24 Lillian Lane

EVE

I am sitting on my furry beanbag chair, cocooned in my quilt. Why, oh why, does Jack hate me so much? Why, oh why, did I actually punch him? And why, oh why, am I stuck here in my room, thinking about him?

Because I'm grounded. Funnily enough, my parents were NOT happy that I threw a frog at Jack. As much as they hate the Andersons, they said that there's such thing as human decency, and "human decency does not involve throwing recently deceased amphibians at enemies."

Good thing I didn't tell them about me punching him in the face. They would have freaked.

Oh well. Better get something done. My homework, for example. I need to write a paper about the dissection I never got to do, because I was stuck in the office having a "talk" with Principal Harvey. Well, even if I wasn't there, I saw enough dead frog for one day. I pull out my math binder instead.

Twenty minutes later, I'm flopped in my chair again. Who knew being grounded was so boring? It would still be an hour before dinner was served, probably some healthy fish thing with salad, by the smell. My parents are SO into health food. But back to me! I've never been grounded before in my LIFE!

But then again, I've never thrown a dead animal at my neighbour before either...

There was that dead ant in kindergarten, though...

Whatever. I know what to do. I'll practice trumpet. There's a big concert in less than a week, and the scout from Clarington University is going to be there. If there's one thing in life I desperately need, it's the Emerging Composer Scholarship. I've worked for months perfecting my piece, and now all I need to do is practice it. Funny how hard it is to play music you wrote yourself.

I pull out my trumpet and carefully oil the valves. I pride myself on the care I give to my instrument. It's always pristine and polished, unlike Jack's battered old violin. I warm up with a couple scales, and remove my handwritten music from its place in my folder.

And I play.

The song is called Hope. It starts slow and quiet, but slowly curls its way up to a fanfare-like tune. The next part, my favourite, is mellow and light, and it ends with the fanfare again, leading up to the final note, triumphant and proud. It truly sounds beautiful, but whenever I play it, it sounds like it's missing something, something that I can't quite pinpoint. Every time I practice, I hope to figure it out, but whenever I sit down to look it over, I can't think of anything.

See, I should have this scholarship in the bag. I practice every day, and I'm the best musician our school has.

Well, not exactly.

There's Jack. Although I hate to admit it, he's pretty good with a violin. And by pretty good, I mean scarily good. Like, threaten-Eve's-chance-at-the-scholarship good. I just don't get it. He's not good at math, or science, or sports, but with violin in hand, he rivals me. My parents keep telling me to pursue a career in medical science, or law, or math, but all I want to do is music. So of course, Jack has to show me up by excelling in the one thing I truly love.

Why must life be so complicated?

I sigh, and go back to my music.