Greetings and salutations, everyone! As you all know, this is my first fanfiction. Ever since I first discovered the wonderful world of anime, Shugo Chara! has been very near and dear to my heart. For all of you who are wondering (because you didn't read my profile - shame on you!), I do play the violin. I've been playing for 5 and 1/2 years, and I have a poster of Ikuto up in my room where I can see it when I practice. Half the time, I'm mad at him for being so good, and half the time I'm inspired to try harder so I might be as good as him one day!

I have a feeling this story could go on for quite some time. But that also depends on you readers! Please, R & R!!!! ...please?.....anyone there?... just kidding. I know you love me, and I hope you'll love this story!!! Enjoy!!!!


It was gone. My beautiful, hand-knitted scarf had been stolen away by Old Man Winter's icy claws. Of course I had tried to chase it, but when it snagged on the front of a tour bus, I gave it up. It made a pretty good hood ornament, and besides, I had a very important audition to get to and no idea where I was. I couldn't believe I had given up my mild Virginia winter for this. A huge city full of weirdoes where it was zero degrees plus wind chill. And it was only December.

With a thirty-story building on every block, I felt the entire city was always above me. Of course, I needed only to look at the street to change my mind. Totally by chance, I stumbled upon the one skyscraper I was looking for. I bent down and patted the bundle I was carrying. "Hold on, baby. We're almost there." A quick glance in the building's mirror-like siding told me my hair was an utter mess. But then, so was everyone else's in this place. Even as I tried to pat my brown frizz back into curls, a guy with hair that made him look like the Statue of Liberty dashed by on a bike. I guessed he probably had enough green dye and hair gel on his head to turn Tokyo into Oz.

I took a deep breath and marched in, re-reading the name on the glass, automatic-sliding doors. Easter. I had lost count of the times I had wondered where that name had come from.

"You must be Cynthia South-san," a man wearing a suit and dark glasses said in Japanese.

"It's North. Cynthia North," I corrected him, coughing to cover my laughter.

"Forgive me, North-san," the man said. "Welcome. Hoshina-san is in a recording session right now, so you'll have to wait in the lounge. Let me take that for you." He gestured to the case in my left hand.

"No, thank you," I said, I'm afraid, a little coldly. My violin always stayed with me. Always.

"Very well," he said, still hiding his expression behind those blackened lenses. "Follow me, Cynthia-san."

I was quite relieved when the shady man left me. I plopped down on the couch and opened my case to check the hygrometer. "Good," I muttered. It was back up to 45 now that we were in a heated building. The cold was not doing my violin any good, that was for sure. I plucked each string quietly, tuning completely by ear, trusting in my perfect pitch. As I picked up my bow and started warming up, I let my mind wander.

I wondered how my parents were doing back home. But of course, that was a silly thing to think about. They had never needed me. My mother was a successful painter, and my father was the music director at my school – one of the most prestigious private academies in Virginia. In fact, before I was born, my uncles betted on whether I would be an artist or a musician. As soon as I started grade school, my parents enrolled me in art classes, piano lessons, and the gifted-and-talented program. I honestly feel sorry for them, because even after months of lessons, my paintings looked like a two-year-old had done them, and when I played the piano it sounded like thirteen hellcats had been unmuzzled at the same instant. Needless to say, I was kicked out of the gifted-and-talented program very quickly. Over the years, I tried drama, ballet, cake decorating, creative writing, and everything remotely artistic. My parents refused to admit that it was possible that their child was talentless, so they told everyone I would grow out of my artistic awkwardness, and that one day I would find something I could do. I, on the other hand, knew I had no hidden talent.

My father was more determined than my mother was. In my first year of junior high, he insisted that I take up the violin so I might have a sliver of hope toward playing second fiddle in the school orchestra. Once he promised this would be the last thing either of my parents made me try, I reluctantly agreed. I don't know what went on inside me, but as soon as I set my bow against the string, I knew I would be playing the violin for the rest of my life. It was like love at first screech.

However, there was no way on earth could I tell my parents that. Not after so many years of spurning their eager shoves toward artistic ability. Some of the things I had tried before the violin, I had really, truly sucked at. Others, I had just hated with such a fiery passion that I had acted like I was horrible at them so my parents would let me quit. Take cake decorating. It bored me to tears, so I had ruined a few frosting flowers. On the other hand, I couldn't have coaxed a good story out of a pen if I wanted to.

But this was new for me. Yes, I sounded horrible when I played, but I wanted – needed – to keep going. After a few months of struggling with my violin, even my parents were trying to get me to quit, not to mention my instructor, who was so tired of hearing me squeak "Twinkle, twinkle, little star" that he had started wearing earplugs to my lessons. So without their knowing, I found a new, more patient teacher and continued with lessons after school, while my parents thought I was staying after class to study. At home, I practiced every spare moment I had, shut up in my room where no one but I could hear. And in the next four years, somewhere along the line, I got good at it. Really good.

Mere months ago, I found out about the audition for a violinist in the indie band "Black Diamond." As far as my parents knew, I had suddenly developed a desperate interest in my school's study-abroad program and begged to join and go on their upcoming trip to Tokyo. I didn't know when I would come out with my passion for the violin. Maybe not until I was famous. I did know that joining this band was going to be my way of showing my parents – and the world – what I could do and how far I had gotten on my own, against all odds. I had to ace this audition and get the job. I just had to…was I nervous? I was never nervous. Why was I…

"Mendelssohn's violin concerto."

My bow screeched to a stop when I jumped at the sudden, deep voice behind me. I clutched my violin and slowly looked up and found the upside-down face of a blue-haired boy leaning over me. So that was why I was nervous.


So what do you think? I already have the next few chapters ready to upload, but I will be eager to write more if I get some reviews! Thanks everyone for reading!