I woke up at 1pm the next morning, I mean afternoon, I had never been a morning person. The evening was more my domain.

Mom was always awake at the crack of dawn, but then she was neither a morning nor night person, she just wasn't a sleep person.

"There are just too many things to learn," she'd tut as I lay in the bed of whatever hotel we were staying in that week. Her head would be leaning over a book and teeth chewing absentmindedly on a pencil.

Mom was obsessed with always being better, if she wanted something she'd work hard for it. That was why she was the best. Okay, maybe when I was younger I'd sit under the table and feed her whatever cards she needed to win, but still that required skill and planning. Something the others were too dumb to think about or notice. Whether it was fair or not, more likely the latter, she still outsmarted them. She was still the winner and in her mind that was all that mattered.

Whereas, I wasn't a winner, I was a sleeper. But to be fair to me I'd had a late night, after finding out none of the Silent Boys had ever watched Mean Girls I had to rectify that and give them the essential teenage experience. I was even more surprised to find how completely absorbed they were by it.

***

"Is that seriously what girls are like?" Mitchell asked as he stared dumbstruck at the credits rolling down the screen at the end of the film.

"Loosely," I shrugged nonplussed, I'd been called a slut enough times to know, "obviously a Hollywood version with some extra hair pulling and luxurious mansions thrown in but more or less I guess. Girls are cruel."

"I'm so glad I'm a boy," Nico decided to murmurs of agreement.

"Boys can be horrible too," I reminded, "maybe not in the same way as girls but not to say they're not just as bad."

"You're very insightful today," Grey observed.

"I think you mean always," I corrected, I made my tone playful to lighten the mood a little, "I'm always insightful, it's just something you're born with, or you're not."

"Are you suggesting I'm not?"

"I didn't say that," I smirked pausing or effect, "but I was just just about to, you took the words right out of my mouth.

"Glad to save your breath," Grey batted back easily. We had our little repertoire now, we dealt in teasing and sarcasm. Like Mitch and I exchanged serious conversations and Nico and I had our jokes and Sawyer led the thoughtful conversations with me.

"You're always so considerate," my turn for sarcasm, I knew my role almost as if we had our own scripted routine.

"Did a compliment just come out of Cara Collins mouth? Someone take a photo!" Grey taunted.

"You should do, it will be the last one you're getting in a while," I warned.

"Shit," Mitch interrupted our fight before Grey had the chance to spit back a comeback. I smirked at him across my room, the Collins' always won. "It's 2am we should probably get going, there's a swimming practise in the morning."

"This isn't over Collins," Grey pointed a warning finger at me. I only grinned innocently back.

***

They'd all still be at practise now then, except Sawyer. I wondered what he did while they were all out throwing a ball and barging into each other, for fun or swimming laps in a pool.

So after a quick shower and plucking some decent smelling clothes from my washing basket I headed out the door to find the other Silent Boy.

Wondering around Kings Bridge made me realise how little I'd really taken it all in. On my way through I was always in such a rush or so concentrated on others that I never took the opportunity to absorb all the grandeur around me. Kings Bridge was beautiful in a way all the extravagant hotels I'd lived in weren't. This place wasn't tacky or trying too hard, it was the real thing.

Golden chandeliers on every ceiling, gold detailing in the red wallpaper, a creak to the floorboards that verbalised the story behind each step. Every high-ceilinged magnificent room and great doorway or arched window was a sign of the effort that had gone into such a place. I was so wrapped up in myself I'd become oblivious to how lucky I was to be living in this kind of splendour. If I didn't have my dad I'd probably be living in a group home, getting dragged further and further down paths I didn't want to take. And yet here I was, completely unaware of how fortunate I truly was.

I was walking down a corridor I didn't remember going down before, between the English and art classrooms, when I first heard the music. A faint lyrical melody echoing through the ancient stone walls. The effortless rhythm of the music had an almost haunting quality, it seemed to lure you in like the witch from Hansel and Gretel in her gingerbread house. I found myself involuntarily walking towards the source of the music in a trance. I just had to be near the source of the sound, I had to hear it properly.

The door to a room I was certain I'd never seen before was slightly ajar, that was where the music was coming from. Now I was closer I could feel the music washing through my body making me sway against my will, like the song had some kind of magical control over me.

I pressed my face between the door and the frame desperately wanting to see the player of the mesmerising tune but not wanting to step inside incase I disturbed them and they stopped playing. I had become addicted to the sound of the piano, I didn't think I would be able to bear the silence if they stopped.

Behind the door lay hidden a huge square room with the same dark oak flooring and red wallpaper with gold embellishments as the rest of the school, right down to the identical chandeliers, which appeared to be humming to the music. But this room was bare compared to the classrooms and hallways I'd just walked through, the only piece of furniture in it was a huge grand piano directly in the centre. But the room didn't seem empty, it was full of notes and sound bouncing off the walls and ceiling and making the whole room hum. The boy playing had his back to me but I could've recognised that cropped black hair and rich dark skin anywhere.

