Chapter 3:

"Solo Act."

It all started with ballet. My mom had her heart set out on turning me into an Anna Pavlova of sorts, but my consistent lack of bodily grace soon had her coming to terms with reality. Next came soccer, my mom figured maybe the problem was that I was cutout for more masculine pursuits— following an incident where I kicked myself in the face (don't ask me how) and my dad had to drive me to the ER, it became evident that I was the problem.

But my beautiful mother, was anything but a quitter— she just took too long to realize that her daughter was a very big fat quitter. She pushed me into theater, where not only did I make an absolute fool out of myself because of my severe lack of talent, but also made a lifelong enemy in the form of Naomi. She somehow got it into her head that I was after the lead parts of plays and was to be perceived as a rival.

If she'd taken time to really see me, she would've noticed my crippling stage fright and weak stomach when it came to standing in front of an audience. Which is why when I puked during her part of the school's production of Peter Pan, she took it as a call of war. Not only was I humiliated and branded Projectile Claire for a whole year in elementary school, but Naomi had been breathing on my neck ever since.

Despite the fact that my mother eventually took mercy on me, the fact remained that I had to get into some sort of extra-curricular. There was no way I was getting into a good college without one. So, my dad and I sat down and sifted through any and all possible after-school clubs. Since my dad got me (we were very similar) we were finally able to find a pursuit for me that didn't make me miserable.

I was in orchestra. I played the cello, the cello and I got along. I found I wasn't only bearable with it, but surprisingly good too. Sometimes, it even became a way for me to vent and express myself when words failed me, which was quite often. Orchestra was good because I could take the benefit of frequenting an extra-curricular while staying in the safe shadow of a group. Even taking the stage was easy because I was mostly at the very back, and out of view.

The only problem was that the cello is heavy. I had a ritual of cursing my decision of picking the instrument out whenever I had to carry it all the way from home, on the bus, and then to the music room. Which is why I had to go back in time and remind myself was this was the lesser of many evils. Hence the retrospective walkthrough of my failed extra-curricular pursuits.

"Wow, so you finally had to kill someone that came demanding payback for the yesses you say out of pettiness and politeness," Killua said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. He leaned against the school lockers, arms crossed, looking every bit like the jerk he was.

After my confusing exchange with him yesterday, my opinion of him wasn't much improved. "Har har, Wil Anderson. It's a cello, in case you haven't encountered one before," I said through gritted teeth, already annoyed by the weight on my shoulder.

"That thing must be heavy to carry around all day," he observed looking like was enjoying some private joke, proceeding to walk alongside me, unprompted, again.

"Almost as heavy as your massive ego, I bet."

His shit-eating smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. He recovered quickly, though, throwing his head back and laughing.

I'm ashamed to admit his laugh did a bit on me I wasn't expecting— was this what it was like to be mesmerized? I shuddered internally. Pretty privilege was real, this evil asshole proved it night and day without effort.

"Let me," he said, catching me off guard by taking the cello case off my shoulder. I wasn't expecting this strangely gentlemanly act from him, but that didn't mean it didn't secretly move me. "Are you any good?" He asked, as we made our way to the music room.

"I'd like to think so, yeah." I wasn't sure what propriety demanded when one was asked something like that.

"Are you like a solo act?" He followed-up, actually sounding interested. It didn't escape me that he was carrying my cello case with his fingers, and I had no idea how that was humanly possible.

"Well… no, I'm in orchestra." It felt absolutely weird to share that with him, and I had no idea why.

"Orchestra, huh?" Killua mused, his previous amusement replaced by a thoughtful frown. "So, cello chick, what do you play in this orchestra of yours?"

I scoffed at his uninspired moniker. "I don't think that would interest you, seeing as there aren't any pieces suited for the delicate ears of assholes, but I'll keep you posted if something comes along."

It was concerning how pleased this grown man looked with these exchanges. "You'd play for me then?"

I considered that for a moment. "Yes, well I wouldn't play for you per se. If you happen to be at the next concert, I'd be playing. I can't have you kicked out, though it won't be for a lack of trying."

That got a slight grin out of him. We were still walking, but the pace was anything but pragmatic. "So, grocery store bully by night, orchestra melomaniac by day? What else should one know about you."

We were now right in front of the music room, and I didn't pester him to leave because I was still a few minutes early to practice. "And why would one want to know anything about me?"

"I told you already, I find you interesting," he reminded, and I was half-expecting him to pretend like that encounter never happened. Okay, the guy was direct, and he had guts. I could admire that.

