Touching Melody - By RaShelle Workman Page 0,13

breath.

Nothing exists but the keys, the way they press against the strings and form a sound. Beautiful or angry. It’s there because of me, tattooed in the air because I created the sound with the press of a finger.

I scoot the bench, adjust my butt, and begin.

Scales first. I start at middle C. The left hand plays down and the right plays up in synchrony. Without skipping a beat I move to the next set of scales. My breathing keeps time with my hands. I rock back and forth slightly, allowing my body to feel the beat, my fingers to warm up and adjust to the keys of an unfamiliar piano.

By the time I’m halfway through my world shifts and I feel better, right. For the first time in two days, there is no Gina and her sad face, her words shredding the room with hurt. No Kyle and his beautiful smile or his ass-grabbing hands. There’s only this room and these keys and my fingers forming notes. There is only crescendo and decrescendo, allegro and adagio. Notes played together in chords.

After fifteen minutes I move on to the piece I want to play for Professor Jenkins. I’ll see him tomorrow for my piano lesson. It’s an honor to be taught by the Professor and not one of the graduate students, so I want to be prepared.

But as I begin, Kyle’s face fills my mind. It blocks out my peace. Instead of notes I see his dark messy hair and his light blue eyes.

Slamming my hands against the keys, I stand. The clock on my iPod says my first class starts in ten minutes. I grab my stuff and dash out the door. I don’t even have a pencil.

7

Maddie

College is Serious

I’m not going to make a great first impression.

Outside the light burns my eyes, and I squint.

The campus is huge and spread out. The day I arrived I took the map they gave me and did a walkthrough of my classes. Then we had orientation, and a couple hundred bored freshmen followed perky guides around for three hours. Luckily most of my classes are near each other.

Dorms and the cafeteria are located to the south. The sororities are just north of the dorms. Asher Field and a hangout known as The Mall sit behind the sororities. Then there are the fraternities. Behind them is a graveyard. To the west of Asher Field is the library and colleges in specific fields—Education, Agriculture, Anthropology, Engineering, Physical Sciences, and the Arts and Sciences. To the east is the Law Building, the Fine Arts Center, the Mikesell Building, the Arena Auditorium, an athletic center, the stadium, the College of Molecular Biology and Animal Sciences, and finally the Center for the Visual Arts. There are buses that can take me where I need to go, and I’ll probably use them when it gets colder, but for now I’ll walk. Especially since the building is close.

English is a required course. I enter the Mikesell Building along with several other students. A tall guy wearing University of Bellam Springs sweats pushes past me. He has a basketball in one hand. With the other he touches my shoulder, his hand swallowing it up.

“Sorry about that.” His face is friendly.

“That’s okay.”

He takes off in the direction I’m heading and walks into an auditorium style classroom. The room is packed, filled with fresh-faced new students, same as me. I find a seat near the back and slide in.

The doors close with a resounding click. A tanned woman with bleached blond hair twirled in a perfect bun wearing a navy suit walks to the podium. She’s wearing irresponsible but absolutely gorgeous navy heels. There’s a pencil protruding from the flawless bun. She looks tiny from way back here.

“After today—”

The door closest to me springs open and Gina walks in. I wave her over when she catches my gaze.

Once Gina is seated, the woman continues, “These doors will be locked at exactly nine o’clock beginning next class. If you’re even one second late, you will not be allowed to enter my classroom.” She gives a pointed look in our direction. I feel myself sink down in my chair.

“Damn. College is serious,” Gina pouts.

I give her a sideways look and see she’s smiling. None of the hurt from earlier is apparent in her features.

“My name is Professor Susan Spears. You may call me Professor or Ms. Spears. I will not answer to Susan.” She grabs a thick stack of papers and hands them