Moonlit

seven

I was stiffer than a statue, rigid in a swarm of people who were hurriedly making their way to their next class. A few rushed students knocked into me accidentally but I wasn't in a state to take notice.

I couldn't come to believe what the near past held. How could he do that to me? Show a sign of liking — even loving — me, and then tell me to stay away? It was ridiculous.

As the seconds rolled by, I began to feel isolated and alone, no matter how many people I was surrounded by. I felt as though I was fading, becoming transparent without Jake.

No, Tahli, stop. He is not yours and you are not his.

Blinking as though I was seeing daylight for the first time, I wandered mindlessly back into the classroom to find an awaiting Mr Fern with both mine and Jake's bags slung on his arm. He checked around me with a puzzled expression.

"Tahli, where is Jake?"

"I ... don't know," I mumbled honestly, wondering where he could of gone. He wasn't going to show up to his next class without his stuff.

Mr Fern brushed it off easily. "He can't of gone too far. Give this back to him when you see him, will you?" He handed me my bag which I slung over my shoulders as well as Jake's. Jake's was light due to having close to nothing in there - new student perks.

A whiff of honey left his bag, the same scent I had encountered when he had stuck the finger up at me. I clutched at it tightly as though it was a voodoo doll and could cause the owner pain. I could just wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until his face turns the color of brewing thunder.

"Sure," I gave a closed mouth smile, turning on my heel and leaving the room. "See you later, sir."

Conveniently, my next class was only a few doors down the corridor. I trod through the busy halls as usual and made it early into the classroom.

The maroon carpeted walls were covered with scattered posters, mostly with instruments or famous music artists from quite a while ago.

I huffed and plunked myself down onto a chair that was in the far back corner of the room as I was the second person to enter the room, the first student. 

Mrs Borne, the aging female teacher I had met yesterday was dancing her frail fingers across a black grand piano. She had her back to me, so I could observe the beige cardigan that wrapped around her small figure. 

A familiar tune escaped the piano and I recognized it to be the well-known, Für Elise.

Throughout Mrs Borne's playing, students filed into the room and soon all the seats were occupied. When we were all settled, the melodic music came to a close and the elderly lady stood up with caution.

"Good afternoon, students." Her voice was rough yet feminine, wrinkles lining her face as she spoke. It occurred to me how ironic it was for her surname to be Borne. For her, being born would've happened way, way too long ago.

"Today we're going to be continuing our note reading from last lesson," she said in a bored tone. I raised my eyebrows.

Each music teacher did this every. Single. Year. You know, going through the basics of the "Sound of Art" - that's what they called music at my High School. We learned the exact same thing like it was a broken record. I always knew it was just so they didn't have to go to the trouble of teaching us something more worth learning.

As Mrs Borne began to drone on about who knows what, I took notice of her dreary eyes and how boredom dripped off each word. 

She's in it for the money, I took note.