The Lunacy Fringe

Five

When I reached my next class, the door was open, but the room was empty. I looked down at my schedule to find the name of my music teacher.

"Miss Kay?" I called. But no one answered.

The room was silent. I stepped in and dropped my books to the floor. Equipment had been left lying around the room. Like everyone left in a hurry as soon as the bell rang. There were stamps on each instrument, marking them as school property. They weren't in the best condition.

There was a piano in the farthest corner of the room. It rested beneath the windows that looked out over the front of the school. It was brown and old and had obviously seen better days. But it was still a piano, and I couldn't stop myself from running my fingers over the keys. I struck one, enjoying the tone that hummed in the eerie quiet. I waited for it to halt before hitting another one, just to get a feel for it.

When I was a kid, a friend of mine was forced to take piano lessons every day after school. She hated it because it took so much of her social time away. But I'd grown up loving music and thought it was so fabulous that she got to create something beautiful with something other than a guitar like my dad was teaching me. So I begged him to let me take lessons too. And after a while, he worked up a deal with one of our neighbors. She used to be a concert pianist and agreed to teach me if my dad and I helped clean up her yard once a week. She had a lot of dogs. But my dad was a music lover like me and looked for any chance to teach me new things. Even though he'd never learned piano himself.

I was still uncomfortable about the whole experience with Quinn and his friends. I didn't want to think about it. So I took a seat and started with the first song I'd ever been taught. Chopin. She always told me that if I could get it down, I'd be able to play anything. So it ended up being my go-to song to start with, just because it turned into a reflex. And it usually allowed me to build something more natural.

I was too busy building onto the song with my own medley to notice when I was no longer alone. I didn't see him at all until he coughed to let me know he was there. Then the song came to an abrupt, loud halt. I spun around sharply. He was standing by the door, holding a guitar case.

"I'm sorry," I said, standing and nearly knocking the bench over. Of course I had no reason to apologize, but he startled me, and he was cute, and it was all I could come up with. "I didn't hear you come in."

"It's alright," Felix said. He carried the case into the room and sat it down on the carpet. "I didn't know you could play." He motioned toward the piano and unlatched his case.

"Uh yeah. Since I was nine." He nodded slowly and reached into the case to pull out the beat-up old Fender.

"It was nice. Who was it?"

"Uh—Chopin at first. Then mine. I was just making it up as I went along. Kinda messed up."

"You're talented." He wasn't looking at me, and I was grateful because I was pretty sure my cheeks had turned pink. I turned back to close the lid before he could see it. "You play anything else?" he asked.

"My dad has been teaching me guitar since I could hold one. I have a bass too. But I think that's pretty much it."

"So, are you typically into classical music? I mean—I'm going to go ahead and guess no since you're wearing a Molly Hatchet shirt." I smoothed out my shirt and shook my head.

"No, my piano teacher just started with Chopin, and I stuck with it."

"Are your parents into classical music?" Further proof that Quinn had never bothered to tell anyone about me. Was I a shameful secret?

"I mean—kind of—I guess," I said. "Not in a casual listener sort of way. My dad actually has excellent taste in music." I turned back around to face him. He was sitting on the carpet with his knees bent and the old guitar in his lap. "I don't know about my mom, to be honest. I've never actually met her."

"Do you have one? A guitar, I mean?" I rested my knee on the bench but stayed standing. He was a lot friendlier than he'd been at lunch. It was easier to talk to him now. Maybe I'd just piqued his interest.

"Two, actually. Acoustic and electric. My dad likes to repair them."

"That's awesome."

He smiled, and it was genuine, unlike the polite one I'd seen before. I could tell because it reached his bright eyes. And I swear my heart fluttered in my chest. I completely forgot about the boy I'd left in Detroit. But I did, however, remember the pretty brunette who'd sat beside him at lunch. I turned away again.

"So, how about you? How long have you been playing?" I asked.

"Since I was maybe six," he told me. "My mom's always been really supportive of my interests. This is probably the only one I've ever stuck with, though."

A woman appeared in the doorway, looking at us like she'd never seen two teenagers in her classroom before.

"Who was responsible for the music?" she asked, looking between the two of us for an explanation. But Felix focused on his guitar and didn't answer.

"That would be me," I said, lifting my hand slightly.

"Are you in my class?"

"As of today." I was afraid she'd start lecturing me about touching her equipment without permission but instead, she beamed. She jumped forward and reached out her hand.

"I'm so pleased to have another pianist in this group. Besides Felix, of course." She shot him a smile, but again, he wasn't paying attention.

Thankfully, the bell rang once she finished introducing herself to me, and I had an excuse to rush off and find my stuff. Then she did the unthinkable, and I should have known she would when she shook my hand. Once the class was packed and the late bell had rung, she stood before all of us and singled me out.

"We have a new student with us today," she said, talking to us like she was speaking to a group of preschoolers. I sunk lower in my seat. "Her name is Ruby. Ruby, would you like to stand up and introduce yourself?"

"Uh...," I started, but I stood up anyway because I didn't think she was going to let me get away with running. I glanced at Felix because he was the only somewhat familiar face. Still, he was sitting with his hand under his chin, looking vaguely amused. And attractive. So I immediately regretted it. "Um—my name is Ruby. I'm from Detroit."

"And what do you like to play?"

"Piano, I guess. Guitar."

"Would you like to give us a sample?"

"Please—don't make me do that."

She laughed like I was making a joke and waved me toward the piano anyway. My palms got sweaty, and butterflies took flight in my stomach. My heart began to race, and I nervously navigated through the students to plop myself down at the piano. I hated playing in front of people. It was my only real weakness. Well, one of them. I loved music. I loved to play music and experiment and write my own silly songs. But if I had an audience, I'd feel like throwing up.

"What do you want me to play?" I asked. I lifted the lid to expose the keys and tried to stop my fingers from trembling.

"Play whatever you're comfortable with." That was the problem. I wasn't comfortable at all.

I set my fingers into place and tried to think of something to play. The Chopin one seemed like the best option. I was familiar with it, and I wouldn't have to worry about anyone judging anything I'd created by myself. I could play it instinctually, sometimes even humming the melody in my sleep. So I took a deep breath and forced myself to drown them out. That was the advice my dad gave me when I played for the whole school in my sixth-grade talent show.

And it worked. After a moment, I was able to pretend they weren't there. Instead, I focused on the music and played as if I was at home in my room on my crappy keyboard.

Until Miss Kay stuck her hand on the top of the piano and broke my train of thought. I hadn't played very much, and it probably wasn't very good. But she told the class to clap anyway, and they did so reluctantly. I didn't look to see who followed along.

"Now, Ruby, we can start with Mozart's Symphony 25 in g-minor just to get you comfortable. And then we'll move onto something else," she said, setting down a tattered old booklet down on the piano.

The class dug through their bags and books to find the sheets for the song. I took another deep breath and nodded to agree with the selection. I was at least familiar with it.

Everyone in the class had a different instrument. Half of them weren't even in the song. But once everyone got started, it was easier to follow along. People laughed at how silly it sounded, making jokes about how we were the worst band of actually talented people to play in California. The point of the class wasn't to make us musicians. It was just to teach us about music. And pretty soon, I felt myself smiling along to their jokes, laughing when we fumbled, and relaxing into something comfortable and safe.