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Chapter 6: Before the Storm

The next day is Saturday, and though Black had planned on sleeping in, he is instead woken up before sunrise by his phone vibrating off the bedside table. He grumbles and reaches down for the phone.

'What kind of madman is up and texting so early-'

WHITE BLANCHARD: Meet me at my house at 5 tonight. And don't be late or I'll smack you!

Black sits up, bemused. This girl, whom he had met yesterday, is inviting him to her house - ordering him to her house, judging by the tone of the message. She hadn't even said "if you're free" or something along those lines.

It takes him a moment to formulate a reply.

BLACK: this sounds like a trap

WHITE: Whaaaat no way ;p

Well, that's reassuring. Maybe Black would have bought it without the winky face. But at the same time, he's curious and maybe a little bit excited. Maybe this is a trap worth falling into.

BLACK: How do I know I can trust you, Prez

WHITE: Stop calling me that or else :I

Black can almost feel her blushing over the nickname.

BLACK: fine fine...White

WHITE: Better

WHITE: I'm sending the address now. And don't worry, it's really not a trap. You're gonna love it

BLACK: If I agree, I don't suppose you'll tell me what we're doing?

WHITE: You catch on fast. I like that in a boy :p it's a surprise

The obvious flirtation in this message causes Black to finally give in. He is a teenage boy, after all. (Unbeknownst to him, White had done it in order to coax him in, and he'd played right into her hand).

BLACK: Alright alright I'll come

WHITE: I knew you would!

The address she sends him is not far from his own house, which suits Black just fine. Last night's rain has carried on till the morning, and a quick check of the forecast shows no signs of it letting up.

Black wrinkles his nose. He isn't fond of rain.

However, the feeling doesn't last long. An inexplicable giddiness has started to bubble in his chest. No longer tired, he hops out of bed with a goofy grin on his face, pumping his fist a little. Today has the potential to be one of his best days in a while.

...He just has to lie to his parents about it. Again.

Black sits back down on the bed, grimacing. He hates - hates - lying. Lying is a breach of trust. Lying is a sign of disrespect. Lying is cowardly and despicable. And yet he must, or…

"Or what? They'll disown me?... Kick me to the curb without a penny to my name? They're my parents, they wouldn't do that over something like this...and if they did...Would that even be a bad thing? It's not like I'm happy here anyways. I have friends who could help me out…But I can't go to college if they kick me out, and that means no practice rooms…What I'm doing right now is working just fine, even if I have to be dishonest…

"Piano comes first. Over myself and everyone else. Right?

For the first time, Black feels slightly uneasy over this personal motto that he's adopted. Becoming the best no matter what has always been something he has believed in, but the thought of sacrificing his integrity for it makes him feel ill. And right there, he decides something he wouldn't have ever considered just yesterday:

"I have to tell them. Otherwise I am worthless.

...not yet, though."

Black's phone vibrates again:

WHITE: One last thing - my car broke down. You have one, right? You're driving!

...

White has spent all day doing - well, nothing, mostly. Her car is in the shop for repairs, Emile is still at work and her theory was finished after her bath last night, so she has had nothing to do other than practice piano and play Xbox. Now half-asleep on the couch, she looks blearily up at the clock. 4:27 PM.

Black will be there soon, and White looks a mess. Her hair is tied in a messy ponytail, and she's still in her pyjama bottoms and a hoodie that is much too large for her.

She smiles inwardly as she gets off the couch and heads upstairs to the bathroom. How many people would have thought that the ultra-studious President White Blanchard was capable of such laziness?

She giggles a bit, wondering what Black would think. He'd probably be incredibly confused - although not as confused as he'll likely be when he finds out what he's doing tonight.

'Oh, I hope he's a good sport about this. It'll really help him. If he can just-'

She freezes, halfway undressed, and blushes.

'Jeez, why am I thinking about him so much?'

After a second, she shrugs it off. After all, tonight's events are about Black. It's only natural for her to be thinking about him. Even so, her blush doesn't completely fade until after she's in the shower.

White absolutely loves showers. She can spend hours just losing herself in the hot water. By the time she finishes, her fingers are wrinkled like raisins.

White shuts off the water and pauses, cocking her head. She hadn't noticed with the water running, but now she can hear someone downstairs, fooling around on her piano. The music is fast and too loud, but there are no missed notes. White grins. It seems a certain someone had let himself inside.

White kinda-sorta blow-dries and combs her hair, puts on the outfit she had picked out for herself (Tight jeans, a white tank top with a black vest, and black high-top Chuck Taylors - very cute) and tiptoes down the stairs, stopping halfway to peek over the banister into the living room.

Black hasn't heard her, and continues playing. He's playing something unfamiliar to White - it sounds modernish, and she notices he's playing slightly haltingly, hesitating on chord changes for a split second as if making a decision every so often.

'He's improvising,' White realizes. And quite well, at that. It sounds great. Black evidently thinks so, too, because the stressed expression he wore while playing in the practice room has been replaced by one of lazy serenity.

White watches him play for a bit longer, then calls out to him.

