TwigWriSum

Word count in my badge slot.

Preface:

In case you haven’t noticed. I don’t exactly fit in here. My hair is dark, a dark brown color. I’m very pale, and my eyes are the green of the trees right before they take their last summer breath, and succumb to autumn. They say that my eyes show how wise I am, I don’t know if I believe them. Their knowledge doesn’t mean much to me. Maybe shrewdness comes from trauma, as so many believe. If so, then my trauma has definitely caused me to be more intelligent than I would have been. But I’m not book smart, no; numbers and books had little to do with my success. My success happens as a result of a musical talent, a talent that I know I have, I’ve always had. Maybe I’m lucky though, who knows if this talent would have become prominent had I not succumbed to the trauma which I’ve faced over the last sixteen years of my life. There’s that type of question that the teachers always used to shoot down. “What if?” Children speak this language, the language of “what if” but adults don’t have time, with their numbers and books. The only words that speak from the mouth of a child to the ear of an adult are music, and even those sometimes have trouble passing through their thick skulls.

Chapter 1:

“Another F?” My mother scorned. I rolled my eyes and clambered up the stairs, away from her. I didn’t want to deal with her, didn’t want to listen to her constant talking (“Grades are important, Kaliegh!” “How can you possibly care about that stupid drawing more than your grades?”) Needless to say, I’ve gotten pretty tired of it.

I’ve never been a good student. Not that I’m not capable of it, I just don’t have the desire to learn. Why start now? Teachers, friends, school; all of it is trivial and boring. What difference will a failing grade on this test make twenty years down the road? I doubt I’ll even remember what classes I was taking, or that I’ll care.

“Kaliegh!” Anita-Mae stopped me at my bedroom door. I looked her in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me about this test? We could have studied together.”

“I don’t think that you had to take the test, Mother.” I leaned against my brown bedroom door, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Don’t be a smart-aleck.” She threatened. A vein pulsed in her forehead, her eyes were piercing staring down at mine. “You know what, you’re grounded. From everything. Including violin lessons.”

She turned and started to walk away.

“What?” I screamed at her. “You can’t do that to me, you can’t stop me from playing the violin.”

“Kaliegh, that’s the only thing you care about! What will you do when you’re thirty? When you have children? How will you support them with a violin? Music doesn’t pay the bills, Kaliegh. Education does. College does. It’s time you stopped living in the present and started looking toward the future. Do you even know where you want to go to college after next year? No. Because you don’t care. You would rather play that violin than study for a test.”

“Wouldn’t you, mother? Wouldn’t you rather shut up about my grades than reprimand me over and over? Clearly it hasn’t done anything in the past. Why should I care about school? I don’t like school. I like music, and it’s time that you understood that. I’m not Alek, I don’t only care about school. Maybe that was his downfall.”

My mother froze. She shook her head, telling me not to make her re-live the past, what she had done to my brother Alek. I didn’t care about her feelings, she was ripping out my heart by taking away my music, I would rip hers out by remind her of how she killed my brother, my only friend in this whole world.

“It was all your fault. He was studying, being a good boy. The kind of child you always wanted, and finally had.”

“Kaliegh, please. Don’t do this. You know that’s not true, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Yes it was, Mother. You told him that he needed to live a little, told him, no, made him go out to the movies with some of his friends. You made him go out that night.”

“He could have said no, he could have. It wasn’t me.” She put her hands over her face, blocking me out. My words penetrated through her barrier. They rattled around her head, like a curse.

“He did say no, mother. You made him.” I walked closer to her, pointing at her. “You forced him to go out; and what a surprise, when the hospital calls us, and he’s laying on a gurney, dead. What happens then, mother? What happens when you force your children? He was the perfect son, the one you always wanted, and now he’s dead. It’s your fault.” I knew I was being harsh. I didn’t care that she was only going to take away my violin for a short while; it would be a lifetime for me. I couldn’t bear to walk past my brother’s bedroom every morning, to pour myself a bowl of his favorite cereal, just so I could remember the taste that he loved so much, even if I really didn’t appreciate it as much as he did. I couldn’t bear to look outside and only see two cars when there used to be three. Not without my music. That was always my escape, I needed that escape.

“I couldn’t have known that he would be killed, it’s not my fault. It’s not, it’s not my fault at all. I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me.” She collapsed against the wall of the hallway, sobbing uncontrollably. I looked out the window in time to see my father, crisply dressed in a suit, walking down the drive way and up to the house. He would scream, I knew it, but I didn’t care. I still had my music, failing grade or no failing grade.

