"Sixteen," Aspen whispered to me, leaning to her left.

I turned to her, frowning. "What?"

She did a quick head-dip toward Mr. Tucker. "He's said 'you know' sixteen times already."

"You've been counting?" I said skeptically, raising my eyebrows.

Grinning, she nodded. "I have to pay attention in class somehow, don't I?"

I laughed loudly, forgetting the fact that Mr. Tucker was in the middle of a monologue about satire and irony. That is until he paused and everyone in class turned to look at me. Shrinking back in my seat, I felt a warm blush spread across my face. Next to me, Aspen pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggling.

"Something funny, Miss Heywood?" Mr. Tucker questioned, folding his arms over his chest.

"No," I muttered, dropping my gaze to the floor.

"This is the fourth time this week this has happened," he continued, narrowing his eyes at me. If it weren't for his light-hearted expression, I would've thought he was angry.

I gave him a half-shrug. "You're just too funny, I guess."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Me or Ms. DeVous. Perhaps we need a seat change."

"No," I said quickly, glancing at the other side of the room where Peter, the guy I'd punched, was sitting.

Unfortunately for me, he'd chosen just that moment to look up. His expression immediately twisted into a scowl and I found myself grimacing back at him. When I realized what I was doing, I snapped my head back toward Mr. Tucker, realizing my expression could be considered a fighting expression. I didn't want to get in another fight.

Mr. Tucker gazed at me for a moment, concern etched on his face. His eyes switched from myself to Peter, and back to me. "Very well... just try to pay more attention in class, okay?"

"Yep..."

For the rest of class I sat quietly in my seat, hands clasped over my desk, my head straight forward. Aspen whispered comments to me now and again, but for the most part didn't attempt to humiliate me any further. Although, I did find I'd begun to silently count the number of times Mr. Tucker said you know. The sum was a bit staggering, but at the same time, I caught myself grinning every time he uttered it. Maybe it was a nervous habit? But he didn't seem nervous at all. Impressive, seeing as how he was standing in front of a group of judgemental teenagers.

When class ended, I slowly packed up my belongings, waiting for Peter to leave the room before standing. It wasn't like I was afraid of him— far from that. The only reason I wanted to keep my distance from the blonde was because Elliot asked me to. And, being the good friend I am, I decided to obey his wish. Well, that and the fact Paul had yet to hear of my little act of violence, and I wanted to keep it that way. As long as he didn't know, my parents would never find out. Which was what I was aiming for.

"Miss Heywood?" came Mr. Tucker's voice over the chattering of students. "Can I speak to you for a moment."

Aspen caught my gaze and winked. "Twice in one month?"

"Oh, please," I responded, rolling my eyes, but for some reason I felt butterflies in my stomach. "Yeah, sure, Mr. Tucker."

"I'll wait for you outside," she promised, sliding her backpack over her shoulder. "Remember, you're still in school."

After shooting her a warning look, I lifted my backpack up by its handle and staggered over to Mr. Tucker's desk, surprised by the weight of the thing. Maybe carrying around all my books wasn't the smartest idea. "What do you want?" I asked, sounding much more ruder than I'd meant.

Seeming unfazed by my bluntness, he chewed on his bottom lip for a second. "Well..."

My mouth went dry by his little action. Somehow I couldn't help but to compare him to a schoolgirl asking her crush out to the dance— oh my god, I thought in a panic. What if he asks me out? That was impossible, there was no way...

"Are you being bullied?"

I blinked. "What?"

Leaning over his desk, Mr. Tucker eyed me with a serious gaze. "Are you being bullied?" he repeated, slowly enunciating every word. "I want you to tell me the truth."

"I, uh..." His question threw me off guard. Here I was thinking he was about to ask me out, and instead he thinks I'm being bullied? Aspen was having way too much influence over me. He was a teacher for God's sake. That was just wrong. "No?"

