When I was little, Father always encouraged my music. Not for money, but for fun. I would delight in the pride in his eyes, when he would pick me up and spin me around, or play a song for me in return. You don't do that, do you, mother? Why can't you just be proud of me?

Isn't it enough that I'm happy?

Chapter One: First meeting

"No no no, do it again!"

My feet ached and my throat was raw. I slumped to the ground; no one bothered to catch me.

Frustrated, Tono called break.

"We'll try again in ten minutes." Everybody went off to get coffee and cakes and do whatever else they do while on break. I just sat on the floor, staring at my feet, then at the pointed stilettos of my mother.

I looked up at her, "I'm sorry, Mother. I'll do better, just let me get my breath back."

I didn't expect her to clean me up and console me, but her harsh words still hurt, "You're too lazy, Aikidou! Have a little more self-respect and stop disappointing me!"

"But I'm tired, Mother. Can't I rest awhile? Then I'll dance and sing much better, I promise!"

Mother gave me her cold frown, but walked away, muttering the words, "A constant disappointment..." under her breath.

I flinched.

Standing up, I walked over to get a drink of water from my bottle on the side. I looked out over the wall of the Gazebo we were filming in, watching the dusty sand blow past. It reminded me of Father, and my eyes grew sad.

Mother was much nicer when Father was alive. She used to smile. But not anymore.

I don't think she loves me anymore.

"Father?" I said quietly, a frequent habit of mine when I was lonely, "What do you think I should do? Mother's sad, I can feel it. I can sometimes hear her crying when I go to bed. But she's ruining my music for me, Father. I don't enjoy it anymore. It's too painful."

It helped to imagine that the brush of wind on my face held the warmth of my Father's love. I was good at imagining things.

"I don't want to make music anymore."

"If you don't want to, then don't." I squealed at the sudden appearance of a red-haired boy, gazing up at me intently from outside the gazebo. "There's no point in doing something if you don't enjoy it."

I stared at him, then shook my head, "It's the only way I can make Mother proud of me. If that's what it takes, then this is what I'll do." I paused, "What's your name, anyway?"

"Gaara. You?"

"Aikidou Shi." I said, then quickly, "But I hate it."

Gaara watched me in confusion, "But why? It's a pretty name."

"It's not even my real one-" I cut off suddenly, pressing a hand over my mouth, "Oopsie. Wasn't supposed to tell you that."

He cocked his head on one side, "Well, what's your real name, then?"

I sighed, "I can't remember. I've been Aikidou since I was four, and even though I'm only five now I forgot my real name."

"Oh." Gaara looked thoughtful, then smiled, "Well, what if I give you a new name? A name that only you and I know?"

I beamed, "I'd like that."

"Humm..." Gaara looked up at the sky, "There's a girl in my class at the Academy called Amaya. "

I shook my head, "Too girly!"

"What about Kitty?" Gaara said, watching a black one run down the path a short ways behind him. I blew a raspberry.

"You're terrible at thinking of names!" I accused. He frowned, then laughed.

"Fine then, until I can think of a good name, I shall call you Pocky-chan." He snickered. My cheeks reddened.

"What? That's even worse than Kitty! It doesn't suit me at all!" I protested. Gaara just laughed some more.

"It does! Because you seem sweet, and I think that if I ate you, you would taste like chocolate!"

"But I'm made of blood and skin and stuff! That would not taste like chocolate!"

"Your eyes are also chocolate coloured."

"Fine! Then I shall call you Panda-kun!"

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.