AN: I hope Andre doesn't come out too OOC here. I didn't want it to sound arrogant or conceited. More like accurate self-analysis and the knowledge that he's the best at something.
Warnings: None, really. A mention of negligent parents but that's about it.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Victorious"
Chapter Five
Pride
Andre Harris doesn't have much. Oh, he's got money, he supposes. A nice house. A nice car. Decent friends who are only mostly crazy as opposed to completely insane like his grandma.
But all he really has is his music and his pride because no matter what happens, no matter what any tests ever say about him or his family or his brain, the music will always be a part of him. And if that's not something to be proud of, he doesn't know what is.
He can take a cacophony of jumbled notes and turn it into beauty. He can take the vague, misunderstood feelings of another's heart and create the perfect symphony of emotion that had been hiding there all along. He can tell you what music should sound like. Make any instrument sound the way it was always supposed to.
And he's proud of that. Even if no one else is. Not his parents busy avoiding the responsiblity of both a mentally disturbed old lady and a supremely talented youth by throwing the two together. Not his grandma who's scared that his piano is a evil, soul sucking machine from hell. Not his friends who hear the music but don't feel it.
He knows he's the best damn student at Hollywood Arts even if Trina claims the title and most others give it to Tori or Beck or Jade. Because none of them can do what he can. None of them are even half as good. And it sounds mean to say, which is why he never would out loud, but he believes it. Not that they aren't talented, merely less so.
So he'll keep his pride. His pride and his music.
He doesn't have anything else.