By Monday, somehow the rumor that I was a, and I quote, "piano-playing goddess" had spread throughout the school. How someone could have gathered that out of my playing of Moonlight Sonata, I will never know, but that's what came out of it. I figured a few detail changes factored in somewhere, and some dramatizations too. But that was to be expected. I hadn't imagined the expressions on everyone's faces— on Olivia's face.

So that was why I wasn't surprised to find a threatening note stuck to the inside of my locker.

Get out of here, commoner. This is no place for trash like you. You're just a mediocre pianist wanting to be a hotshot.

Sighing, I crumpled up the note and threw it to the base of my locker. Apparently someone had found out about my financial status as well. Which was a little creepy, but it didn't matter to me. So what if I wasn't rich? Only 99.99% of the population was. It just so happened quite a bit of that population went here.

"What is this, preschool?" I muttered, finding another note stuck to my English notebook.

Anyone can play Moonlight Sonata. Don't get too ahead of yourself.

A scoff left my lips. "Are you kidding me? Get ahead of myself?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Nearly jumping out of my skin, I turned to see Oliver standing behind me. He offered me a small smile. Placing a hand on my heart, I let my shoulders sag. "You scared me."

"I see that," he commented with a grin. "So what's up with that note?"

"Apparently my class is threatened by my mediocre piano skills... you know, I thought stuff like this only happened in movies?"

Frowning, Oliver took the note out of my hand. "Oh, I heard about this."

I smiled wryly. "Aren't you in guitar?"

"Word spreads quickly. Hello, Internet."

"Awesome."

"You must be pretty amazing though, for everyone to be so intimidated."

Shaking my head, I closed my locker, suddenly feeling weary. "I don't get it though. I mean, Moonlight Sonata isn't a difficult piece."

"Allie, playing good music isn't just about the level of difficulty. It's about the way you portray the feeling, about how you play it," Oliver informed me, shifting his backpack on his shoulder. "You should know that."

"Huh... I guess I never thought of it that way."

He smiled. "Guess not, huh?"

"But still... this is bad."

"I'll say," Oliver agreed, glancing down at the note in his hand. "This happens a lot though. It usually dies down in a week. It happened to me once."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really," he insisted, his dark eyes glinting with mystery. "I took care of it easily though."

"Do I want to know?"

"Nope."

I laughed, nodding. "Okay, I won't ask then. What are you doing here so early, anyway?"

"I have to take a vocab quiz for Kyle," he said with a grimace. "I suck at vocab, but at least he makes it easy. Multiple choice and all that."

It took me a second to realize Oliver was talking about Mr. Tucker. Was I the only one who didn't call him by his name? "That sounds... fun."

"Do you want to come with me?" he inquired, his eyes pleading. "It'll only take a few seconds, I swear."

My heart fluttered, but I forced the feeling back. Mr. Tucker was a teacher and only a teacher. Besides, I had more important matters to attend to. "I would, but..." My eyes shifted down the hallway. "I'm going to see who's here. If you know what I mean."

Understanding crossed Oliver's face immediately. "Ah, I see. No problem. I wish I could help."

"No, no, it's fine. Go get an A on that quiz."

"I'll try my best."

"And Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

"To fail means to be unable to meet the standards set by a test."

He smirked at me. "Thanks for that. Really helps me."

"No problem," I responded with a smirk of my own.

Waving once, he turned his back on me and headed up to the third floor. I shrugged my backpack over my shoulder and headed in the opposite direction, ready to start my hunt for my harasser. Well, it wasn't harassment yet, technically, but close enough. This morning I'd received a ride from Paul, so I was thirty minutes early, meaning hardly anyone was around, including most teachers. Paul liked to be the early bird. I figured finding the one person who'd delivered the notes would be easy, but the halls were like ghost towns. The lights weren't even on in half of them.

I trudged my way to the piano wing, figuring this would be the only other place the culprit would escape to. Unfortunately, all the piano rooms were locked, except the main room, where Paul was sitting, correcting some quizzes we'd taken last week on music theory... which I was sure I failed. Just before I could close the door, he glanced up at me, green eyes curious. "Something wrong?"

"Ah, no... just bored," I lied. Well, semi-lied. Walking around by myself was a little boring.

"Want to come in?" he offered, waving me over. "I wouldn't mind a little company."

Slipping in, I shut the door behind me, and ambled over to his desk, taking a seat on the edge of it. "What do you do all day, Paul?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you only have one class, two every other day. That leaves the first part of the day free. So what do you do?"

