Kia and I walk our bikes home, taking the time to chat and catch up. We haven't always gotten on so well, but now that we do, I can't imagine not being close to her. Saskia natters on about her day but quickly moves on to dance, the only thing she actually likes talking about.
"Our next ballet is going to be the nutcracker and Clara got the lead, which is quite fitting when you think about it. Do you remember Clara?"
My heart flutters at the sound of her name and I frown uneasily.
"I think I remember you pointing her out." I say quietly.
"She's lovely, and definitely the best dancer in our group." Kia says.
"Well, I wouldn't say she's the best." I counter, even though every thought in my head agrees with her. Clara dances more naturally than I breathe. Kia laughs, waving off my compliment dismissively.
"She's so nice, I should introduce you two someday. I'm always talking about you and none of them have met you!" She says nonchalantly, as if it's nothing. But to me it's everything.
She knows of me, granted she only knows what Saskia has told her and that in itself could be catastrophic, but she knows who I am. She knows I exist. And then I begin to panic.
"I don't think that's a good idea." I say slowly, my eyes glued to the floor as I grip my handlebars a little tighter. My whole chest feels tight, my lungs seemingly not filling.
"I know the idea makes you anxious, but you really don't need to be. They're all so laid back and easy to talk to." She encourages. I laugh breathlessly. The thought of speaking to Clara is so overwhelming.
"Easy to you is hellish for me." I say, pained at the thought of my crippling social skills.
Saskia sighs but lets the subject go for now. It's hard for her to empathise with me, because she's never had to struggle to communicate. She doesn't feel breathless in a crowded room or extreme discomfort at the thought of extended eye-contact. How on earth could she understand.
We wheel our bikes into the garage and I slink back to my room, my fingers craving the distraction my music can provide. I sit in front of the old piano, the only nice piece of furniture in my room but my most prized.
My fingers run up and down the keys and I sigh, feeling the muscles in my back relax. My fingers pause and I stretch my neck side to side, pulling my arms out flamboyantly as I get ready to play.
A small smile creeps onto my face as my fingers fluidly move through the keys that I know by heart. My eyes flutter shut, not needing to be open to see the music. As I play, I only think of her.
Every song I play, I play for her. She moves through music so fluidly that it doesn't seem real and I aspire to play so softly, so smoothly that it might one day be worthy of her. My eyes crack open, watching my fingers fly across the keys, doing the only thing that they do well.
The door creaks and I stop abruptly, momentarily angry at whoever disturbed my moment. My head snaps towards the door but my anger melts away instantly when I see my mother peeking in apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Kit, it was beautiful." She says meekly. My mother and I are more similar than I like to admit. Her facial features are small and soft, but her wild dark eyes are reflected through my sister and I. She's a strong woman but is timid conversationally, just like me.
"It's not quite perfect." I mutter, not content with the result of my practise.
"It sounded perfect to me." She insists, coming in further to perch on the stool next to me. I smile at the unwavering pride in her voice.
YOU ARE READING
Shy
Teen Fiction-A soulmate story- Kit Taylor keeps to himself. Awkward, reserved and anxious, he doesn't expect to find his soulmate. When he finds her in none other than Clara Evelyn, his twin sister's kind, talented and beautiful best friend, his world just abou...