"You can trust me," he promised, his mouth twisting into a frown. "I just want to help. I remember when I was the new guy in school. The bullying seemed endless."

I furrowed my eyes. "You were bullied? That's hard to imagine."

His lips quirked up. "Why's that?"

"You're just... you know," I mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. "Never mind."

"Believe it or not, I was the nerd in high school. I get it though, I mean, who likes English anyway?"

"I do," I told him.

Now a grin broke out across his face, giving the effect of him becoming five years younger (not that he looked old in the first place). "I thought so. Many of the students that go here focus so much on their music, they let their other grades slip... and by other grades, I mean mostly my class. It's rare to see a student with an A+ this time of year."

"It's only been barely two months..."

"My point exactly."

I grimaced. "That's bad."

"Isn't it? But that's not the point," he said, shaking his head. Above us, the shrill bell rang, signaling the beginning of sixth period. Taken by surprise, I glanced at the door, realizing I was late. "I'll write you a pass," Mr. Tucker said, noticing my gaze. "Or do you have something important next period...?"

"Ah..." Sure, Paul's class was important, but all we did was play piano. It wasn't like today would be different... and I was kind of tempted to stay to hear his story. "Nah, I don't think so. I can stay. I'm guessing you don't have a class?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Sixth and seventh are free because everyone goes to their music labs."

"Oh, right..."

Smiling, he sat a little straight in his seat, brushing his blonde hair out of his handsome face. My eyes zeroed in on his lips for a moment, and then his teeth. His very, very shiny white teeth. He must make his dentist proud.

"Anyway," he began, shifting uncomfortably under my gawking. I quickly pulled my eyes away, feeling embarrassed again. "I guess I started being bullied my sophomore year, when I stopped playing sports to join the writing club. Teenagers can be vicious..." He paused for a moment, his lips tightening. "I don't miss high school at all. I don't want to bore you with the details, but let's just say I understand how intimidating the bullies can be. You feel like you can't tell anyone about it, or you're afraid if you tell someone might hurt you."

"It's not," I began, but he shook his head at me.

"It's okay to tell me, Allie. I'm sure it's tough being the new girl in a group of students who've gone to school together essentially since grade school. When I started my internship as a T.A three years ago, I was terrified. I wasn't much older than you guys— hell, I'm still not that much older than you guys, but... I'm getting off topic again. You need to stand up for yourself. Or let someone help. Let me help." And then, he pulled the best puppy-dog look anyone has ever pulled on me. His baby-blue eyes were wide and caring, and he looked so dang adorable.

Suddenly I wished I was being bullied.

Smacking myself mentally, I realized what I was thinking and scolded myself for it. He was a teacher. I needed to stop acting like some girl with a crazy, unrealistic schoolgirl crush on a teacher. Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair. "Mr. Tucker—"

"Kyle," he corrected.

"Kyle, look. I'm not being bullied. I promise."

Cocking his head to the side, he scrutinized me. "Peter's not bullying you?"

My thoughts went blank. So that was what it was about? The little thing between Peter and myself? A bubble of laughter rose up in my throat, and left through my mouth. "Peter? No! No, Mr. Tucker, he's the one I, um, punched a few weeks ago..."

"Oh," he said in realization, his eyes widening slightly. "That makes sense..."

"Yeah, I guess he's just a little upset about being hit by a girl," I joked.

Visibly relaxed, Mr. Tucker slumped back into his wheely chair, a grin settling on his face again. "That's good— no, it's not good that you punched him, but that you're not being bullied."

I nodded, catching his grin. "Yeah. I can take care of myself. I wouldn't let myself be bullied."

"I didn't think you would," he replied, brushing his bangs out of his face again. "Though, that's rather embarrassing..."

"What is?"

"My bullying story... don't tell anyone about that, okay?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What's this? It's a secret?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Yes. And let's keep it that way."

Much to my dismay, my heart fluttered in my chest. "Fine. Our little secret then."

