A/N: I swear to you all that this will be THE LAST revision of this story. I PROMISE! Plus, I have made a promise that I would finish it this time around, so it won't be a total waste of anyone's time. YAY!
This disclaimer covers the entire story: I don't own anything, besides Anna and any other original characters that may wander along.
The most intimidating thing in the entire world is going to a new school. Now, when this school is half across the world away from everything you know, the first day jitters are amplified times a million. That day, I swore I'd have a heart attack and die.
I, Anna Stephens, have been accepted to The Academy of Music in London, England. Eight hours from Ohio had brought me to the cold stone exterior of the Academy. There were multiple buildings in a cluster, and with sincere hopes of not looking like an imbecile, I picked the largest of the buildings and moseyed.
My black shoes clicked on the ancient linoleum floors (god this place was old). The office was fairly easy for me to find, what with "office" emblazoned across the door. I opened the door to a desk with an old, graying woman sitting behind it. She unfolded the metal rod shoved up her butt - the one that kept her spine straight - in order to greet me.
"Hello," she said in a harsh high- pitched voice. "I am Ms. Pemberton, the head mistress. Welcome to the Academy." She shook my hand with the icy cold tendrils of the Reaper.
"The reason why you are here is to better your musical abilities. The school does not tolerate insolent behavior, tardiness, displays of affection," the last she spit with some feeling and I didn't wonder why she was still a spinster, "...or any behavior contrary to your learning experience. All work will be in on time. You're practicing schedule goes as such..." Just when I thought this old bat wouldn't stop talking, she actually got to the point.
"The young man who was to bring you around the school has come down with the flu. The ONLY person whom we could find that had most of your classes has a violin sectional 4th hour, but you will go to clarinet sectional 7 rooms down the hall. Meet," her voice had just gone a bit harsher and I got the distinct impression she did not like this person, "Sherlock Holmes."