"So, are you in the habit of wandering into people's houses without knocking, or is it just for me?"

At the first word, Black's playing unravels and he mashes the keys in surprise, creating a supremely unpleasant PLONNNNNNNK.

"Black, I'm kidding," White says with a laugh. "I don't mind."

Black takes a few deep breaths. "Sorry, you just scared me. I knocked, but you didn't answer. I wouldn't have come in but it was raining out and I hate the rain so-"

"Black. It's fine. Calm down."

"Right." He takes one more deep breath before turning to her with an excited smile. "I've never played a piano quite like this before. It's fantastic."

"Isn't it?" replies White, bouncing down the stairs and joining him at the piano. "It was my mother's, but I'm the only one who plays it anymore…" she trails off for a second, then resumes: "There's something about this room that just makes it sound better than any piano I've ever heard. I like to think it's Mom's spirit in the keys."

Black looks at his feet. "When did she die?" He asks quietly.

White taps her cheek with her index finger and looks to the ceiling. "November 3rd, 2012. That's...wow, almost five years ago, now…" She claps her hands once, trying to stay cheerful. "But I don't want to talk about that. What I do want to talk about is that improvisation. You're good at that too, huh?"

Black scratches the back of his head. "I suppose so. I do it all the time," he says sheepishly. He slides over on the bench and pats the space beside him. "Care to join me?"

"Sure," answers White, hopping onto the bench beside Black, who starts playing again on the lower register. This is much simpler - a I-V-vi-IV chord progression, played in block chords and octaves. Thousands of modern pop songs use this progression, and it's not hard to improvise whatever you please on it. Black is inviting her to play a melody here.

So she does - a quick staccato tune, bright and cheerful. Black, in turn, starts playing his part in arpeggios and adds a harmony under White's melody with his right hand, matching her perfectly.

They go on like this for a while, following each other's lead. If Black changes key, White is there in an instant. If White decided to slow down the tempo, Black is ready for it. They sound good, playing together - really good. So good, in fact, that White loses track of the time. Finally, she glances up at the clock. It is already 5:45 PM - three quarters of an hour has passed in no time at all.

White nudges Black with her shoulder. He transitions into a final, drawn out cadence, ending their little jam session with a bang. As the final notes dissipate, he jumps off the bench and turns to White, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

"THAT WAS SO COOL!" He yells, causing White to wince a little. His indoor voice needs some work.

But he's right. That was really cool. As White grins and looks over at him, Bianca's text messages from yesterday flash through her head:

"Do you think he's cute?"

Not that she would admit it to anyone...but yeah, he is pretty darn cute. Especially when he's all excited like this. He's tall and well-built, if a bit skinny, with a boyishly handsome face. And there's something about his eyes…

Black, who has been rambling about their playing, stops mid-sentence. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he says.

"Enh? Oh! Sorry!" White yelps, realizing she's been staring. She can feel her face turning beet red. "I just spaced out," she lies. "Anyways, we have to go!"

"Go? Go where?"

White rolls her eyes. "Come on, Black. You think I invited you over just to improvise on my piano? Of course not." She rubs her hands together. "Tonight is step 1 of my plan for you."

"Plan? What plan? I don't like the sound of this," Black mutters. "I thought you said this wasn't a trap."

White frowns. "You believed me? I wouldn't have."

"Well...not really, no…"

White sighs. "Honestly, it's not a trap. It may feel like it, but I'm actually trying to help you here. You just...have to trust me. Please?" She gives him her best pleading puppy-dog eyes.

Black turns away for a second, looking uncomfortable. "I appreciate that you want to help me, but...why?" He says finally. "I mean, you just met me yesterday. You don't even know anything about me, really."

White cocks her head to the side again and sticks her tongue out. "That's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it?"

Black turns back and looks her in the eye, with a steely expression. "White," he says. He's being serious, and White is surprised.

"I don't know, okay?" She answers truthfully. "It just feels like something I need to do. Maybe it's my mother speaking. She would always go out of her way to help other musicians. There was this one time, she was competing in some contest or other. The contestants had to play two pieces, on two different days. There was one guy who did really badly on his first piece. He was really nervous and got it all wrong. So after he played, my mom went up to him, and she did such a good job of calming him down that the next day he played so well, he won the whole thing." White takes a breath. "She taught me never to just ignore someone who needs help =- even if you don't know them. And you, my friend, need help. Don't you agree?"

Black frowns. "Well, when you put it that way...okay. I'll accept your help. Just be honest with me, okay?"

White flashes a smile at him. "Of course. Now let's go! We're gonna be late!" And with that, she grabs him by the wrist and drags him to the door.

So it's been 7 months since the last update (whee) and finally, chapter 6 is up and...nothing happens, really. Oh well. Hi everyone, how you been?The funny thing is that after I decided to sit down and just bang this thing out, it took about...3 hours. Hahahaha.

Anyways, I think I've got a bit more of an idea of where i want to go with this thing, so hopefully updates won't take quite as long.

...Don't count on it, though.

Nobadi, Signing off.