"Our little secret then," he repeated with a faint smile. "Let me write you a pass so you can get to class."

"Okay."

My eyes followed his every move as he leant forward to grab the yellow passes off the edge of his desk. I noticed for the first time how slim his fingers were, slim and long. Perfect fingers for playing the piano. "Hey, Mr. Tucker?"

"Hmm?"

"You don't happen... have you ever played the piano?" I questioned as he scribbled down his signature on the yellow paper.

His eyes shot up to mine, a hint of surprise in them. "How did you...?"

"You did? When? Were you any good? For how long?" The questions were spilling out of my mouth almost faster than I could think them.

"Seven years," he answered, glancing down at his hand, which was formed into a fist. "Paul and I went to the same music class. We had the same teacher... but obviously he was the better pianist."

My jaw nearly dropped. "You and Paul went to the same teacher? And you played piano for that long?"

"Yeah, he didn't mention it?"

"No, the only thing he mentioned was the girl you stole from him..."

After an awkward moment of silence, Mr. Tucker laughed. "He brought that up? Oh my God, he'll never let that go will he?" Still chuckling, he shook his head. "Oh, Paul. What a brat."

"Were you two friends...?"

A twinkle appeared in the blonde's eyes. "I guess you could say that."

Huh. Why hadn't Paul mentioned that? From the way he spoke of Mr. Tucker, it was almost as if Paul hated him. Well, hate is a strong word. It was almost as if Paul disliked him. "I would have never guessed... How come you didn't continue with piano?"

"It was never really my calling. I only took classes to appease my mom and dad. English is much more enjoyable. Of course, my parents don't fail to remind me every time they see me that I could be as rich and famous as Paul if I didn't quit..."

Now it was my turn to frown. With the way I grew up around piano, I'd heard that a lot of parents were like that. Forcing their children to try and become something they didn't want to be for money. Even now half the students here were playing music to keep their parents happy. It was a disheartening thought. "Well, I think they should be proud of what you're doing now."

"You do?"

I nodded. "Not many teenagers these days know the difference between there, they're, and their— with an E I. And with all that text lingo going around..."

"Well, it's good to know someone appreciates good grammar," he commented, the corners of his lips curving up.

"It'd be better if more people did."

Nodding, he slid my pass over to me. "Well, Allie. I'd like to hear you play piano one day."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I'll stop by the piano wing one day and you can show me a piece."

"Ah, yeah," I responded, scratching the back of my head, "sure..."

Standing up from his seat, he gestured me toward the door. "I have to go make some copies, so I'll see you on Monday. Have a nice weekend."

"You too," I wished, giving him a one handed wave before slipping out the door. My chest felt light as I hurried down the hallway to the piano wing. There was definitely something wrong with me. This feathery, happy feeling should be reserved for a cute boy in my age group— like Elliot. Not someone four years older than me.

Taking a deep breath, I slapped my hands to my cheeks, trying to calm down before I entered the main piano classroom. Knowing Paul, he'd figure out my expression easily, and I wasn't in the mood for his prying questions. When I felt my face was unruffled enough, I stepped into the room, expecting Paul to be the only person in there. Instead of one pair of eyes turning to look at me, eight pairs zeroed in on me.

"Ah, nice of you to join us, Allie," Paul said pleasantly from where he sat perched on the edge of his desk. "Just in time too."

"Time for what...?"

"It's the last Friday of the month," he pointed out.

I stared at him blankly. "And...?"

"And," Olivia spoke up, her voice sounding incredibly obnoxious and know-it-all, "it's mock-recital day. It happens every Friday, remember?"

"No," I responded defensively, narrowing my eyes at her. "This didn't happen last month, and I'm new here, remember?"

"Okay," Paul interjected, hopping off his desk, and walking over to me. "I'll explain while the rest of you go grab your pieces and meet back here."

