"You know I'm going to exercise the girl's victory for months to come, right?" I question as Lucas and I walk down the school hall towards our first class.

"I figured," he replies.

I grin as I push the door to my class open and step inside. To my surprise, the classroom is empty. My eyes catch a slip of paper resting on my teacher's desk. I walk over to it and see the principal's messy handwriting creating nearly unintelligible words.

"Teacher called in sick..." I read. "No science."

"It's a miracle," I hear a voice say from the doorway. "I never thought I'd see the day!"

I turn to face Justin standing with twinkling eyes and an extremely annoying grin on his face.

"What day come?" I ask, setting my hands on my hips.

"The day that woman finally takes a break," the boy replies, letting his face fall back to normal. "People say that in the fifty years she has been teaching science in this very room, she hasn't taken one day off."

"I wish I had taken the day off," I mumble.

"Legend has it that she's not afraid of the flu, but the flu is afraid of her."

"A seventy-year-old lol?" I raise an eyebrow, removing my hands from my hips and folding my arms.

"Lol?" Lucas repeats, looking at me with a questioning look.

"Little old lady," I reply without turning to him. "Now, if we're done here—"

"Did you know that she was one of the first teachers to walk these halls?" Justin continues, sliding over to me and standing in front of me with wide eyes. "Some even say she helped build these classrooms with her bare hands," he whispers.

"If only you could memorize school facts like you memorize over exaggerated stories."

"Legends," he corrects. "And I do know school facts!" He grabs my shoulders and pulls me forward, getting right into my face. "Did you know that schools were originally created as a place for enslaved pupils, innocent in word and tongue? This place of horror soon changed their way of thought and raised them to be the restricting parents we see today."

"Where did you find that? ?" I ask sarcastically.

"I swear, Eiffel, you can read minds!" the red-head exclaims with wild arms, finally releasing me from his grasp.

"No, I'm just an extremely lucky girl," I return sarcastically.

"You are!"

I wish he was actually right in this case.

Lucas appears beside us, resting his elbow on my shoulder. "You want to come to class with me?" he asks, looking at me. "It's a private lesson. My teacher has to leave early, so it's my first class."

"Thanks, buddy," Justin interrupts before I can speak. He walks around me to give Lucas a hug. "But I'm meeting my girlfriend early for lunch."

"Girlfriend?" I question at the same time as Lucas questions, "Lunch?"

Yes, I'm more surprised that Justin has a girlfriend than he's going a few hours early to lunch.

Should finding a way to get an extra serving of meatloaf be a surprise coming from Mr. Black Hole?

But girlfriend?!

"What bet did she lose?" I can't help asking.

"I didn't lose any bet," a soft voice replies.

I nearly get whiplash as I turn to face the owner of the voice. I see a girl around my own age, slightly taller than me, with light blonde hair set in soft curls ending in a pale pink dye. Her hands are out of sight behind her back, and she shifts shyly, obviously nervous from all the attention of the three eyes staring at her.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so rude," she says suddenly. "My name is Lillian."

I shake her outstretched hand as I gaze at her in awe.

Is she a mirage? Or a hologram?

Or maybe this is all a dream, and I'm about to wake up.

"Somebody pitch me," I say firmly. Justin has no shame in complying, and I leap up at the pain that shoots through my body. "First of all, OW," I say, glaring at Justin. "Second of all, HOW IN THE RUBBER CHICKEN ANNOYING THING IS THIS NOT A DREAM?"

"'Rubber chicken annoying thing'?" Lillian questions softly.

I release her warm, solid hand, realizing that since this is not a dream, and not a mirage or hologram then...

This is real.

"Why would I even dream about this anyway?" I mumble under my breath.

"Maybe your girlfriend can sit with us at lunch!" Lillian exclaims suddenly, clapping her hands and staring up at Lucas.

"What? Girlfriend?" I question.

But she doesn't hear me as she and Justin escape through the classroom door.

I turn to Lucas, arms folded and eyes at maximum glare capacity.

"This boy is innocent," Lucas replies. "She assumed all on her own."

"Sure," I return. I clear my throat, deciding to change the subject. "So...private lessons, huh?"

"Just for music," Lucas replies.

"Why doesn't your teacher just go to your house?"

He gives me a pointed look.

"Right..."

"So, are you coming?" he asks, looking down at me with a hopeful gaze.

Having nothing better to do, I find myself replying, "Okay. But to be clear, I'm just watching, not participating."

"Fair enough," he returns, stepping away from me and leading the way out of the room.

We walk in silence, and due to everyone else being in class—except for some ditchers and one unfortunate-looking kid with a large red bump on his forehead—there isn't any other noise.

I breathe in the silence, walking through the still, comfortable air as Lucas shows me to a door at the end of a specially long hallway. Opening the door, he gestures for me to walk in first, and of course, I oblige.

"Welcome, Lucas!" a woman with a thick accent calls out. "Who is your...little friend?"

I turn towards the voice at my right, and my eyes fall upon a young woman in her thirties with eccentric clothing and countless rings and bracelets adorning her fingers and wrists. She lifts her dark, red lips into a smile as she runs her hand through her raven-colored hair.

"This is Paris," Lucas replies, putting a hand on the small of my back and leading me forward. "She'll be watching class since hers was canceled."

"Ah!" the woman replies, clasping her hands together. "Well, she is most welcome." Turning to me she holds out her hand to shake mine and says, "My name is Miss Aiza. But please, call me Buena."

After showing me to a chair, she walks around the simple wood piano and sits down on its cushioned seat. "Let's start with some warm-ups, shall we?"

As Buena's fingers dance on each chord up the scale, they both hum and sing what sounds to me like random sounds.

I wait patiently as Buena grabs some sheet music and begins playing a basic melody.

"First we shall start with a simple song, then we will move to one of your performance songs," Buena says, her fingers not pausing from their destiny.

She suddenly starts playing a funky tune, letting loose a laugh as Lucas begins.

The song sounds familiar, and I find my toes keeping the beat and my lips humming the tune.

We've got reason to get up.

Reason to get down.

My foot beat gets louder as I get to my feet, now stomping.

Happy dance.

I gasp as Lucas breaks into a whole dance routine, never letting his strong singing voice falter. I'm mesmerized by his light feet, seemingly just grazing the floor with each move. In a backspin that would turn me into a tornado, he lands perfectly, leaping back on his hands to get onto his feet.

It's as if I can't help my hands moving as I clap at the end of his performance. "I haven't heard this song in forever!" I exclaim with a big grin.

"Oh, look! The girl can smile!" Lucas returns, turning to me, his breathing a bit heavier.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the sarcastic one," I reply.

Suddenly, he grabs my wrist and pulls me forward, twirling me and catching me before my clumsy footing can make me fall.

"Come on, sing something with me!" he exclaims, giving me a more reassuring smile. "Your mom told me that you used to sing. With a sparkly pink microphone, no less." He says the last sentence a bit quieter.

Ｅｍｂａｒｒａｓｓｉｎｇ

C𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬

Ｅｍｂａｒｒａｓｓｉｎｇ

W𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Ignoring the heat rising to my cheeks I say, "You'd see Justin solve two plus two before I got up there and sang with you."

Just my luck, I see Justin pop his annoying head in, yelling, "Just figured it out!" He grins proudly. "It's five!" He pauses. "Or is it six?" He looks down, using his fingers to do some number that is not even close to the correct number. "It's four!" He finally says.

"That is correct!" Lucas cries, fist flying into the air.

"You so rehearsed that," I say, narrowing my eyes at both of the boys.