At exactly 7:00, a low quality rock song hammered on Hibiki Misora's eardrums. Her heavy eyelids lifted, and she clumsily rolled out of bed and shut off her alarm. She put on her uniform, brushed her hair, and strolled to the kitchen, where her father had left breakfast and a note that he would be working late again that night.
She packed her bag and threw her guitar over her shoulder, and stepped outside where her friend Hinata waited and waved. He was a plain looking boy of average height and brown hair, and a permanent wide grin.
"You look like more of a mess than usual."
She raised her eyebrows at him, "Say that again."
He laughed and playfully roughed up her hair, "I'm surprised teacher hasn't sent you home for coloring your hair pink; she keeps scolding you."
Misora threw up her hands, "It's the last shred of individuality i have, and there is no written rule against it."
"But there's an unwritten rule," he pointed.
As they entered the school, the air was hostile. To avoid being met with the occasional scowl, Misora kept her eyes on the floor. A student protruded his leg in front of them and, seeing it at the last second, Misora managed to dodge it. She twisted around aggressively and Hinata held her back.
"Dont bother. It's not worth it." Reluctantly she eased off and they went to their classroom.
"Hibiki Misora," scolded her teacher, "Hibiki Misora, your socks are not dress code."
Everyone turned to look under the desk at her striped pink knee socks. She curled her feet under her and turned red with anger and embarrassment.
"Tomorrow wear acceptable socks. For today, fold them down. I expect to see you in dress code from now on."
A few snickered. The girl sitting behind her leaned forward and whispered, "Screw up".
Her fist tightened, as she caught a glimpse of Hinata's face and a shake of his head from across the class. She took a couple deep breaths and, as they were dismissed, slumped her shoulders, and held her head down as she headed for the music room.
"It feels like you're getting into more and more trouble every day," Hinata laughed cautiously, "I'm beginning to wonder if you just don't care anymore."
"This school is full of jerks with no imagination," she replied, tuning her strings, "I have no use for it or them."
"C'mon now, that's a little discriminative. You're doing to them the same thing they do to you."
She sighed and rested her head on the neck of the guitar, "You've got your piano career ahead of you. Papa wants me to work for his company. I can't do it; it would kill me."
"Is this what your slacking has been about? Your mother was an entertainer wasn't she?"
"She sang for high end restaurants."
"So you want to follow in her footsteps?"
Misora shook her head, "I want to write my own music. I want to make art."
Hinata shrugged and placed his fingers down on the piano, "Then you have to stop playing cover songs. I remember how you were before your mother died, you were more cheerful. Just as disorganized, but now- it's you against the world." He played, "You know how difficult it is to make it as a music artist? What if you can't?"
"Are you coming to open mic night to watch me perform after school?" She ignored his question.
"Can't. I've got my music lesson."
Misora tilted her head, "Do you like classical music?"
He laughed, "No, but im good at it, and it'll get me a scholarship," he leaned back, "Most people just aren't as fanatical about music as you Misora, and that is one of the main reasons you become a target. The other is that you're kinda scary."
She rolled her eyes and smiled.