I turned and left my mother sobbing in the hallway, heading into my bedroom. The walls were white and my bed was just a mattress on the floor. I had a desk made out of a broken bookcase, and a series of drawers that lined the wall, plastic. I didn’t appreciate things. My mother had insisted on a real bed and real furniture when I was little, but now that I was sixteen, I didn’t care about my living conditions. I would have been just as happy in a cardboard box as in a room filled with the softest pillows ever.

The door closed with a squeak, a satisfaction that made me smile as I exhaled. I was alone. I relished in the absence of people, the lack of a need to put on a show and pretend to be interested. I was happy in my hole of a world.

My eyes focused in on the black case in the corner. My only prized possession, the only thing I really treasure in this whole world; my violin. I ran my hands swiftly over the leather case before undoing the clasp and lifting the top. My mahogany violin lay in a sea of red velvet, the bow perfectly positioned so it wouldn’t tear. I ran rosin down the bow quietly, carefully taking care of each string. I tightened the strings on the violin, and then picked it up to my shoulder, running the bow up and down it swiftly, caressing each individual note as it rang clear though the air.

A few scales later, I was warmed up. I stood my music stand up and began playing a Tchaikovsky Concerto swiftly and evenly, eliminating the mistakes. My music rang out, pure and sweet. Each note flew around my head, into my ears, and wrapped around my brain several times, making me understand the progression of each few notes, the rhythmic pattern Tchaikovsky used to influence his audiences’ mood. I loved that about music, it was the perception of the person that made the piece beautiful, the perception of the person who was playing it. Millions could play the violin, but few could understand the violin and the way it moved, the way each note was created. Not scientifically, I could care less about the scientific make up of a violin. I meant the way that each note was created by the musician, the way they envisioned the pitch sounding, and by striking in the right way, you created the most beautiful song. I never got tired of hearing the violin.

My thoughts were interrupted by a solid knock on the door. I rolled my eyes and went to the door, answering.

“You’re interrupting.” I told my father. His suit was firmly pressed, and had you not known him, he would have appeared very intimidating. But I knew my father too well. I knew that he had a soft spot for my music, and anything that I did. At least he appreciated me, failing and all.

“I know, Kaliegh, dear. But I want to talk to you; can you come to my office in fifteen minutes sharp? Run through this once and then come and see me, please. Don’t make me send Macy to get you.” I rolled my eyes as he left. Macy was our servant. Well, my parents’ servant. I didn’t agree with having one. It seemed too much like slavery for my taste. I wouldn’t allow her near my things, not out of prejudice and hatred toward her, just to keep her from having to do my bidding. I could take care of my own dirty socks, thank you.

I pulled my violin to my shoulder again, but wanted to talk to my father before playing. I strode down the halls with it in my hands, playing as I neared the other side of our mansion to my father. I played louder as I came closer to his office, my fingers tearing through the strings and my bow speeding up and down at the speed of light. His office door opened and I followed him inside.

“Kaliegh, sit down.” He told me, I obeyed, hearing the squeal of the tight leather chair as I sat down on it and put my right leg over my left, resting my violin in my lap. “I love you, you know I do, but you have to stop with these grades. It’s getting ridiculous. You’re failing two classes this semester; do you know what that will do to your average?”

“Father, with all due respect,” I said, trying to minimize the sarcastic venom that had a tendency to leak into my voice. “I don’t care about school. All I want to do is play my music.”

“Kaliegh, I know. You’re the best musician in the entire tenth grade class, and you’re in the senior orchestra at your school because of your acceleration. But that doesn’t mean that you are allowed to slack off on your school responsibilities. How are you going to get into a good school if your grades aren’t good?”

“Father, I don’t want to go to school. I want to play my violin.” I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs the other way, telling him that I was finished talking about it.

“You don’t want to go to school for music? To learn more about the violin? I’m not saying that you can’t play it, but if you’re going to, at least do it as a profession. There would be a thousand schools that would kill to have your musical ability at their fingertips, to use you in their orchestra. But to do that, you have to get your grades up. Doesn’t that appeal to you?”

