It was like a bolt of lightning soared through the sky of his mind. He sat straight up in bed, the thought energizing him. It was simple but God why did he not notice it sooner?
The notes. He could use the notes.
He rummaged through his drawer, confident that he owned every note the Piano Player ever gave him. Putting them side by side, he looked for patterns in the capital letters, or the first letters, or the number of letters, or the words, or anything that could possibly lead him to her. He checked the backs of them all but there were no coded messages. No Morse code decorated the lines and borders, no symbol put that could possibly be a clue she planted for him.
There was nothing.
It was too clean to look at. And boy did that sting.
He slumped back in his bed, distressed. He’d looked for clues in the words she sent him, in the things she told him, in the kilobytes of memory that she occupied in his phone. He’d asked anyone who could’ve possibly known – the school janitor, the security guards – about a girl who came in the middle of the night or left school late to leave a note in his locker. None of them knew what to say to him; there wasn’t any girl that they saw creeping around. He knew better than to ask teachers or the other kids at school. Especially Alec; no, he’d never ask Alec.
But what did he have to do to find this girl he loved so much that the thought of her avoiding him made it hard for him to live, let alone breathe. Her silence was too cold, stretching over oceans and skies. It hurt him to think that she froze him out and left him whimpering.
Then again, what else could he do?
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...