He frowned at me. "I work, of course."

"Work how?" I questioned, not sure how to make my query more specific.

"On writing music and practicing. You know, for my own performances and stuff. Not all my day is dedicated to you guys. Remember, this isn't a real job. I'm a substitute. I get paid like one too..."

I pursed my lips at him. "You're already rich, Paul."

Laughing, he nodded. "Right. I'm just saying."

"This school is so messed up," I sighed.

"Money is a powerful thing, Allie."

"I can see that," I responded, kicking my feet against the drawers of his desk. "Is it fun? Teaching piano class?"

A small smile spread across his face. "Yeah, it is. Sometimes these kids have bad attitudes, but I understand frustration. We all can't be born with amazing talent. It's a lot of hard work. But it's nice watching them grow. I haven't been here long, but from what I've seen being here, this class has grown a lot. I like to think I had an effect on them. Taught them something."

"You like to think?" I echoed. "Um, Paul. Have you seen yourself play? Watched a recording? You're amazing. Why do you think you're famous? Of course you've affected these guys!"

Embarrassed, Paul hung his head. "I'm not..."

"Don't you dare say you're not that good."

"How come you're allowed to say it then?" he challenged.

"Because I'm not rich and famous because of my piano playing."

He frowned, looking back up at me, his brown bangs falling into his eyes. "You know, I don't play just because I want to be rich and famous."

"I know that. I'm just saying..."

"I know what you're saying," he said, turning his attention back to the quiz he was working on. "I guess everyone has their doubts."

I pressed my lips together to hold back my next retort. "Yeah, you're right."

"But I'm sure you didn't miss the expressions on everyone's faces last Friday. I told you that you were awesome."

Grimacing, I focused on my clean fingernails, suddenly interested in their lengths. "Uh, yeah."

"You don't sound so excited..."

"I don't like showing off." My response was surprisingly honest. I really didn't like showing off. But somehow my answer felt more like an excuse.

Paul paused, his pen stopping in mid-stroke. "Oh. I never thought about it that way."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Wait, you're kidding right?"

"No."

"Paul, that's half the reason why people like Olivia would play in front of everyone else. To show off. The ones who are not interested in playing are the ones who don't want to show off."

He scrunched his forehead together, frowning again. "I never thought about that..."

Our gazes met and I pursed my lips. "Sometimes you're dense, Paul."

"Hey," he protested. "Sometimes showing off is a good thing."

"Yeah, sometimes. But not like Olivia."

"What about her?"

"She's obviously doing it just to show off."

Paul glanced down at his desk. "She's very good..."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah, but she does it for attention."

"Well, I like her."

"You're kidding."

"You don't like her?"

I opened my mouth to ask if he'd seen the nasty looks she shot me, but decided against it. "Uh, I don't really have any feelings toward her..."

After giving me a suspicious look, he shrugged and turned back to the quiz in front of him. "I'm not surprised."

"What?"

"You're not exactly friends with anyone in our section."

Maybe Paul hadn't noticed how stuck up the bunch was. Sure, none of them had exactly been mean to me, but none had gone out of their way to be kind and befriend me. And after Friday, I doubted anyone would. Except... "What? I'm friends with Elliot!"

"But are you friends on his part?"

My heart dropped a little. "I... I think we're friends..."

Paul seemed to realize what he'd said and clicked his tongue. "No, wait. That came out wrong. Elliot's just a difficult person, but you're the one he interacts with the most... you're the only one he interacts with. You guys are definitely close friends."

A little bit of relief flooded through me. As much as I liked to believe Elliot was my friend, there was that little bit of doubt in me. Since I was always the one following him, speaking to him first, sitting next to him, asking him to work on something with me. It was never the other way around. And at work, he liked to pretend we didn't go to the same school. Which was good, because that meant he kept my working at the diner a secret from Paul whenever he ordered there while I was out "studying".

The door to the classroom suddenly swung open and I promptly hopped down from Paul's desk, fixing my skirt. A surprised expression crossed Paul's face as he turned toward the door. I followed his gaze, my eyes widening when they landed on Mr. Tucker. He blinked back at us, standing by the doorway awkwardly. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Paul and I chorused.

"Just going over a quiz she failed," Paul added, waving one of the quizzes in the air.

I shot him a dirty look while Mr. Tucker approached the desk. "Fail? That doesn't sound much like Allie."

