| Michelle sat in the sixth form study room, hastily jotting down figures and prodding at her calculator in an effort to get the maths paper finished by next lesson. Her friend Karen didn�t interest her enough to distract her enough from her studies, as they sat side by side, struggling with the same problem and sharing a calculator. She tended to argue less with her parents during term time, mainly because she spoke to them less. Everyone was busy now, and at long last her pig-headed older brother had left for university. She could now practise her instruments without being asked what she was doing to that poor cat, or simply being told �shut up I�m trying to sleep!� at three in the afternoon. Sixth form was much more enjoyable than the rest of school had been. The teachers suddenly realised that you were actually people, and now the whole class wanted to pass their exams. Michelle was finding this particular maths paper quite satisfying, as she found another reasonable sounding answer. She felt cool air on the back of her neck, and absentmindedly rubbed it without really noticing. She turned her head as she felt someone move her hair from her face. There was no one there. She told herself she was imagining it and carried on prodding at the calculator. �Girls,� said Sister Angela, �I have very sad news.� She looked down and bit her lip. Twenty years as a Nun doesn�t help you know how to tell 500 school girls something like this. Yrs 10, 11, 12 and 13 sat wondering which archbishop none of them had ever met or even heard of normally had died. �I�m not sure how to say this,� she continued, shaking slightly, �I suppose it would be best to just come straight out with it.� She looked around the hall a bit, trying not to focus on any particular student. �The parents of Rose-Anna Baker have reported her missing. She never returned home from orchestra two days ago. Now I know this will be a difficult time for you all, but I need to introduce Sargent Devon. He is in charge of finding Rosy, and we need you, if you absolutely anything about where Rosy could be, what might have happened to her, if you saw her leave, or on your way home, absolutely anything, to come and see the Sargent. Now he and his colleges will be around school for the next few days, now please come and see them. I can�t stress how important this is enough girls. Absolutely anything you hear, even if it is just a rumour. It is vital to finding Rosy before anything terrible happens to her.� She looked around, pleading, and 500 teenage girls gazed back, silence raining for the first time in a school assembly, as no one knew a thing. She felt like she was flying. The music room faded, and she imagined the amazing man on stage, looking into her eyes.Then she came down from her high, and glared at Pascal for being so much better on piano than her. She sighed and tried to smile as her best friend played the final chords of �Life on Mars,� in it�s lyric-less piano arrangement, and strummed a few chords on her violin with her fingers. �Michelle, I told you to sing!� Pascal looked disappointed. �And I told you I wouldn�t!� answered Michelle sarcastically. �I�ve got a sore throat.� she lied. �What�s the matter?� asked Pascal, who could always sense any sort of tension. �I�ve got a sore throat,� she repeated. Pascal was not impressed. �I�m just tired.� �What were you up to last night, then?� Pascal giggled. �Nothing!� snapped Michelle, rather to quickly. �Sorry, I was only�.� �I know, it�s my fault, I�m never nice to talk to when I�m tired. Sorry.� They smiled cheesily at each other, but then the door opened and the lesson was starting, and they had to sit down. Michelle loved music. She always had, and now she had 9 hours of it a fortnight in school, let alone all her instrumental lessons, her private practice, and all the groups she belonged to. She wrote music, sometimes, but writing music is a lot harder than most people would think. Well writing more than one or two songs was anyway. The class listened to Beethoven�s sonata in C# minor, which can sound amazing, but the recording wasn�t very good. It took a long time, and at the end there was a class discussion. The teacher led it, asking simple questions on tonality and dynamics. Pascal decided to be annoying and answer with very long-winded explanations as to why each particular cadenza made you feel the way it did. �What about you Michelle?� asked the teacher, looking at her with a slight smile, which could be interpreted as a smirk. Michelle paused for a second. �Well that wasn�t a very good recording of it,� she said, looking down, pretending that she was reading notes that she hadn�t even written. �Firstly, it�s was written in the wrong period for the performer to play with the tempo as much as they did. The classical period was very stiff about things like that; the performer was playing it like a romantic piece. And secondly, I don�t believe in playing other peoples music as if it�s from somewhere deep inside you. Beethoven wrote that music for someone, a countess,� she looked up to see what the teacher was thinking, and met his eyes. �It meant something to them, and however was playing that didn�t play it faithfully,� she couldn�t look away, and continued slowly �or change it so that it was true to his or herself.� �Thank you, Michelle,� said the teacher, still smirking slightly, �but we were actually talking about how the piece uses tonality, dynamics, and articulation to keep the listener interested throughout the entire piece. �Sorry,� said Michelle, slightly embarrassed by such a put down, but still unable to take her eyes away from the music teacher, who continued the discussion with some people who said things like �well this bit was quiet and when it got loud here it made you jump.� Eventually the bell went and it was time to leave. The class scrambled for their bags and left the room, smiling at the teacher. Michelle wondered to herself why she had taken so long to stop looking at him. He wasn�t that new. Was he? She walked past him deep in hr own thoughts and was the last one to leave the room. �Michelle!� she heard him call after her. She stopped and turned round slowly. She tried to smile at him. �Michelle, you have a very musical ear, but I feel you would go further in the subject if you concentrated on answering the right question in future, mm?� �Yes Mr Landau,� she answered, hesitantly, looking down, and smiling shyly, she turned to leave, her heart was beating very quickly, and her hands seemed like they were shaking. She felt his hand catch her arm, and her heart seemed to stop. �And any chance of seeing you at orchestra, tomorrow?� he said smirking, �And try and see if you can drag your friend Pascal with you.� �Yes Mr Landau,� she managed. Why hadn�t she noticed how attractive he was before? �Good girl,� he said. She hadn�t had that said to her for ages. She hazarded a smile, and was disappointed as he removed his hand and looked away from her. She looked at him for a few seconds before walking away herself. How long had he been at the school? Michelle tried to remember. She knew it hadn�t been long, but she couldn�t remember first meeting him, and she should have remembered a music teacher. She breathed on her hands to warm them up, and decided to go back to school early, there was nothing to do in the high street. She walked back slowly her hands in her pockets. Then she remembered her viola lesson and started to run, something very difficult in the straight skirt of the sixth form. She gave up and stopped for breath. She looked up at the high street clock to check the time. She was late, but she didn�t continue as she noticed a beautiful barn owl sitting on it and watching her. She puzzled about why a barn own was in Brentwood high street at all, let alone at one o�clock in the afternoon. Then she forgot about it and went back to school. |