Author's Notes: Hello everybody. This is my newest story and it is, once again, overly dramatic. Give it a shot, and if you like it, feel free to drop a review. If you don't, also feel free. I accept constructive criticism and even flames. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.
"Try it again! It didn't even begin to resemble correct!" the man yelled at the boy cowering on the smooth black piano bench. "Do it slower and maybe your tiny mind can comprehend how it goes!
The boy, twelve-year old Virgil Tracy, lifted trembling hands to the gleaming keys of the piano and began to play the twinkling melody more slowly.
"Wrong note!" his teacher hissed as his fingers hit the incorrect key.
Flustered, Virgil began making more and more mistakes, until finally the song was unrecognizable. Feeling completely inadequate, he rested his head on his arms and tried not to cry as the man shrieked and yelled and pitched a fit.
"Are you listening to me, Virgil Tracy?" Matthew Lane asked angrily. "I am your teacher and an adult and you need to look at me when I'm speaking to you!"
Virgil raised his head slowly and shuddered. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lane. I'll practice! I'll get it right!"
"No, Virgil, you won't! Shame you inherited absolutely none of your mother's talent at all! She was truly gifted, Lucy was..." Matthew scowled. "Too bad you're not."
The timer on the clock rang suddenly, startling both master and pupil. "Time's up, finally. Go home, Virgil, and practice until you get it right. Don't come back here and waste my time, your father's money, or your poor dead mother's blessing anymore. I am running out of tolerance for your stupidity."
Virgil gathered up the sheet music in front of him with a trembling hand, threw it into his schoolbag, and fled, leaving behind his coat in his hurry to be away.
He was halfway home when the brisk winter chill began to affect him, but he had no desire to return to his so-called teacher's house and retrieve the forgotten jacket. He slowed to a walk now, rubbing his arms quickly in a futile attempt to stay warm, and thought about his lessons. He didn't know why he didn't skip them or something! He wasn't really sure how much more he could take!
Matthew Lane had become his piano instructor not long after his mother Lucille had died in the avalanche, almost six months ago. He had been her teacher when she was learning, and she had always thought he was wonderful at his job. Therefore, when her third-born began to show signs of a musical genius in the making, she'd wanted him to learn from what she considered the best. Lane, however, had been at Germany at the time, so Virgil had settled for another teacher that he truly liked, a young man named Derek. Lane had returned in time for Lucille's funeral and Jeff Tracy, Virgil's father, had requested that he teach the talented young boy. Lane, unfortunately, had accepted.
Too bad nobody had thought to ask Virgil what he wanted.
It certainly wasn't this, being yelled at three times a week, constantly reminded of his deceased mother and his 'weak' talent. But despite the fact that Matthew Lane was a cruel, rude man, he was still a professional pianist and there was much to learn from him. Virgil's mother had wanted him to train professionally, and he intended on it. So he kept quiet about the things Lane said to him and went diligently to his lessons.
Virgil turned onto his street, glad its sidewalks had already been plowed. His shoes and socks were uncomfortably soaked and he thought longingly of his warm home. He sped up now, eager to change his damp clothes and curl up with a good book.
He turned onto the front walk, shivering violently as the wind picked up. The windows of the house were dark and no footprints marred the yard, except for his own. Even with his hour-long lesson, he was still the first one home. It was Friday, meaning Scott had a basketball game, John was working on a science project at a friend's house, and Jeff had taken Gordon and Alan to the doctor's for a check-up. It would be peacefully quiet inside the house without the youngest two brothers, and it should last for at least another forty-five minutes.
Virgil started to reach into the coat pocket where he kept his key, but stopped dead when he remembered that he didn't have his jacket.
It was lying back at Lane's, and he was locked out.
Not the best drama I have ever done, but oh well. Let me know if you like it and would like me continue, or if you would rather I go jump off a cliff. Either way works.