Ciao, guys! Hey, guess what I actually updated somewhat faster this time! I deserve a ribbon.
Vlad: You guys, seriously. You don't know this girl. She's a procrastinating perfectionist. It's pure hell to be in her head.
I pity you, Vlad. I truly do. Anyway, grazie for the reviews! Chapter three at your service. ^^
It's been a few weeks since I started chorus, and I still haven't talked to Natalya. Secretly watched her, yes. Day dreamed about her, yes. But talked to her, no. Not yet. Yet...
We've been sitting here for the past five minutes doing nothing. The concert's in a few days, and Edelstein says we can have some down time now, since we know our music and stuff. It's really awkward, though. I don't talk to anyone, and they don't bother to talk to me. They all broke off into little groups, who now stand talking and laughing around the stage. I sit all alone on the risers, my arms around my knees, staring at the scuffed up floor. I would be staring at Natalya, but she disappeared once Edelstein let us off the hook for the day. I'm not entirely sure where she went, but I think she's back in the band room.
The bell finally rings and the students begin to file off the stage. I mostly follow, but stop behind the curtain where I put my books. I plan on leaving right away, since there's no one for me to watch. I stop when I see Natalya walking to the piano out of my peripheral vision. Well, almost stop. Accidentally run into the doorway is more like it, actually.
"Oh, hell!" I exclaim, forgetting I'm not the only person on stage. I hold my head and rock back and forth. "Damn it!"
"Don't you have a class to get to?" I look up in the direction of the voice and see Natalya standing next to the piano, arms crossed, staring at me blankly.
I forget about the pain in my head and straighten up, pushing my glasses up my nose. "Well, yes, but I... I..."
"Finally got what was coming to you," she finishes for me, walking over from the piano to my curtain.
I cock my head to one side, my blushing face distorted into both embarrassment and confusion. "What now?"
"You've stayed behind for weeks. You thought I hadn't noticed?"
She does still have her accent... It's so pretty... so... wait... what? "What?"
"I'm not oblivious," she responds, face still lacking emotion. "And you're not good at hiding."
I shrug and give a crooked smile. "Well, yeah. I'm six foot one. It's kinda hard to not get noticed."
I don't know why, but I was hoping my height would impress her. Her expression tells me it most certainly did not. "If you don't mind me asking," she says, pushing a piece of her silky, snowy blonde hair behind her ear. "What, exactly, is your problem?"
"Problem?" I ask aloud, mostly to myself. "I'm not quite sure I'd call it a problem, but..."
"Not your problem, no. My problem, yes," she glares. Her tone sort of hurts. "I don't like being watched. Especially not by egotistical sports fanatics."
"Hey!" I say, my face unwillingly displaying my disappointment. "I just play football. That doesn't automatically make me a fanatic or whatever! And I'm not egotistical, either!" She raises a thin eyebrow at me in question. "O-okay," I cringe. "M-maybe I am. Sort of. But what's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, probably," she shrugs, her small shoulders jerking up in a such a quick movement it's barely noticeable. I feel like I'm off the hook, but then she adds, "To most people, that is. To me, everything is wrong with it."
I'm still embarrassed, and now I'm hurting in more places then my head. "Why? I play sports. Is that so bad? You play piano, isn't it the same thing?"
Right away, I regret that statement. Her face finally breaks out of monotony, but what it breaks into is a sarcastic, amused, devilish expression. "Piano and football? Same things, da? Ha!" she laughs, pretty though insulting. "Piano does not involve sweaty men running after an oddly shaped ball and falling over each other."
I don't know what to say, she kinda hit it right on the mark. So I decide to make a joke. "You sure about that?"
To my surprise, she doesn't exactly go back to glaring. Although she has stopped laughing, her face hasn't completely sunk back into her normal expression. She has this weird, little smile on her face. I don't know if it's really a smile, since her lips are just the tiniest bit curled up at the corners, but it's the closest I've seen. "I started lessons before I left home. It's been..." she takes a second to think, looking up at the ceiling of the stage. "Eleven years? No, twelve. Twelve years, and I haven't seen anything like that."
"Well, you must not look hard enough, then," I smile, glad I could somewhat break her out of her shell, even if just for a few minutes.
"No," she says. "Even if such things did exist, I wouldn't be looking for them. I'll stick to my classical, thank you." her expression seems to lighten a bit more, which makes me smile a little bit bigger.
Just then the warning bell rings. "God," I groan. "Thirty fricken' seconds to get to class." I look at her for a second. "Well, bye, I guess." I wave and turn to go, hitting the wall again. "Damn! Okay. Now, bye. I promise."
To my astonishment, she actually giggles. Blushing, I beam and dash down the hall.
~/\~
History class goes by fast, and that's pretty much due to my lack of attention. I can't focus on what we're doing.
She talked to me! She insulted me! She laughed at me!
Okay, so not sure why I'm so excited about the 'insulting' part, but I am. Anyhow, I don't even bother to take notice of what we're doing this class-I just sit there and think about her. I actually don't notice how much time has gone by until Gilbert's poking my arm.
"Eh, eh, Alfie! What's up with you now?" he questions as he repeatedly jabs me.
"What's wrong? Did the bell ring or something?" I ask, taking off my glasses and rubbing them with the hem of my shirt to get rid of the smudges.
"The bell? What are you talking about?" he laughs at me. "We got the last few minutes off. Where have you been, Alfred?"
"I talked to her, you know," I say.
"Oh, really!" Gilby's looking at me with the weirdest expression ever. It's actually rather creepy, and I'm not ashamed to say I'm scared. I think anyone would be. "This has to be interesting. Might it have anything to do with the black and blue mark on your forehead, hmm?"
"What?" I exclaim, clutching my forehead and looking up towards it. "No way! It's black and blue? Aw, come on!"
Gilbert falls into what seems like an interminable fit of laughter as, blushing, slam him in the shoulder with my textbook.
Hey, hey, hey! They talked! They actually communicated!0 Isn't it adorable, just oh so adora-
Vlad: Why don't you write yaoi? Yaoi's adorable. Write it.
I told you. I don't do smut.
Vlad: BUT I DO AND I'M YOU. NOW WRITE IT, SLAVE.
Okay, okay! Maybe one day... maybe. Anyway, review and look for chapter four! I'm in a writing kind of mood, so it might even be up in a day or two, who knows. :)