Our Moment As Lost Stars | ✎

chapter one, a simmering celestial.

Ms. Wilson's brown eyes meet my own, speaking to me through the depths of her sights to move forward. She knows I'm different amongst the sopranos–don't get me wrong we're all talented, but there's something special that she saw in me. She always heard my voice more and kept an ear out for it. It was the reason she usually encouraged me to sing out more before I gained my confidence. I also signal with my eyes that I wanted to remain in the back today. Something told me to keep to myself more. I shook my head and crossed my arms.

Her brown eyes rolled, noticing my change of welcomeness. She, instead of arguing any further, raised her arms to signify for the tenors to begin. As they initiated their carols, I could feel a deep rhythm stirring up within me. There was a phenomenon associated with tenors that not many have seen. They create the base within a song and bring the chorus together. And hearing them beam reminded me of a tenor that loved to harmonize with me months ago.

Terrance, a girl who I shared my soprano skills with, nudged me when it was our time to sing. Ms. Wilson raised a fist towards the tenors–signaling for the tenors to hold their voices. I could spot some of the altos grinning at the music being sung. We were a talented group, and many people assumed that chorus was a lame class until they heard the level gifts we all possess.

As we sing, my eyes close in love and my body tingles with excitement.

In a short summary, I was in love with Chorus class.

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Ophelia Harper was what you'd call a friend or a 'bestie' in most cases. However, she was more than that to me. She was a sister who kept the peace in my soul and held me when I needed her the most. Everyone in school knew there wasn't one without the other. Our love for each other stemmed from the common love of music that we share. Her skills in electric guitar and keeping me entertained matched with my talent for singing and being a little moody. Although many don't see my precious smile a lot (simply because I'm not close with anyone) Ophelia is that one person who causes my smiles. It's honestly gotten so bad to the point I can't help but smile even when I see her or hear her name.

All that she's done for me can't even be paid back or else I'd be broke. And I'm rich.

My shoes clicked against the glossy floors as I began my journey to my sister. I could imagine her curly afro that brushes against her pierced ears. She has this love for jewelry–or at least that's what she tells me. Both her ears are pierced in full and I still don't get how she's not sent away back to Ghana since she's the daughter of an immigrant parent.

Ophelia comes from a Colombian background from her father and a Ghanaian background from her mother. Her caramel skin showcased her acne-free face and her smooth features. Her light brown eyes were always bright and happy, smiling from glee or even just for waking up every morning. She was truly the sun in my life.

As I walked with my purse on my forearm, I could spot the looks that I got. Some of curiosity, some of envy, some of lust. I was beautiful of course, that I could never deny, but they also stared because of my lifestyle. I was popular, smart, captain of the cheer team, and rich. But for some reason they wondered why I wasn't such a mean bitch. Or maybe Regina George could be the better describing word. But that also came from their stereotypes of white girls in movies. I was raised by two parents who didn't have much, and they made it clear to show me the privilege I have. I still go back to my parents' homes from their younger ages, and I recognize the advantages.

Plus, I'd get my butt whooped.

I could feel my wig with highlights swish behind my back as I walked. I spotted Ophelia giggling with someone I haven't seen in a good amount of time. I'll confess, I haven't seen him and his signature dyed locks for a while actually, and while there was a time I counted him as one of my closest friends ever, I knew that things had changed.