Unconsciously I leaned in even more so I could feel the notes from the beautiful instrument vibrate against my skin sending shivers down my spine. I'd never heard something so utterly exquisite in my life. I'd found real life magic in his music.

As I found myself being drawn in closer my foot pressed against a floorboard that like nearly all the floorboards in the school creaked at the slightest of touches. Both the player and I jumped at the sound of the creak disturbing the melody. The song cut off, instantly leaving me feeling empty, as he whipped around in his seat and I shrank back ashamed at my snooping.

"Cara?" Sawyers voice echoed with the rooms amazing acoustics.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, I just heard you playing and had to come closer. You're amazing by the way, how come you didn't say you were this good?" I babbled stepping out of the shadows into the great emptiness of the room, it felt so much more sparse now without the notes from the piano to fill it.

"I'm not that great," Sawyer sighed modestly, "not compared to a lot of people."

"Are you kidding me?" I started towards him, "that was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. It was spectacular, honestly."

"It's not a very hard piece to play though," Sawyer shrugged, "hardly anything groundbreaking."

I was by the piano now and without thinking slid myself into the space next to him on the piano stool.

"Do you know what my mom used to say?" I tilted my head towards him hyperaware of our sudden close proximity, "that it doesn't matter what you play but how you play it. Of course she was taking about poker, but that's irrelevant," Sawyer chuckled, "so what if it's not the most challenging piece, I bet no one can play it quite the same way you did."

"Thanks," Sawyers whole face became illuminated by the warmth of his smile.

"It's the truth," I told him sincerely.

"Do you play?" He nodded to the piano.

"Play is a strong word," I smiled back at him noticing the length of his thick lashes and the way they brushed against his skin when he blinked, "I can hit a couple of notes."

"Let's hear."

"I can't follow that," I chuckled.

"Please," Sawyer begged.

"Fine but you have to promise not to laugh," I instructed to which Sawyer nodded dutifully.

I placed my hands over the keys, a wave of flashbacks tumbling over me.

My first piano teacher had been Madame Francesca, she was a French aristocrat staying at the same hotel at us when I was eleven. She spoke barely a word of English and what she did speak sounded like she was speaking French anyway her accent was so thick. But from the tiny fragments I could understand I learnt she had run away from her cheating husband and was blowing all the money in their joint account before she divorced him. Whether her wild streak was something to be appraised or condemned I was never sure but I was certain that she could play the piano.

When she'd found me curled asleep in the only spare seat I'd been able to find the night before, a piano stool, while I waited for mom she decided I was to be her new project. I never really had much choice in the matter, no one argued with Madame Francesca unless they wanted a purse across the head and their entire bank account emptied.

So she taught me the basics, the technicals of piano playing, how to sit at the piano, how to hold your hands, the scales and a couple of easy pieces like Frére Jacques. I would practise with her each day after school and got pretty good before after just three months she got arrested and sent back to France.

Two years later along came my next tutor, Horatio. He was a middle aged Chinese philosophy professor staying at our hotel who heard me practising one of the songs Madame Francesca had taught me on the untuned rickety piano in the lobby.

He took it upon himself to tutor me each evening during his one month stay. Unlike Madame Francesca who's teaching had mostly been based on mastering key techniques and getting hit over the head if you didn't, Horatio just taught me pieces. He always spoke quietly, in a voice you had to lean in and really listen to in order to catch his very word because he always had something insightful to say. His teaching was much gentler and more forgiving, he would only smile kindly when I made a mistake, which was often, and tell me how to correct it. When I would get it right he'd lean his head back, close his eyes and wear the smallest but the happiest smile I'd ever seen.

I played one of the pieces he'd taught me for Sawyer, it was a tune from China, I had no idea of the name but it was short and sweet and easy. It sounded much more intricate than it actually was which was good. I surprised myself with how well I could remembered it, my fingers automatically reached for the next key before I even thought about it.

"Wow," Sawyer nodded appreciatively when I finished, "that was really good, I thought you said you couldn't play."

"I can't really, it's just a little something I learnt," I shoved the attention away, blushing.

"Don't put yourself down," Sawyer nudged my side slightly, his touch warm and comforting on my skin, "you're better than you give yourself credit for."

"If only you could hear your own advice."

That earned me a grin from Sawyer, one that produced dimples in his cheeks.

"Touché," he nodded.

"Now your turn," I nudged him back felling the connection of skin again, "play for me please."

"If you insist," Sawyer rested his long elegant fingers over the keys, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then began to play.

For a moment I watched mesmerised as his fingers flashed across the keys in an effortless rhythm that reminded me of the way a dancer moves their entire body. His fingers danced captivatingly against the ivory and ebony.

Uncontrollably I found myself tilting my head back, closing my eyes and the same small smile pressing against my lips just as Horatio had had, I finally understood what it meant. The complete bliss of music.