"Ah, yes there was that," I mumbled, attempting to sound unbothered but failing miserably. "There's not really too much to know. But what about you? What should one know about you?"

I did play an uno reverse on him, but I would be lying if I said I was just a little bit curious. His brooding, mysterious persona intrigued me too— I was a girl after all.

He responded by handing me back the cello case, his mischievous eyes suddenly turning cautious. "I think it's time for your practice," he informed me, pointing behind me where through the glass doors, one could see a bunch of my orchestra people already getting in place.

"Right… right," I said, momentarily confused and looking back and forth. "I guess I'll see you, then, or hopefully not," I added in the nick of time, making sure that he knew my distaste of him was alive and well.

But he didn't designate that with any response other than a singular solitary wave.

What a bipolar guy. I was quick to shake it off and head into practice.

I huffed, a pretentious and exaggerated way to show my annoyance. It was so quiet at this point that you could hear the ticking of the massive grandfather clock in the foyer, and this was not normal in my house. My mother was loud enough for all of us.

"I don't even know why we bother at this point," I began, looking at my parents sitting around a board game that had been going on for far too long. "Dad you can't stand to see mom lose, mom you're the sorest loser in a ten-thousand-mile radius, and— I can see you cheating." I pointed at how my dad was stashing his game money into my mom's pile.

My mother on the other hand had been contemplating for the past seven minutes whether a particular piece of game property should be bought or not. "You're just saying that because I'm winning," my mom dismissed, not the least bit ashamed.

The only fitting way to express myself at that was by rolling my eyes. "Dad? I'm hoping you'll find it in you to have a conscience?"

"Claire," he said, signaling for me to understand the intention with his eyes. "You know if she loses, it's going to suck for all of us— so technically we all win by letting her think she does," he explained, falling back to a barely intelligible whisper at that last part.

"Right," I seconded with heavy sarcasm in my tone. Like we were all oblivious to the way he worshipped her with his eyes. Despite feigning annoyance, I had to fight a smile.

My parents just fit. My mom; blond, bubbly, and beautiful. My dad; pitch-black messy hair, introverted, with that nerdy charm working for him in all the right ways. I swear you couldn't find two people who were more different, but more meant to be one.

I snapped out of my daze when my mom toppled the board over. "I don't even like this game," she announced, even though the enthusiasm she had for it would beg to differ.

"Huh," I observed, shaking my head at their absurdity. "Sore loser, cheater," I branded, gesturing to each one respectively. My mother rose to sit on the couch, while my father, bless his heart, stayed to pick up the mess she left behind.

"The game was boring," she justified, now directing the full force of her compelling blue eyes at me. I already knew I was in trouble. "Tell me if you've met any cute boys at school, I need gossip."

My parents had always been exceptionally chill. I suspected that was why I was yet to experience the teenage angst phase where one couldn't help but despise their parents. I got along really well with mine, to the point where they made up the majority of my scarce friend group.

However, in their early forties, they had developed a penchant for nosiness that was legendary. Sure, it was my mom asking the annoying questions, but a glance at my dad would tell you how his ears shot up in anticipation.

My dad worked in a high-profile security company and my mom worked in PR for washed-out one-hit wonders. I could understand why they'd need their dose of entertainment from me. Didn't mean I would enable it.

"No cute boys, mom, just calculus for me," I mumbled, helping my dad sort through the damage.

She groaned like she was unable to scratch a particular itch. Knowing her, the lack of gossip probably did feel exactly like that to her. "When are you going to let me in on your love life…"

"You speak of a non-existent entity, mother," I ensured, finding a fugitive dice near the foot of the couch, "maybe you should update me on your love life. Any exciting developments with the mailman?"

"Anything I should know, Hana?" my dad asked, trying very hard to look hurt. Thank God our family's livelihood didn't depend on him having an acting career.

"It's just a fling Hachiro," she dismissed, doing a much better job than him with the performance. "But don't think I didn't notice you changing the topic," she warned, still looking starved for a scrap of drama.

"Okay, here's some gossip for you," I granted, dusting my jeans off before plopping on a seat. "I hear that some girl at school is having a thing with a teacher." I had come in possession of this particular piece of information through Nora, who had her nose in other people's business like her life depended on it.

That got my mom off my back, as I predicted. The glint in her eyes was aggressive as she launched into a series of scenarios and questions with the opening I had provided.

My dad followed the exchange with his eyes. By the way he was looking at her, you'd think they'd just gotten involved instead of having fifteen years of marriage in their belt.

I plopped back, taking the whole thing in with a grateful heart. I had a good life, and it hadn't always been like that.