Music is the key

Chapter 1 (Bella)

I pick the box up and step out of the car, my long dark tangled hair swishing round my shoulders. I look behind me at the house across the road. James' house. I wonder if he still remembers me. Probably not. I was 8 when I left, we were both so young that my memories of him are slightly distorted I can't exactly remember what he looks like, but I'll know him if I see him. Turning away, I walk inside my house.

I proceed to my room, my old room, it still looks like when I left except I have a bigger desk and a queen sized bed now. I set the box on my unmade bed and open it up. It's full of all my music things. Old books and CDs. Awards for completing grades etc. I wonder if James still plays the violin. I remember that being the only thing in common between us me playing the piano and him the violin. That and our love for classical music and musicals.

I am still amazed that the only 2 kids on the face of the earth who liked classical music ended up in the same street. I'm convinced it was destiny or fate but it could just be luck.

"How's the unpacking going?" Mums standing in the doorway watching me.

"Fine." I turn back to the box I'm unpacking.

"You could go across the road to see James if you want."

"I'm going to unpack first."

"Suit yourself." And with that she leaves.

I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. I notice all the flaws in it, just like when I was little. Then I remember the crack.

Suddenly I'm on my knees searching the wall near the cupboard. It's. Got. To. Be. Here. Somewhere. Aha!

The dint in the wall is here as it should be and engraved (in pen) in it is our names.

Bella and James. 8 and 10. Best friends forever.

We made it shortly before I left so we would always have a mark in this house of our friendship in case I didn't come back. It's actually quite silly now that I think about it. We wrote it in pen. Anyone could just paint over it. But I suppose we were young.

"So can you now play Bach?" I whirl around to see him leaning up against the doorframe. His familiar eyes boring into mine. His still slightly crooked smile on his face. James.