Once Upon a Cliché

Chapter 4

Chapter 4 ~

          Call one: voice mail. “Hails, it’s Em. Where are you? I need a ride home.”

          Call two: also voice mail. “Hailin, seriously. Pick up. School ended ten minutes ago.”

          Call three: I’ll give you one guess. “Yo! Sister from the same mister! CALL ME BACK. It’s starting to rain. Which is weird, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any clouds about a second ago. If I end upwalking home in this, you can bet your scrawny dancer’s butt that I’m going to kick it. Hard. And, yeah. Pick up!” I sighed, watching the rain start to pour. “…please?”

          When I didn’t seem to get any farther by furiously dialing buttons, I hung up my cell and pocketed it. I squinted through the never ending shower, wondering to myself how in the world it was possible to rain in August and still manage to maintain an almost ninety degree temperature. That’s summer for you, I guess.

          Thankfully, my shirt happened to have a hood, which I promptly hid my frizz monster (some people actually call it HAIR) under while I looked for shelter from the rain. Although it probably wasn’t the best of ideas, I yanked open the first door I could find and ducked inside the room. Curse outdoor school campuses.

          I exhaled a relieved sigh, opening my eyes to see where I was. Oh, band room. Not bad. No one was in there, considering it was after school, and it seemed almost uncomfortably quiet in a space that was usually filled with music. Just wanting to get a minute out of the rain, I plopped down on a small nearby bench, flipping my phone open again. No messages. Ahhh. Why, sister, why?

          My cell went back in my pocket, and I slid my mother’s emerald pin out of my hair, letting the chaos poof free. I set down the pin next to me and leaned back against whatever I was leaning against until I heard a soft clash of discordant notes. I immediately sat back up, twisting my body around so I could see exactly what I was expecting: a piano. A fairly aged little grand piano with yellowed keys, but a piano nonetheless.

          Right then, a smile lit up my face.

          I shook my hands out, positioning myself on the bench so I was facing the piano. Number fifteen: play an original song. Before I could set my fingers down, I did a quick glance around to check no one was watching. After confirming I was the only one there, I cleared my throat and touched the first key. It made the quietest sound, one lonely note. My fingers paused uncertainly on the keys as I wondered if I should continue. It’d been so long since I played. As the note started to fade away in the air, I started to retract my hand. I shouldn’t. Should I…?

          Then along came a chord. And another chord. Before I knew it, I was playing. And, as I got used to the feel of it, I opened my mouth to begin:

          “This is just a song to sing about the dawn of…

          “Breaking open, breaking out.”

          I closed my eyes, swallowing. “This is just a tune…about the things I’ll do…

          “When I get to breaking open, breaking free.”

          I took a breath, and I kept playing. “You see, I’ll be pretty extraordinary.”

          “You see, through this song, I’m sure I’ll get along, if I…”

          Chorus.

          “Hold my breath. Count 1, 2, 3. And take a leap into the deep blue sky. I’ll open my eyes, rise up to the occasion.”