I sighed and brushed away a piece of hair away from my eyes. “I don’t know, father. I don’t care about school. I never have. I don’t see why it’s suddenly become such a fantastic problem…”

“Because, Kaliegh, we’re talking about your future here! I’ve already lost one child, I won’t lose another one to laziness.”

My eyes shot up to glare at him like a hawk its prey. I inhaled deeply, thinking about what I was about to say.

“Laziness is sending servants to do your bidding. I will not succumb to insults, I am my own person, and I deserve to do whatever I want. Forgive me, if I’ve been misinformed, but didn’t you and Mother used to tell Alek and me that we could do whatever we want when we got older, so long as we worked our best to achieve that goal? I’m sorry if you didn’t take your own advice to heart, but I certainly did. I want to play the violin; I don’t want to go to school.”

His eyebrows raised, curious. “So you would rather live on the streets and gain your money from what people throw into your violin case than try to work your best? You were not misinformed, you are completely correct. But you have failed to complete your end of the bargain; you have not done your best. School is so easy for you, Kaliegh. If you would try, a little each night, then you could be miles above the grade point average that you currently have. I dare you to try and see what you can accomplish. Prove to me that you’re doing your best.” He sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach.

I stood up, my violin and bow resting at my sides. “I don’t have to prove anything to you.” I told him. I picked my violin up and played for him a concerto, the piece I had been working on when he came in and disrupted me. Each note rang, clear as a bell toward him, and he began to forget what he was thinking.

For fifteen minutes, I dominated this house by sheer force of music. Powerful sound waves made you re-think what you were doing and weigh the options. When I was finished. I held my bow and violin strong. “I can do whatever I want, because I have achieved my goal. Even though it may not be straight A’s like Alek was capable of, I don’t care. I’m not Alek. I’m Kaleigh. I can do whatever I want when I grow up, and I don’t plan on growing up just yet. I’m sorry you were misinformed.” I turned and walked out of the room, leaving him to his thoughts.

Chapter 2:

My phone rang just after two in the morning. I didn’t mind too much, it wasn’t like I was sleeping. I answered, frustrated that I had been interrupted from watching famous violinists perform the song that I had been practicing all day. Their techniques were all different, and some violinists moved way too much, turning the playing into an aerobic exercise.

“Hello?” I answered absent-mindedly.

“Good morning, Miss Meagher, my name is Torrana Santos, and I’m calling to ask if you would be interested in auditioning for the International Orchestral Competition.”

“Any particular reason why you’re asking me at two in the morning?” I asked her.

“We’re based in Australia, it’s two in the afternoon here. Would you like me to call you at a better time?” Her voice sounded shrill; taken aback that I had talked to her in such a manner. I couldn’t help it, it was the way I talked.

“No, I’m awake. Tell me more about this competition, what would I have to do to audition?” I asked, putting down my laptop and listening more closely to what I wanted to hear.

“Well, Miss, we would ask you to send in a video of you playing any piece you like, although there is a list of approved pieces available on our website, would you like it?”

“Yes, please.” I typed in the website that she gave me and looked at the songs, the concerto that I had been working on today was there, gleaming at me from the top of the list.

“What happens after I send in the tape of me playing?” I asked her, writing down information on a notepad beside my bed as she talked.

I would have to record the song I was playing, and submit a visual essay, as well as a written essay on why I would like to be selected for this competition. If I was selected, I would fly to Austria to play the same piece that I had submitted by video for an audience larger than I had ever seen, playing in the Musikverein Golden Hall, where the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra played some of their more famous concerts. My jaw dropped as I heard that the winner would be playing with the Vienna Philharmonic.

“Can I sign you up? Your video and essays are due by June 1st. She told me.”

“Definitely, I’ll be ready by then.” I looked at the calendar on my laptop, the first of June was two months away, barely enough time to perfect the concerto that I loved so dearly. “Just a question, how did you find out about me?”

“Your father called and said that you might express an interest in trying out, clearly he was right. We hope to see you here soon, Miss Meagher.”

“Thank you, yes, see you soon.” I heard the line disconnect and smiled, flopping backwards on my bed, feeling happiness wash over me for the first time since before Alek had died. Happiness and joy, washing over me, exciting me and making me think of all of the things that needed to be done. Of course, I was sure that Father had attached some sort of bargain to this opportunity; “Do better and school and you’ll be able to go to Austria to compete”, or something along those lines. I didn’t care, I was going to win the competition.