"Well, we can't all be awesome in everything," I commented off-handedly. "I'm going to go find Aspen... see you later, Mr. Russet, Mr. Tucker."

Paul shot me a look that basically screamed don't-leave-me-alone-here-with-him, but I ignored it, shooting him a quick smirk. Payback for the failing comment... even though it was probably true. I had to admit though, I was curious what Mr. Tucker wanted with him. But not curious enough to stay. I didn't want Mr. Tucker thinking the wrong thing about Paul and I.

The halls were crowded now as I made my way back to the senior hallway. Nobody took notice of me in the underclassmen halls, so I figured whatever jealousy had arisen, was probably just from my class. So that limited the number of culprits. And I figured my best bit was Olivia. Second bet, Joey.

Upon coming to my locker, I realized there was a new addition to its blue metal. The word 'POOR' was written in black spray paint, covering most of my locker's front. I stared at it for a couple of moments, narrowing my eyes. "I'm not poor, you know!" I cried to no one in particular. "Middle class! Get it right!"

"Allie!"

Pivoting to my right, I saw Aspen and Oliver jogging toward me, worried looks on their faces. "Are you okay?" Aspen asked, her eyes being drawn to my locker and then a look of disgust appearing in them.

"I'm fine... but my locker isn't."

"The janitors are coming to clean it," Oliver informed me. "Jake just went to get them."

I rubbed my eyes, letting out a yawn. "Is this considered bullying? Because if so, it's lame."

Aspen chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Leave it to you to blow this off as nothing."

"It is nothing. It's not like I'm ashamed that I'm not rich like everyone else here...

"And that's what I like about you," she responded, pulling me into a bear hug. "You're such a brave little ant."

I smacked her back a few times until I let her go. Puffing out my chest, I tilted my chin up at her. "I am not an ant. I am a humble bumble bee."

Both her and Oliver grinned at me. "Sure you are," he commented, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But, if you ever need help, don't be afraid to ask, queen bee."

"I won't be," I promised him. "I'm sure this will die away though. I mean, I only played once... and it was Moonlight Sonata, they can't gather much from that."

"Ooh, that's my favorite piece by Beethoven," Aspen sighed dreamily. "It's so good... speaking of so good, what did Mr. Tucker want on Friday? I meant to ask you, but I kept forgetting. You guys were in there for a long time."

Oliver wagged his eyebrows. "Secret make out sesh?"

"No," I snapped, but felt my cheeks warm up. "He, uh, thought I was being bullied."

"No way!" Oliver laughed. "Why?"

"Oh, he must've caught the exchange between you and Peter," Aspen deduced at an impressive rate. "That makes sense."

"Yeah. He thought I was scared of him." I smirked. "As if."

Oliver grinned at me. "You really are a brave little ant."

"Stop saying that!"

"Allie, the brave little ant," Aspen dubbed me. "I like it."

Rubbing my hand over my forehead, I decided to let it drop. I already had fifty billion nicknames. What was one more? "Right. I'm heading to homeroom. You coming, Aspen?"

She nodded, bounding forward to catch up with me as I twisted on my heel. "See you later, Oliver!"

As I headed up the stairs, Olivia was heading down them. Our gazes met and her eyes narrowed, contempt in them. Instead of responding with a dirty look of my own, I just flashed her a dazzling smile. She could think what she wanted to think. And if she wanted to leave childish notes, she could— if she was the one who was doing it. I wasn't positive yet, and I really didn't want to accuse her until I was sure. Not that I had much doubt.

"Who's that?" Aspen questioned, doing a double take. "She just gave you a bitch look."

"Just some girl in my piano class."

"Ooh, I see. That was a jealous bitch look."

I laughed. "Yeah, that pretty much describes it." Jealous. It was nice to think someone was jealous of me. Even though I felt like I'd been showing off, maybe I was better than I thought at piano... good enough to make all these other stunning pianists feel threatened. Threatened enough to try to scare me away. Grimacing, I wondered if it was worth it. Hopefully it would be.

"It never ends, does it?" I murmured to myself as I opened my locker up before lunch. There were at least ten new notes in it. Part of me, the reasonable part, just wanted to trash them, but the other part, the irrational part, wanted to read them.

