He’d yanked open his locker to make a quick grab for his books, swearing under his breath that he was going to take the bus from then on instead of relying on his almost always hung-over mom. Or maybe he could ask Alec to play chauffeur. Yeah… Alec. If he begged hard enough, Alec would take him in his beat-up Toyota. Besides, he drove only the kid around so he could use the company.
“Hey, Shane, you dropped something.”
Mumbling thanks, he picked it up before shoving it into his pocket. It must’ve slipped from one of his books. Still, he shouldn’t have bothered. It was probably just nothing.
***
“Honey, does that belong to you?”
Enough. He should’ve just chucked it in the bin when he had the chance instead of going through all the trouble of shoving it deep into the pocket of his jeans every time someone would ask him if “that was his” and shit. So by the time his mother had asked him the hateful question, he was annoyed enough to grab it, crumpling the weirdly-lined paper in the process. He marched his way to his room, near slamming the door as if to prove a point he never made. Balefully staring down at the crumpled, striped paper, he impatiently tore it open to find out what he was saving all those times when the bin was the more appropriate home for this hateful piece of… oh.
It’s a love note, written on a clean music score.
YOU ARE READING
The Piano Player
Teen FictionSome people were born into lives that seem to be written by boy band-obsessed fan girls, or introverted poets, or dreamers that never stop floating into the clouds. With lives full of conflict and interest and changes, they just simply made chameleo...