“Miss Kaliegh? Miss Kaliegh, your father wants to talk to you over breakfast in the terrace, and he wants you there in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Ugh.” I groaned in agreement. “Thank you, Macy.” She smiled and left the room and I rolled over in my bed, thinking about last night. Had it just been a dream? Quite possible. I looked down to see that I was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday; a white blouse with poufy sleeves with a black jumper over it. I chewed at my nails with the dark purple paint on them, worried and nervous about what my father had to say to me, he rarely called for me in the mornings, unless it was very important.

I rolled off my bed, sighing and picked up my phone, checking through miscellaneous text messages that I didn’t really care about, and checking through my recent calls. I was surprised to see a call from nearly two in the morning, from a number and area code I really didn’t recognize.

I squealed with delight, realizing that the call was real, and not just some insane figment of my imagination. Bouncing to my closet, I selected a white dress that I had a matching fedora for. (Just because I didn’t really have a lot of furniture, didn’t mean that I didn’t need clothes. You do have to keep up appearances when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the state.) I threw my hair up into a neat bun and put the hat on over it, leaving my side bangs hanging down and throwing on a pair of flats. I skipped down the hallway; light green walls with pictures of me and my brother at the beach, at parties, as babies, all through school, my line continuing, Alek’s stopping after last year’s class picture. I slid down the banister of our immense spiral staircase jumping off at the end.

Macy stood at the bottom of the stairs, ready to scold me. I kissed her cheek and took the tray of breakfast from her, heading through the kitchen toward the terrace. I set the tray of breakfast in front of my father. My mother sat, wearing a purple dress with sleeves hanging off the sides, and a large white sun-hat.

I kissed my father’s cheek as I sat down next to him, folding my hands and doing the sign of the cross, saying a silent prayer to thank God that I was still here, that I had gotten asked to audition for the competition, praying for my brother’s spirit, and thanking again for the blessing of food in front of me. I may be rich, but I understand that there are those less fortunate than I am…

I dug into the French toast that Macy had made me, and then I looked and saw that she wasn’t with us, and flitted into the kitchen. She was busy cleaning.

“Macy, come eat with us, please.” I begged.

“No, Miss Kaliegh, I know my place. I know you don’t like me doing things for you, and I respect that, but I eat with you far more than I should. Your father asked me not to today, he wants to discuss something serious with you.” She shrugged and turned back to scrubbing the plate in front of her. My face dropped, and I took off my hat as I walked back outside, sitting into my seat slowly, not wanting to disturb my Mother’s rant.

“So I told her, oh yes, I told her, I told her that she wouldn’t dare defy me! The founder of the Association of Women Working Against Animal Abuse! How dare she say that I wasn’t doing my part, giving back to the community! I give back more than she’ll ever give back in her life, not to mention that I was doing my part during the Community Clean-Up Sundays! Which reminds me, dear, we have to go tomorrow, because we haven’t been for three weeks.”

“Anita-Mae, we don’t need to go clean up the park every single Sunday.”

My mother took off her sunglasses and shook her head as she spoke, I think it was a sign that she was wealthy. Apparently, I didn’t inherit that gene. “We don’t need to clean up? Are you kidding? There are animals dying because of the pollution in our city! We have to do our part to clean up! What will Mrs. Morrinson say if we don’t?”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t care what Mrs. Morrinson has to say about anything. She is a rude woman with eighty cats to take care of, and she doesn’t do anything to help anyway, so I don’t see why you should to prove something to her. We, as a family, don’t need to prove anything to anyone.” He gave me a sideways glance, and I knew he was talking about yesterday in his office. He raised his eyebrows and glared at me for a second before returning to his breakfast.

“Well, that is true, dear, but I doubt she will want to play bridge or come to our garden parties, or benefits if she thinks that we’re not giving back to the community. Her contributions to our benefits would be a great loss.”

My father slammed his silverware down on the glass terrace table. It vibrated, and I half expected it to crack and crumble away. “What would you like me to do, Anita-Mae? I’ll call her if you want, but I’m not going to go out of my way to make this woman believe the truth. If she’s incompetent in her old age, that is no doing of mine, and I don’t care about her. Yes, her contributions to the benefits would be quite a loss, but we could find other people to make up the difference. I don’t want to hear any more about it, I’d like to discuss something with our daughter now, please.” Mother’s face retracted as she became silent to finish the rest of her breakfast.

