Driving to school didn't take long – it never did – where I lived was, for the most part, a tiny speck of a town. My family had resided in Willowshire, Colorado for many generations. According to my mother, this had been where my great-great-great grandparents grew up. It had once been nothing but forest, mountain and rivers until a small group of people began using the area for cattle farms. From there, the little valley nestled between Silverton and Telluride slowly developed into what it is today. Although small in comparison to most towns, we have our own small shopping center with an old movie theatre, a grocery store, and of course—schools. In the last couple of years the town has started to develop more and more, and yet somehow it manages to hold onto a lot of what makes the town beautiful. The snow-capped mountains in the distance tower over the town, and much of the forestry continues to exist throughout. Willowshire holds a small population of maybe 3,000 people, and it is uncommon to meet someone you don't recognize.

As I turned into the school parking lot, I switched the music station to something more recent. Whatever the song was; I didn't like it. Being late, the high school parking lot was full, and I had to park away from the building. In my rush, I had forgotten to bring an umbrella, so I carried my book bag over my head as I sloshed through the puddles on my way to the school doors. Fortunately, the water wasn't deep enough to soak through my shoes. I rushed through the front doors; my sneakers skidding slightly on the linoleum floors. The front hall was empty, aside from the janitor – Mr. Leary – who was mopping up puddles and muddied spots. I apologized earnestly for making more of a mess as I ran to my English class.

The teacher scolded me for being late, shaking her head as her gaze followed me to my seat. Her name was Mrs. Donovan, and she was by far my least favorite teacher, which was unfortunate because it was my favorite subject. She was a middle-aged woman with spectacles that reminded me of those you would see on a little old lady.

It took me a few minutes to realize what the assignment was, but once Mrs. Donovan said the name 'Poe', I was instantly on board. It was the first-time Edgar Allan Poe's works were brought up in this class, and I was a big fan so this caught my attention. We were supposed to be reading The Raven, and I realized I didn't have a book with me.

I raised my hand sheepishly.

“Yes, Miss Hobbs?” the teacher said coldly.

“I don't have a book,” I replied, and noticed everyone had turned to stare at me. My cheeks instantly grew red.

“You can read from my copy.” She waltzed over to my desk and flopped the worn book onto the wooden surface.

“Thanks,” I said meekly and began flipping through the volume until I found the right page. I had become engulfed in the story, unaware of how quickly time was passing. I jumped when the bell rang and reluctantly put the book down.

“We will continue reading next week, Miss Hobbs,” Mrs. Donovan said as she pried the book from my hand.

“Right,” I mumbled and noticed that the classroom was deserted aside from us. I rushed out of the room and headed toward biology. I barely paid any attention to what was happening as the teacher droned on about heart vessels and other things I didn't care about. Next was lunch, and I was beyond excited to get out of the classroom.

The cafeteria was packed full of students. After gathering my tray of food, I walked slowly toward my usual table. Sitting there were my two closest friends, Jason and Karen.

Karen was your typical teenage girl – she loved to shop, to flirt, and to gossip. Somehow, however, we got along. We had known each other since we were toddlers, and lived as neighbors for nearly ten years before my mom decided to relocate to my current house. She was tall, stick-thin, with green eyes and perfectly straight, long blonde hair that she always wore in braids or a ponytail.

Jason, on the other hand, was somewhat different from the typical high school boy. He was smart, but I wouldn't classify him as a geek. He enjoyed sports, but I wouldn't consider him a jock, either. He had a love for literature, art, and most of all – partying. Jason was almost a jumble of every high school stereotype put into one body. We had been friends for nearly as long as Karen and I had. We met in kindergarten, and the three of us became inseparable. While some girls considered him highly attractive, he was just another guy to me, possibly because of our close friendship. He was slightly shorter than Karen (which I often teased him for), with a slight muscular build. Every member of his family had the same dark brunette hair with the faintest hint of a golden highlight; his hair was chin-length and wavy towards the ends. His eyes were a shade of brown that reminded me of milk chocolate.

“Hey, Alex,” Jason said with a grin, until he noticed my disappointed expression. “What's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” I said quietly, but knew he would pry it out of me one way or another.

“I'm not letting you off that easy,” he objected.

“Fine,” I eyed the food on my tray before pushing it away, “mom left.” I tried to stop myself from falling apart as I spoke the words out loud for the first time.

“What?” Karen piped in, having previously been distracted by one of the boys across the room, which was typical for her.

“She took the job in Denver that I was telling you about last week,” I studied their faces, “don't worry. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Where are you going to live?” Karen frowned, wrapping her arms around me in a sympathetic hug. “You can come stay with me if you need to. My parents have always said that you could stay whenever you wanted.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, my disappointed look evolving into a half-hearted smile. “She gave me the house...”