Shoving the papers into the pocket of my sweatshirt, I stuffed my backpack into my locker, now clean of spray paint, and headed toward the cafeteria. Elliot was nowhere in sight, so I entered the a la carte line by myself. Maybe it was better not to sit with Elliot today. I didn't want anyone to know about the notes. Those I could handle by myself. Oliver and Aspen could handle the spray paint on my locker. So, with grilled chicken salad in hand, I headed out to the courtyard alone. I was surprised no one had caught Elliot or I yet, but I wasn't going to complain.

The chilly October air bit at my exposed skin as I made my way to the usual stone bench Elliot and I sat at. By the time I reached it, Elliot missing in action, my hands were already freezing. It saddened me to think soon it'd be way too cold to eat outside. Unless I wore more layers, I reasoned with myself. It was a lot more peaceful than the cafeteria.

"Okay," I breathed, setting aside my salad in favor of the notes. "Let's see what these say..."

The first four were the exact same messages that I'd received earlier— two of each. The fifth and sixth held the same resemblance, only a little different wording. A grin came onto my face and I shook my head. Whoever had written these really needed to get over the whole scholarship thing. Did they honestly think I'd be hurt with comments about my financial status? At least my parents' jobs involved them helping out society in a good way. Like educating students and saving people. Way better than being some suit-and-tie fancy business owner.

The seventh note was a little different, now targeting my appearance. If you're going to wear our uniform, at least make it look good and not trashy. Have you ever heard of an iron? Somewhere deep inside me I felt a twinge of hurt, but easily reasoned myself out of that comment. I wasn't the only one that didn't iron their uniforms. In fact, I figured only one tenth of the student body ironed their clothing everyday. I ironed the two different uniforms I owned twice a week. Wasn't that good enough? And I definitely didn't wear it trashy...

No amount of make-up could cover your ugly face.

This note I just crumpled up, smiling wryly. Now I was sure it was a girl writing them. No guy would care to insult a girl's face. Why would they? Only girls would be that low.

"I think I have a pretty face, thank you very much," I said proudly, flicking the paper to the ground.

"What are you talking about?"

A startled gasp left my lips as Elliot appeared in my line of sight, glaring down at me. "You scared me!" I accused.

"What are you doing out here?" he demanded.

"Are we going to go through this every day?" I shot back. "My answer's never going to change. I like eating out here."

About a month ago, he would've argued with me for at least five minutes. Now he only sighed before taking a seat. This time, however, he scooped down and picked up the note I'd tossed down. "What is this?"

"Nothing," I snapped, reaching out to snatch it from his hands.

He backed up a step, unrumpling the note and scanning over it. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he took it in. "Who wrote this?"

"Don't know," I muttered. "Just forget about it."

"Fine," he agreed easily. "You too then. Whatever prick wrote this is just being a dick."

I glanced up at him, surprised by his harsh words. "Elliot..."

"What?"

"You're a nice guy."

He shot me an embarrassed look before taking a seat next to me. "Shut up. I just know what it's like to deal with shit like that. Not that it was ever a problem. It just gets annoying... but since you're a girl, you know..."

"I don't know."

"It's different. Girls are different," he mumbled.

I smiled at him. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm pretty strong for a girl, Elliot. No need to worry about me."

"I'm not worried!"

"Alright, alright," I said, holding my hands up defensively. "Thanks for... the advice, then."

"Can you work tomorrow night instead of tonight?"

His sudden topic change threw me off guard, and it took me a moment to respond. "Uh, sure, I guess. Why?"

"We just need an extra person to work tomorrow night."

"Oh. Sure, I'll be in then."

Instead of gracing me an actual response, he just grunted, picking up his cheeseburger from his lunch tray. I finally picked up my own salad, opening it and picking at the chicken. My appetite had suddenly vanished... not because of the notes though. It was just gone. I subconsciously touched my face, chewing slowly.

"Hey," Elliot started suddenly, his voice sounding gruff.

For the third time that day, I jumped, startled. It was starting to get old. "Hmm?" I responded, forcefully swallowing my chicken.

"It's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't have an ugly face," he told me, his green eyes piercing into mine.

And once again, I found myself blushing. Which caused Elliot to blush. And then it was just awkward.

"T-thanks," I mumbled.

"Forget about it. I didn't say anything," he all but growled back at me.

"Alright," I responded with a smile, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "But you know, you don't have an ugly face either."

Elliot promptly began choking on his cheeseburger. "S-shut up and eat!"

___________________________________

Oh man, Elliot is just so cute.... I don't even know who she's going to end up with anymore.