He turned to me, wearing a golf shirt and khaki pants, ready to go golfing with some of the other corporate suits that he worked with after breakfast. His dark hair was cut very short, and specks of gray were beginning to appear intermittently. I sat up a little straighter, for some reason intimidated by the way he was looking at me.

“Kaliegh,” He started. I looked up, my gaze strong against his. “Did you get a call last night?” I nodded.

“Yes, a woman from Australia, she said something about an international orchestral competition.” He smiled.

“Something like that. I submitted your name to their lists, but you have to do the essay and all of the work by yourself. You can ask for help with the video production, of course, but here’s the deal,” He paused, looking at how I was handling what he was saying so far. I motioned for him to keep going. “You have to bring your grade in math up to a C. No matter what it takes. You have six weeks left until school is over, you better study your brains out, Kaliegh. If you don’t, I won’t let you send your video.”

“But, when am I supposed to practice my violin if I’m studying so much? The video is due in two months!” I tilted my head to the side, like I used to do when I was little to get my way.

“Then you better learn to manage time, Kaliegh. You’re fixing this yourself. I can hire tutors for you, to aid you, but you need to take the initiative and tell me who to hire.”

“It’s just math that I need a C in?” I could do that, just focus on math for a few weeks.

“Mainly, but I expect an improvement in all of your classes by the end of the school year.” He lowered his gaze at me, knowing what I was thinking. I nodded to him. “Do you agree, Kaliegh?”

“Absolutely.” I told him. I jumped up out of my seat and hugged him. “Thank you, father.” I frolicked back into the house to check my schedule for today. From eight until nine, I got to go swimming, followed by a shower and a trip to the music store to purchase some more classical sheet music for the violin. Macy slipped her hand on my shoulder.

“Can you buy me this score at the music store when you go? It’s for piano.” I nodded to her, accepting the money and the name of the score. I went upstairs to change into my bathing suit, a black racing suit and black swim cap. I grabbed my black goggles and headed back down outside, adjusting my goggles on my eyes and then diving into the deep end of the pool, starting my laps.
If there was one thing I loved more than playing the violin, it was swimming. When I was young, I had joined the swimming team, and lost at the national level for my age group, ranked at number six. I didn’t mind too much, it was still an honor to have gone that far. But I tried to swim at least once a week, just to keep me in shape, and to help the asthma that had a tendency to reside in the lower chambers of my lungs.

The laps were easy, almost effortless. I completed my hour work-out and got out of the pool, heading back inside the house, and up into the shower. I scrubbed the chlorine out of my hair and headed back into my room to get dressed. I threw on a pair of black pants, a white shirt and a black beret. I tied a black bandana around my neck and threw on some black heels, heading downstairs with my hair curling by itself.

I grabbed my purse and my keys, heading out the door and into my black convertible. (Furniture doesn’t include cars. I do love a good car. Clothes and cars are fine if you’re rich, is what I’ve decided.) I put the top down and cruised down the driveway and away from my house and onto the highway, shoving sunglasses onto my face and pulling my beret off my head so it wouldn’t fly away. I drove briskly toward the music store, parking in front and heading inside.

“Morning, Kaliegh.” The old man at the counter said. I pulled my sunglasses off and smiled.

“Hi, Pat. What do you have for classic violin this morning?” I watched as he rolled his eyes and looked down at what he had under his desk.

“You’re going to clear me out of classics, Kaliegh. Why don’t you do something contemporary?” He offered me a book of contemporary Pop songs, and things I wasn’t interested in.

“No thanks, I have to stick to the classics if I want to win the International Orchestral Competition.” I told him.

“Did you get accepted?”

“I haven’t sent in my tape yet, but… I’m hoping that I will.”

“I’m sure you’ll be brilliant, don’t worry about it so much. I have a book by a new composer, he’s got some really great stuff. I have the CD and book, about twenty-four dollars total. Will that be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it. Thank you. Oh!”I pulled out the paper from Macy and handed it to him. “I need this one too.”

“You playing the piano now too?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m shocked, the Great Kaliegh Meagher! Degrading herself to more than one instrument.” He mocked disappointment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pat. You know the violin is the only instrument for me. It’s for a friend of mine.”

“Well, for a friend, I’ll do anything.” I smiled as he rang up the total and handed me a bag of all of the music.

“Take care, Kaliegh. And don’t worry about your audition, I’m sure you’ll do fantastic. Good luck!”