“You have your own house?” Jason gaped.

“I guess so.” I grinned. “She's paying for it, too.”

“Wow...” Karen whispered.

“So, when is the first party?” Jason smirked.

“I don't think I’ll be throwing any parties anytime soon, Jason.”

“C'mon...I'll do all the work!” he pleaded. “I'll make the invitations, get the food...you just have to provide the place!”

I laughed. “I'll think about it.”

My appetite finally came back, and I was able to down a pudding cup before the bell rang again.

“I'll see you two in the gym.” I waved as I walked off to music class.

My friends knew I was in music class, but as far as they were aware I hated it. Music was my passion, but I had my doubts that anything would ever come from it in terms of a career. Simply listening to a piece of classical music, or inventing my own, was enough to make me happy. Unfortunately, my mother could never afford to buy me a piano of my own, so most of my practice was done at school. There was also a period of my life where I took piano lessons, but after my father left I lost interest in it as well as many other hobbies. After a few years, I came to realize that Desmond wasn't returning, and I had to carry on with my life and rediscovered my joy of playing. I don't know why I felt so compelled to keep my love of classical music a secret. Maybe I was worried my friends would tease me for it, as they had done with other kids. I walked briskly into the class, excited to practice on the piano again. I had been improving greatly, and I was looking forward to getting my fingers on the keys.

To my despair, we had a substitute teacher who didn't appear to have a clue what he was doing.

“Mr. Collins won't be in today,” the teacher announced when the class was seated. He had a bulging round belly, and pants held up by suspenders. His head was round, with a very evident receding hairline. “My name is Mr. Knotts, and I will be filling in as best as I can, but I must apologize ahead of time – I am usually the astronomy teacher and have never touched an instrument in my life. It was short notice, however, and being close friends with Mr. Collins, I offered to take his role.”

“Then what do you expect us to do today?” The words came out of my mouth before I had the chance to stop myself. This wasn't uncommon for me, and I had been scolded on the habit far too many times – enough that I should have learned by now to keep my mouth shut.

“I-well...” the sub stuttered, ignoring my rudeness, and his puffy cheeks reddened. “I suppose you can just play whatever music you want until the bell rings,” he replied with a shrug of his thick shoulders.

The class laughed; myself included. I shrugged and walked over to one of the pianos – there were two of them in the classroom, as well as a keyboard. The one I selected had obvious wear to it, no doubt donated to the school by an employee or some sort of foundation. This was usually the one I chose to play on; something about it lured me to it the very day I began this class. I placed my hands on the keys, feeling comfortable and at ease as I gently ran my fingers along them. I played an unfamiliar tune, something that simply came to me as my fingers did their magic. I noticed that everyone had their eyes in my direction, and I stopped abruptly.

“That is magnificent,” someone said beside me. I could distinctly hear what I thought must have been a British accent mingled in their voice, “If not a tad melancholic,” they added.

“Um, thank you.” I blushed.

“Whose was it?”

“Mine,” I said quietly, almost wishing I had stuck with something well known to avoid the attention. Then I looked up, astonished by what I saw. Sitting next to me on the bench was a student I had never seen before in this class...or in the entire school, for that matter. He had a pleasant smile that ceased to fade as he stared at me through light blue eyes. He came into full focus – short, shaggy black hair that fell across his pale face, a long-sleeved burgundy V-neck shirt that hung loosely against his thin body, black slacks and a brilliant smile. His appearance was very unfitting for this school...maybe he was dressed for a meeting at the drama club after school or something.

“Where did you learn to play so well?” he asked, and I noticed how silky his voice was.

“My mom put me through lessons when I was a kid. The rest I learned here,” I answered confidently.

“I am impressed.”

“I’ve never seen you here before,” I spat out, without meaning to. I looked away suddenly.

“That is because I have never been here until today,” he replied and unexpectedly put his hand to my chin and turned my face back toward him. “I find you very intriguing.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I will see you later.”

“No, wait!” However, it was too late; he was already exiting the room as the words escaped my mouth.

As I pondered this unfamiliar new student, I continued playing on the piano – this time choosing something less conspicuous, and before I knew it, the bell was ringing. Stopping playing, I couldn't help but notice some students were staring in my direction still and talking in hushed voices. Clearly, it hadn't solely been my music that had caught their attention, but the out-of-place new kid as well. I sat there a few moments longer, still somewhat in shock from the encounter with this new boy, as I watched the rest of the students flood through the classroom door. After I gathered my thoughts, I exited the room and raced toward the gym.