American Sweethearts

8

I press my fingers against the keys, letting the gentle sound fill up the room. The song is beautiful and soft, almost angelic. I try my best to play it perfectly, but I stumble on one chord. I panic, lifting my fingers up.

"I'm sorry," I turn to the instructor. "I'm nervous."

"I can tell," she chuckles. "I can give you a second chance, but unfortunately, you don't get a third."

"That's okay. I can do it."

I let out a deep breath, trying to focus on the song. I read the chords carefully, and try once more. This is my last chance to get it right.

Come on, I tell myself. You've got this.

I press my fingers against the keys. The metronome beeps in the background, keeping me on track. The tune sounds just as it should. With only a small fumble, I make it through the hardest part. I zone out completely, letting my hands do all the work.

This is what peace feels like.

In a heavenly daze, I make it to the end of the song. The final chords are the easiest, and I play them flawlessly.

I sigh in relief. Perfect.

"Well done," the instructor nods. "What was your name again?"

"Sarah Stone."

"Sarah Stone," she repeats, making a note on her clipboard. "You're dismissed."

I gather my things, removing the papers from their stand. I fold them up neatly, knowing I'll need to practice at home. Because it's the first class, the instructor wanted to know our capabilities before beginning with the content of the semester.

This class is all about classical music. That's not my preferred style to play, but it's a requirement for the music major. I can already tell the students in this class are insanely talented.

We've each been taken into the studio separately, but it wasn't soundproof, so I've heard everything that's been played, and the leftover students heard me.

I walk past them as I head out of the building. Just like every other day in LA, it's bright and sunny out. It's such nice weather that I actually became excited about my first day of college.

And I survived!

I actually enjoyed it, too. I was nervous about my music class, but nothing makes me feel better than playing piano. My biology lecture was surprisingly interesting. It was just a basic overview of the topics of the semester, but I'm already looking forward to it.

I begin my walk home, dragging my sneakers over the pavements. As I leave the campus, the amount of people around begins to slim. It's about a 20-minute walk home, but I'm not too worried. I wish I'd brought my headphones, though. I could really use some Mumford and Sons right now. Or Vance Joy. Or maybe just my entire Happy Folk playlist.

If my life was a movie, I'd be skipping over the sidewalk right now.

But my life isn't a movie. Instead of my legs skipping, my heart is. There's a car slowing down beside me. I speed up, walking as far away from the road as possible. It's an old, green Jeep that I don't recognise.

"Sarah," they say.

My breath hitches. I glance at them out of the corner of my eye, but keep my pace going.

"Sarah, stop."

Wait a minute. That voice. I know that voice.

"Tyler?" I ask. I pause in my step, causing him to stop the car. He's sitting behind the wheel, scowling at me. There's a cigarette hanging between his lips, but it's not lit.