“Thanks!” I left and got back in the car, heading home while mentally listening to the concerto I had only six weeks to perfect.

*Bump*
Though, apparently, No one likes this. I don't even know why I'm bothering to bump...

Sorry, I was reading it and had to leave... DX

I really, really like it. You have a real flair for writing and the whole story seems to be believable. You've done a really good job!

Thanks Ellie!

Don't be silly, Keri, of course people like it! I personally hadn't read it until now just because I knew I wouldn't have a lot of time. So I finally did, though, and I really like it! :3 It's got this really distinct formal atmosphere, and I think that makes it cool.

Oh, well, thank you. x3 "Distinctly formal"? How sooooooo?

Like, they're all talking so matter-of-factly about everything, and there's a lot of "mother" and "father" as opposed to mom or dad. ^^

They're kinda rich... I don't know. I assumed that's how cocky rich people talk. I don't know, I'm not rich.

Chapter 3:
“Stronger! Stronger you must be! Have force with your violin. Show it the love, the emotion that it shows you when it fails you. Show it even tougher love, you must own your violin, do not let the violin own you.” Rena said. She was short, only five feet tall, with boxy red hair and tan skin with many spots on it. Her arms were flabby and soft, and when she played the violin, they shook violently. I blinked my eyes furiously and followed her directions over the choppy Russian piece of music.

“Stop!” She screamed. I put my violin and bow down at my sides. “Not strong enough! There is too much tension in your arms; they are blocking you from your full potential! Release this barrier from your mind, the one telling you that I am wrong and you are right. You must tell yourself that there is more to life than black and white clothes cars and everything. Not everything in the world is black and white. You must learn to live in color. Release the tension! Play it right!”

I picked up my hands to try again, reluctant at first, but then flowing into the music, much like I did when she wasn’t there. I closed my eyes and pretended she wasn’t, getting through the end of the piece and putting my bow down when I was finished.

“How was that?”

“Better, still too much tension! Relax! Let the music guide you, do not try to do it by yourself, you can’t do anything by yourself and reach your full potential at the same time. Sit down, forget violin, sit.” She sat down, cross-legged at my feet. I looked down at her. “Sit!” She barked.

“No! I don’t pay you this much money so you can sit me down and tell me what I’m supposed to think while playing, I’m paying you to teach me techniques. I’m leaving.” I packed up my music and my violin, and headed out the door. “Good bye, Rena.” She shook her head.

“Silly child. You will never learn to be a musician until you can feel the music in your heart, in your blood.” She turned and walked away, and so did I.
I threw my book into my car and got in, putting my violin next to me and shoving my keys into the ignition, heading toward my house.

* * *

My parents weren’t home, they were away at some benefit in the city. I didn’t mind. I didn’t want my father to see me crying over my lesson. The assumption would be that it was about the violin itself. Of course, this wasn’t the case, but parents can be ridiculous.

I paced back and forth in my room, staring down my violin which was currently inhabiting my bed, and the bookcase was over flowing with music, ready to pounce out at me and say “Play me, Kaliegh! Choose me for the tape!” But I couldn’t do the tape just yet, it wasn’t time yet. I had to get my grades up… I figured that if I studied for the quiz that I had tomorrow in math, I would be able to pull off at least a B at the best, which would bring my average up from the low D range I was currently residing in. I groaned and pulled out my math book, dusty from lack of use over the last year.
The pages creaked as I opened them, another sign that it had been too long since I had actually done any work within this subject, not that I cared. I sighed as I found the page that we were working on, and then submerged myself into the text, trying to learn the quadratic formula.

“X equals the opposite of b, plus or minus the square root of b squared minus four a c all over two a? What is that supposed to mean?” I let out another groan and slammed the book shut, throwing it across the room and into my bookcase, which sent several pieces of music fluttering to litter the floor. I went over to pick them up, surprised to see my eyes catch on “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, a song I hadn’t looked at since I was a beginner violinist. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try, so I sight-read the farmiliar tune, losing myself in the music the way Rena had been telling me to for a few weeks now.

It wasn’t until later, after practicing my violin for a few hours, did I realize my parents still weren’t home. I tried calling my father on his cell, just to make sure that everything was alright, but there was no answer.

