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Keeping A Straight Face | Chapter 1

Taylor's Perspective

My hand freezes as I find an old sheet of paper, buried underneath my school notes. The crinkles at the edges are rough on my skin, but it's readable.

I thought I threw this away. I'm glad I didn't.

Placing the parchment on the wooden lectern in front of me, I smile, playing the tune in my head. There's a wonky bar line at the beginning, some notes fill out more lines than they should, and the treble clef looks more like an ampersand--but I understand what it means. I wrote it, after all.

This seems like a good enough distraction. I'll think about writing my performance songs later. The Sanctum School of Fine Arts music festival ain't for another few weeks; surely, I can spare a minute or two thinking about something else. If Miss Lauriana walks in, she'll understand.

It'll be fine.

With a soft crack in my knuckles, I place the pads of my fingers on the instrument's silky surface. I adjust myself on the backless leather stool I'm sitting on, and assume the position, my arms parallel to the floor. Eyes on the parchment, I take a small breath in and smile a tiny smile to myself.

My fingers dance over the piano, tapping the right black and white slabs in perfect sequence. They stretch apart as they fly from key to key, the beautiful blends of bass and treble notes enveloping me like a snug blanket on a cold winter's day. A familiar warmth runs down my spine; right here, right now, there is nothing else in the world except me and this grand piano.

Instinctively, my throat starts to hum the notes of the lyrics I had written for the song. My fingers pick up in tempo. Since it's nearly four-thirty in the afternoon, nobody's in or near the music department, aside from the odd teacher that's behind on marking or the occasional cleaner swapping bin liners. Having memorised this part of the song by heart, I shut my eyes and start to sing the love-inspired lyrics aloud.

Before I can sing a whole line, the door to the classroom swings open. My voice and fingers halt; who's there? Miss Lauriana?

"Hey," Darko says, his voice chipper. Finally--I thought he was never going to show up.

His schoolbag hangs from his right hand, the adjustment straps dragging along the linoleum floor. I arch an eyebrow. His trainers squeak like mice as he makes his way to me.

"You took your time getting here," I say, folding my arms. "Did you bring anything?"

Nodding, he pats his schoolbag, a sly grin forming at the corner of his mouth as he stands next to me. "I got the goods. Grade-A chocolate bars, cookies galore; hell, I even found a nice bag of chips, hence why I took so long. We gotta be careful though, don't want to leave any crumbs on the floor."

He tosses his backpack to me. "Yeah, you don't want another cleaner coming in here and giving us dirty looks. Heaven forbid."

He snickers, looking at the door. "What? Cleaner Brenda adores me. I don't wanna ruin her opinion on me because I'm a messy eater!"

I shake my head, smiling to myself. "Sure."

We share a grin before Darko smiles at the piano. "What were you playing before I came in? It sounded wicked, can I hear it?"

I shake my head, waving a dismissive hand in the air as I grab the sheet music from the lectern, stashing it back into my bag like a squirrel stashing nuts. "It's just some old garbage that I wrote when I was younger. Don't bother. Go grab a chair; I'll play some Beethoven. You love him."

He pouts, nodding soon after. Getting up, he walks towards a stack of chairs and neatly lifts one, my eyes trailing from his biceps, the muscles peeking out as they lift the seat, down to the curve in his lower back as he hoists it. Dragging the seat behind him, he trails his free hand over the piano's edge, clearing a few lines of dust off the instrument, coating his fingertips. He sits next to it, facing me with a small grin.