BPOV

Wednesday again.

I sat in my reserved jam room in the back building that housed the Music and Arts Wing of the school, grateful for the five minutes I was going to take to scarf down my lunch and the remaining 30 I was going to take to "jam out". By "jam out" I mean to use my instrument of choice, today the piano to get some release, if any, from this eternal curse of silence I've been damned with. It's not that I'm shy, no. I wouldn't say I'm reserved either. I've just always been, I don't know, different. Something you can't quite put your finger on but enough to give anyone who tries to interact with me pause. I spent a long time trying to figure out what that thing was but have only recently decided that I don't think it matters. For the most part, I like being alone, uninterested in the nitty gritty of establishing connections, and nauseous at the thought of venturing into uncharted territory.

I quickly finished my lunch, sat at the piano bench, and began playing the notes to a song sharing in title exactly what I was trying to accomplish now. The melody of Take Five by Dave Brubeck spills out of my fingertips, letting the curious yet lush tones sound through as I played through the would-be saxophone solo. As I reached the climax of the song I heard the door open, I hit a wrong chord, startled by whatever unknown guest had joined me but I didn't stop, I was in it. I immediately hit a discordant but intentional trill of notes and quickly recovered. Miles Davis famously said, "If you hit a wrong note, it's the next note that you play that determines if it's good or bad." Sage advice that was only further proven correct when I heard a low gasp in response to my recovery of the musical faux-pas as I tickled the last few bars to the keys.

I looked over my shoulder to see the Music Department head Mr. Becker standing at the entrance of the room, "Sorry, Bella! I was just showing our new student around!" Next to him stood a boy, tall with broad shoulders and a gorgeous mop of bronze hair that cast a shadow on a set of soft green eyes. I dropped my gaze.

"Hope we didn't interrupt. Should I put you down for your same room tomorrow?" said Mr. Becker

"Of course, Mr. Becker." I wasn't sure why he was even asking, I saw him more than my own mother. It's a little embarrassing to admit but I'm definitely the kid that eats lunch with their teacher. Call me a teacher's pet but I'll take conversations about music and Mr. Becker's stories of the 80's and a not-so-forgotten beatnik fantasy of his in exchange for a solitary and quiet respite from whatever high school hell I was enduring.

"I'll catch you later, kid!" He said as he and the boy turned to leave and I gave a polite smile as they exited the room.

I continued with my music, pounding out a weird arrangement of Leave Me Alone by Michael Jackson that I had been working on. How apt.

EPOV

It was Wednesday. It was my first day at my new school. Again. My stomach felt like it was in knots. I was overcome with a mix of nervousness and giddiness-first day of school jitters-followed by another feeling of dread in its shadow, almost too aware of how I could fuck up an opportunity for a fresh start. Again. It's not that I've never had friends, having moved around so much it was hard to feel like any connection was meaningful when there was always an expiration date looming overhead. Sometimes it feels like I'm so far removed from anyone I've known and even more disconnected from the version of myself they knew. I hope this time will be different but I'm incredibly doubtful, especially considering how my family draws attention and weird looks like a moth to a flame.

My family is unconventional, to say the least. To say the most, all of my siblings are dating. No, not like that, sickos. We're an adoptive family with incredibly good luck. Carlisle adopted me, Jasper, and Rose a while back, and shortly after Alice and Emmett. We're not blood-related and we're all teens so I guess they're just cool with it. It never makes sense to people outside our family and draws attention to something I'm sometimes not sure how to respond to. It starts to make sense when they learn my parents are just holdover hippies who never outgrew the seventies and never had to due to a generous inheritance from my late grandfather. It's all about peace and love with them.

We arrived at school, and my first three classes went by in a blur of unfamiliar information and sideways glances from my classmates. Leave it to Esme to make us move in the middle of the semester and start in the middle of the week. All eyes were on us, for sure. Firstperiod PE-Hell. Second period Calc. Third period English Literature. Finally, the lunch bell rang.

I snaked my way through to the cafeteria only to realize that none of my siblings shared lunch with me. Overcome with nerves, and not wanting to sit alone, I decided to find the Music and Arts Building. I overheard someone mention something about jam rooms and open studio time which piqued my interest. I stalked through the quad determined to find out more. I entered the warm building and was greeted by a short stocky man. "Can I help you?" He asked

"uh, I'm Edward, I'm new, I was just looking around," I answered

"Well welcome, Edward! I'm Mr. Becker, head of the music and arts department. Did you want a tour?"

"uh sure, thanks"

He showed me around the sizable building, the east wing that housed the art wing, full of professional equipment, including a riso printer and a complete ceramics studio. I made a mental note to tell Alice to check it out. The west wing was the music department. "This is the music room, we have individual jam rooms available for reservation. He motioned to the wall lined with booths, "But this is the only booth with a piano" he added as we entered the only booth with a person in it.

The music in the room was instantly recognizable. The player hit a wrong note but then followed it up with a lick of discordant notes that tied it all together. I gasped, embarrassed at having interrupted and impressed at the non-mistake she incorporated into the song.

A heart-shaped face with chocolate eyes and a full pout in a shy smile looked over her shoulder at us.

"Sorry, Bella! I was just showing our new student around!" said Mr. Becker "Hope we didn't interrupt. Should I put you down for your same room tomorrow?"

"Of course, Mr. Becker." She responded.

Her name was Bella. And she was going to be here. In the music room. Tomorrow.

"See ya later, kid!" Mr. Becker said as we left. Bella smiled at us as we exited the room. The sound of an unfamiliar melody playing us out as the door shut behind me.

Mr. Becker gave me the rest of the tour which included the recording studio available for student use.

My last school in Washington didn't have much to show as far as arts and music funding but I guess things were done differently in Chicago.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of unfamiliar faces and sideways glances. The only thing keeping my thoughts busy was the girl from the music room. Take Five was a classic, a piece that any true jazz lover would know. The way she managed to turn her mistake into something beautiful made me believe that she was skilled and probably very familiar with the piece. It made me curious to know what else she was familiar with.

After my last period chemistry I went straight to the back building to reserve a booth for tomorrow. I was determined to find out.