“Macy?” I called, walking to the top of the stairs. Macy appeared at the bottom, wiping a glass out with a rag. “Did my parents leave a number for the benefit? I can’t reach Dad on his cell.” Macy shrugged and walked back into the kitchen. I put the phone down, mentally willing it to ring so my parents would come home.

I looked at my clock, it was almost eight. I decided to go shopping, just to pass the time. I told Macy as I walked out the door, heading into my car and down the driveway towards the mall. I walked into my favorite store (White House, Black Market) and bought myself a few new things, and a very formal looking black dress that I would wear for my orchestra concert in a couple days.

Five hundred dollars later I was driving my way home when my cell phone finally rang. I dropped it and bent over to pick it up and answer.

“Hello?” I asked calmly.

“Hello, is this Miss Meagher? We were told that we could reach her here.” A gruff voice said. He sounded angry, either that or he desperately needed a cough drop.

“This is her, who am I speaking too?” I stopped at a red light and listened closer to the scratchy voice that came through the phone.

“This is Detective Archer from the Arlington Police Department. Are you familiar with a Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Meagher?”

“Yes, they’re my parents.” I paused, waiting for him to continue his question.

“We’re going to need you to come down and speak with us, Miss Meagher.” He hung up the phone after telling me where I could go to see him. I got off the highway at the next exit, heading down the off-ramp and down three different streets toward the Police station.

A large lobby greeted me inside. The windows went from half-way up the wall to the ceiling, and air conditioning hummed silently, welcoming anyone who was here. A woman sat at a desk across the lobby. I crossed the distance and she looked up, unwillingly, after I had coughed several times.

“Yes?” She asked, moving her head as she talked.

“I’m here to see Detective Archer?” I asked. It was more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah, okay. You that Meagher girl?” I nodded in response. “Hah, feel bad for you.” She pointed me in the right direction and I went that way, ignoring the rude attitude this woman had toward me.

The hallway had a dark blue carpet and yellow walls, it didn’t exactly match. There were pictures of the Arlington Police Academy graduates from years stretching through before I was born, and pictures of retirement parties of the old geezers who no longer had the will power to succeed in this line of work.

I knocked on the wooden part of the door, surprised to hear the detective yell “Come in!” Entering, I shut the door behind me and sat down at the desk across from him, as he motioned me to do. A cigarette hung out of the left side of his mouth, smoke pillaring out of the end gently, like in a cartoon. He resembled a bull dog; he had a very squished face and a very wide moustache, a very flat haircut on top, with a bad dye-job that had failed to cover the gray hairs that were becoming populous. He seemed to be chewing on the end of his cigarette, and he looked me over before he finally broke the uncomfortable, smoky silence.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this in this fashion, but it’s not often that this happens…” He trailed off. I could tell that he was the type to go off on tangents that had nothing at all to do with the topic at hand. I gave him a look which begged him to keep going.

“Miss Meagher, at approximately 6:45 this evening, your parents became deceased. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Are you trying to be funny?” I asked, standing up and grabbing my purse. “Why have you brought me down here?”

“Because, Miss, your parents died in a car crash. An eighteen wheeler came, and they were killed instantly. They did not suffer any pain; I promise you that, according to the records from the autopsy, they were killed head on. You’re here, because your fathers will cannot be found, and you have no legal guardian as of right now.”

“His will can’t be found? What is that supposed to mean? You’re the police! You’re supposed to fix problems, not make them worse!” I burst into sobs.
He came around the desk and put his hand on my shoulders. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss. Truly, I understand what you’re going through. I lost my parents at twelve to an incident very similar.” He rubbed my back, and as gross as he was, I was thankful for the comfort.

“What will happen to the house? To Macy? To me?” I asked. He chewed on his cigarette like a cow.

“Well, the money and house will be held by the state until your father’s will can be found. It is assumed that the money would be left to you, but nothing can be proven until it is found. Now, we have located your father’s brother, Ralph Meagher, who is currently residing in New York City. Since he is your only known relative, you will board a plane in about three days to go live with him. Would you like to stay here for the night? Or would you like to go to the hospital?”

“Why in heck would I want to go to the hospital?” I asked. “I’m not sick, I’m a freeking wreck! My parents just died! No notice, no nothing. The last thing I told my Mom was that it was her fault my brother was dead! Do you know how guilty that makes me feel?” I paused, trying to contain myself. If I could just keep a level head, I could get over the fact that I was completely on my own now. No Alek, No Mom, No Dad, Just Kaliegh. “I have three days. What about funeral arrangements?”