Olivia shot me a dirty look before standing from her seat, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and stalking out of the room. Everyone else filed by slowly after, except Elliot, who sat rooted to his seat. Paul glanced over at him and frowned. "Elliot, aren't you going to play for us?"

"No," Elliot grunted.

"Why not? I want to hear you play!" I told him, putting on my best begging face. "Please?"

Being overdramatic, he shuddered, wrinkling his nose. "You and that face don't mix."

"You're a jerk," I pouted while Paul chuckled.

"So where were you?" Paul inquired, snatching my pass out of my hand without asking. "Oh. You were with... that thing."

"That thing?" I repeated, rolling my eyes. "How old are you again, Paul?"

"Paul?" Elliot echoed.

Crap. I forgot he was in the room.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Paul as in, same person who called the restaurant—"

"No," I said quickly, but it was too late. Comprehension dawned in Elliot's eyes.

"Which explains why you came in the restaurant and picked up the same meal that'd been ordered by Paul," Elliot remarked out loud, his eyes turning to Paul.

For a second I stared at him, slightly amazed at his blindness. It'd never occurred to me that the other day when Paul had ordered while I was training for work that when he went to pick it up, Elliot would recognize him. But it seemed Elliot hadn't put two and two together. In some completely dense sense. "You're kind of an idiot," I commented before I could stop myself.

His expression immediately shifted to a scowl. "Oh, shut up. So what does this mean? You two married or something?"

"What? No!" I cried, waving my hands in front of me. "Jeez! What makes you come to that conclusion?"

"You two live together, don't you? You said he was your guardian," Elliot said accusingly.

"Yeah, guardian, not husband. He's my, um, cousin," I made up on the spot.

Seeming satisfied by my answer, Elliot relaxed. "Oh."

"But can we keep the fact she's living with me on the DL?" Paul requested, looking rather uncomfortable. "We don't want it getting around... it'd be bad for both of us, you know?"

Elliot snorted. "With those damn fan girls of yours? Of course I know."

"Well, yeah..."

I half-grinned at Paul. "Fan girls, huh? That sounds accurate."

"Shut up," he muttered, adverting his gaze. "What did Kyle want?"

"To ask me if I was being bullied."

"What?"

"Forget about it," I said dismissively, waving my hand. "What is this whole recital thing about?"

For a second I thought Paul was going to argue against me changing the subject, but whatever fight in him died and he sighed. "On the last Friday of every month, I have all my students play one of the pieces they've been working on for everyone to hear."

My eyes grew round. "What?"

"What what?"

"That's awful!"

He tiled his head to the side. "Why do you think that?"

"That's so embarrassing!"

"No one else seems to think so..."

"I think it's stupid," Elliot spoke up.

"Elliot, you think the whole concept of everything is stupid," Paul shot back in a very un-teacher like way.

And in a very un-student like way, Elliot flipped him off.

"What's the relationship between you two?" I questioned curiously.

"He's my sandwich maker," Paul stated proudly.

"It just so happens that's my job!"

"But you still make them for me."

"It's my job!"

Nodding, I understood immediately. "I see. So before I was around to cook, you must've eaten a lot of take out and made such a great relationship with Elliot."

"There's no relationship," Elliot snapped. "God, I can see how you two are related. So infuriating."

"I love you, Elliot," Paul called to him.

Once again, he flipped the bird to Paul.

"So if Elliot doesn't have to participate, does that mean I don't have to?" I asked hopefully.

Paul patted me on the head. "No, you have to."

I shoved his hand away. "Why?"

"Because, it's easier to succeed when you aspire to be better than someone else. And right now, you're the best."

"I'm not," I murmured bashfully.

Paul smiled patiently at me. "I think you are."

"You're biased."

"I'm not. You're excellent at playing, Allie. I think your classmates will benefit from seeing you play."

"But..."

"Please, Allie?" he begged, throwing on his puppy-dog look.

