s new.  Gross.  Why isn’t her hair dyed?

Okay, maybe not the last one.  I may have thought that one up to take off the sting of their hurtful thought-comments. 

I stop a few feet away from the clones to check the paper I’ve been clutching tightly in my hand.

 

Ruby Mitchell,

 

We are pleased to accept your admission to Bradford’s Academy of the Musically Gifted…

 

I find myself smiling for the umpteenth time from reading the letter of my acceptance.  I skip down to the end of the letter, where the information about where I receive my school schedule is. 

The office is located adjacent to Room 25C.

 

Wonderful.  The only hiccup to my trek is that I have no clue as to where the office or Room 25C is.  I glance towards the group of girl-clones next to me. 

You’re going to have to ask somebody. 

But I don’t want to.

You can’t even ask a meager sentence?  That’s pathetic.

I huff and gather my wits.  They could be nice, I think to myself.

“E-excuse me?”  I bravely tap the shoulder of the closest girl-clone.  She turns around, tossing her long, extension-riddled blonde hair.

My first thought:  She has a baby nose.  Her nose is the size of a baby’s.

I can practically feel the shudder of revulsion that Baby Nose releases upon realizing that I was the one who tapped her shoulder.

The new girl touched me, I could feel her thinking.

“Would you like something?”  She snaps, her eyes narrowing, thus crinkling her baby nose.

My second thought: Wow.  Her nose shrinks even smaller when she’s annoyed.

“Yes, I would,” I straighten my back and look her straight in the eye.  I imagine Eye of the Tiger playing behind me as I refuse to be intimidated by her. “I was wondering if you could direct me to where the front office is?”