“Because of the situation, the funeral will be supported by the state, and will be held in three days. Do you need something black to wear?” I shook my head.

“Will I be able to keep everything that’s mine?”

“Everything that is owned directly by you, yes; clothing, music, instruments, etcetera.”

“My car?”

“Well, you won’t have much use for that in New York City, so that will remain with the house.”

“What about my brother’s things?” I thought about his room, how perfect it was, right as he left it that night when he was killed in a car accident. I vowed never to drive anywhere by myself again.

“Everything in the house will remain as is. Do you want someone to drive you home?” I half nodded.

“Please. I don’t know if I can drive right now.” I ran a hand through my hair and slouched against the wall.

“Your plane ticket will be given to you at the funeral. You will leave almost directly afterwards to fly to JFK. Once there, we’ll give you the address, and you can take a taxi, or the subway if you know how it works.” I nodded and picked up my bag. “I’m so sorry, Kaliegh. You didn’t deserve this. First your brother, and now your parents. I wish you luck.” He reached out and shook my hand. I thanked him, turning and heading down the hallway, surprised as the emotions finally started to sink in. Two police officers followed me out, one driving my car, the other driving one of their cars to my house.

They said they were sorry and I nodded, not wanting to talk. By the time I got inside, my throat was tight from choking back sobs. I leaned against the door and let it out. I was mad at myself for saying those things to my mother the night before, furious with myself for getting upset about something trivial like a violin lesson at the start of today, mad that I hadn’t told my parents that I loved them, or even hugged them, like, really hugged them, lately. I felt guilty, like it was my fault. I hoped that if I ever had kids, I would make sure that I told them that I loved them every second of every day. So they would never doubt it.

“Macy?” I called out. Footsteps from the other side of the house told me that she was on her way, and I put my head on my knees.

“Kaliegh? Is everything alright?” She sat down next to me.

“No,” I sobbed. “Mom, Dad, they’re… they’re dead.” I buried myself in her shoulder, just like I used to do when I was little and Alek had made me cry. (My mother was to “busy” for things like tears.) She held me closer, rocking me.

“What happened?” She pet my hair downwards in a soothing motion.

“A car crash killed them.” I told her. Her understanding gaze was comforting. “I’m never driving again, Macy. Never.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. Never again. Shhhhh.” She cooed. “Now, what’s going to happen to you?”

“I have to go live with an uncle of mine in New York. I’m not allowed to have any of the money until they find the will! What am I going to do?” I looked up into her knowing, aged green eyes. They looked wise, and I wondered what they had seen in her fifty years that had given them that look.

“You’re going to be brave, and you’re going to face it like a brand new piece of music that you’ve just found. Okay? Be brave, Kaliegh-bear.” She said. “And don’t forget; you may be out of reach, but with the internet, and phones, you’ll never be out of touch with me. Okay?” I nodded and sighed, trying to slow down my sobs.

“I have three days until the funeral, and then I leave forever.” I told her. Fresh tears swelled up into the base of my eyes, threatening to roll over the edge in a cascade of salty water.

“It’s okay.” She told me. “Go to sleep tonight, and tomorrow morning we’ll go to the school and tell them the situation, you can say goodbye to your friends, and then we can come home and start packing.” She patted me on the back and bid me away to bed.

I climbed the stairs, with great effort, changed into a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and crawled between the covers of my bed. I stared at the walls, wishing I had done something creative with them so I could miss them more than I did. It seemed foolish, missing the walls, the doors, the small cracks in the white paint, but I assumed I would just be missing the house in general, and certain parts, like my room, and Alek’s room, and my parent’s room would have special places in my heart, even if they were just sheetrock and paint to most, they represented a lifetime of memories that would be ripped away from me.

Well, it's not like I'd know either, but I think you did a good job of expressing it! :3 It makes sense that they're rich . . . I mean, I figured that out, but at first I was thinking that they simply lived in London or some formal place. XD

Anywho, oh my gosh. I so wasn't expecting that to happen. ._. Poor Kaleigh . . .

Ah, I see.

Yeah, it's not exactly a happy story, Ado.

*Bump*
I'll be putting up Chapter Four tomorrow.

Where is it where is it?! *screams like Fred*

Just kidding. :3 Can't wait to see it, Keri!

Great job! I was almost crying at the end of chapter 3... which is good, for me.