It felt like an arrow had been shot through my heart. I thought Mr. Tucker's look had been stunning— it was nothing compared to Paul's. Paul's literally made me want to scoop him up and hug him to my chest. "Fine," I gave him easily.

"Sucker," I heard Elliot mutter.

Paul brightened up instantly, and I imagined a pair of nonexistent dog ears perking up too. "Great! I have your piece picked out for you."

"I don't even get to choose?"

He waved me off, hurrying to the piano. "Come on, have a seat." Just as the words left his lips, Dean stumbled in, his sheet music in hand, followed by Sophie and Darren.

I threw him a panicked glance. "I don't get to practice?"

"You can play it," he assured me.

"I don't know—"

He shoved the sheet music into my hand. "Look."

"What...? Moonlight Sonata?" My eyes searched his. "This isn't impressive..."

If I didn't know any better, by his expression, one would've thought I'd punched him in the face. "You're joking right? This is one of the best pieces ever composed—"

"Oh! No, that's not what I meant. I love this piece... I really do."

"I know you do. It's one of the first you learned how to play," he told me, lowering his voice.

Surprised, I did a double take. "How did you know that?"

"Who do you think taught you the beginning of it? And then asked you to learn the rest?"

"I, um, don't remember that," I admitted, frowning. How come I could hardly remember anything when it came to Paul?

Paul shrugged. "It was a long time ago. Anyway, you're up first. Show them what you can do."

"But..." It still didn't make sense. Moonlight Sonata wasn't a hard piece to play. How was I supposed to impress the class with it? Sighing, I slid down onto the piano bench. Oh well.

When the rest of the class re-entered the room and took their seats, Paul signaled for me to begin. Ignoring the fact I was supposed to curtsy and announce the piece I was playing and the composer, I went straight to playing the song. Closing my eyes, I let my hands take control, swaying in tune to the steady beat. I'd been playing the song for so long, my muscle memory had it down pat. There was no need for sheet music.

My finger hit the last note and my eyes snapped open. For a moment I was confused, forgetting I was in the middle of class. It was funny how music worked that way sometimes. A few solo claps came from behind me and I turned to see Paul standing, a wide grin on his face, bringing his hands together slowly.

The rest of the class all gaped at me.

Amazement written all over their faces.

Incredulity written all over the faces.

Jealousness written all over the faces.

Envy written all of their faces.

Especially in one person's. Olivia's.

My throat suddenly felt dry. Whatever Paul had intended on happening with me playing the piano had certainly received the opposite outcome. For some reason, a foreboding feeling was spreading through my stomach.

Elliot caught my gaze. His expression threw me off guard. Like the other students before me, he seemed completely thrown off guard. Blinking, he swallowed, a new look adorning his face. One that made me grow even more uneasy. A look of apprehension.

"Allie Heywood, everyone!" Paul announced loudly, splaying his arms out. "So, who's next?"

Nobody moved.

I swallowed, numbly sliding off the bench. Seven pairs of eyes followed me as I staggered over to a seat beside Elliot. For once, he didn't complain.

"I'll go," Olivia volunteered, breaking the silence, standing up confidently. "I've been working hard on this one."

"I can't wait to hear it!" Paul offered happily.

Elliot glanced down at me. "You didn't tell me you could play so well," he muttered, sounding a little resentful.

"I didn't realize I could..."

"Yeah, well you probably just made a shitload of enemies."

I slunk deeper into my seat. Boy did I know it.

__________________________

Last night I got the urge to write and whipped this out in like half an hour. You have no idea how impressed I was with myself... but then I realized I needed to change my way of writing. It's time for it to mature. So I'm off to hit the adult literature. If you could recommend any adult or fairly well written YA novels (with a brief summary), please do! Thanks :D

Remember to like my fanpage! In external link! :D And since LALS is almost over, I think I might upload a preview of my idea for my next story to see what people think of it... but it'll be private, so fans only, so if you want to read it, make sure you've become my fan :D