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The following weekend goes by and I managed to survive the first three weeks of high school without any more drama.

A part of me is worried, especially after what my friend Sky told me about another kid called Gavin -- a late arrival before me with famous and wealthy parents. He went through a rough time, the kids in this high school left him in such distress, that he ended up moving to a different school soon after. The school didn't care about Gavin, it's disgusting. I hate it.

Will I be the next Gavin?

Is that my fate?

I've not had the best reception since my first day. Frankly, I'm slightly disappointed. The reason I suppose is that I was looking forward to starting a new chapter in my life. My home life is a little dull, I guess. I'm alone most of the time. My mother has her own struggles most days leaving me frustrated and angry.

I feel trapped in my own home. High school was my ticket to freedom and to explore the world. Be a social butterfly. I wanted it so bad. I craved it.

I keep thinking there are many people way less fortunate than me and I shouldn't keep moaning and dwelling about making friends and being popular. A lot of kids out there don't have anything or anyone. I should be grateful for what I have rather than what I don't.

But I'm still worried. I try to brush it off and get through my day hoping everything will be fine, but there's an uncomfortable feeling deep inside me that's terrified about what's around the next corridor.

During English class on Friday, I handed our essay paper to Mrs Andrews. I didn't even glance at Reese during the rest of class -- even though I could feel his stare burning a hole in the back of my head.

I guess you could say that the awkward encounter yesterday with my mom left me apprehensive. Will Reese tell everyone my mom is messed up? Would he spread the new piece of juicy gossip around school? Will he say how crazy fame and a broken heart have caused my mom to spiral out of control to the point where she demands her own daughter for alcohol?

Luckily, the day ended and my weekend was spent writing poems and playing the piano. Nanny Grace came by on Sunday to check on us both, I asked how her family are doing in Cuba and we talked for hours until my mom woke up in the afternoon, hungover.

By Monday morning, I walk past the music room and stop dead in my tracks. I've never noticed the beautiful piano sitting in the corner of the room. This school has two music rooms and my music class usually takes place across the hall. This room is much larger and empty by the looks of it.

I step inside the room, looking around hesitantly. Then I walk up to the sleek black piano, stroking my hand along its beautiful surface.

I sit down comfortably, my back straight but my body relaxed. My mind focused on my music like it is my air to breathe. I close my eyes.

I start to play. This is my escape in life.

I started playing the piano when I was very little. My mom agreed I could learn once a week if I do well with my schoolwork. Mandy came over every Saturday and I loved every single minute of it. Saturday's were my favourite because I got to learn a new melody and Mandy quickly noticed I had a talent. She taught me up until the age of twelve. By then I couldn't stop playing.

I usually like writing my own music. Some days, I will have a random tune stuck in my head and when I get home, I write it down. Honesty, I've written over twenty or more songs. Just pieces of music I love to play in my free time.

I get lost in my music. For those few minutes, I'm transported to my own little world.

I don't know how long I sit here. By the time I finish, I hear a small gasp somewhere near the door.

I jump in my seat. "Jesus I'm sorry--"

Sky comes rushing over with a big goofy smile on her face, looking at me with an amazed expression. "My goodness, Marnie! Did you write that yourself?"

I blush furiously. I don't know why I get so embarrassed playing in front of an audience, even if it's just Sky in the room.

Playing that same piece yesterday while Reese listened in silence raised goosebumps on my skin. I felt his presence next to me, drinking every note in.

When I finished my piece, my eyes lifted to him and the look on his face left me laughing to myself afterwards. He was blown away like he just witnessed something impossible. I can't deny how good that felt.

I like the reaction I get from people.

"Yeah, it's nothing really." I clear my throat.

An awestruck Sky looks over my black notebook laying in front of me. "May I?"

I nod my head. "Go ahead."

She picks up my little black notebook, flicking through my music and my short poems on the back page. She reads over my poems, her lips parted and her brown eyes wide with wonder and fascination.

"Marnie, these are so good. Where do you find the inspiration to write these?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Life I guess, I just write whatever I feel in the moment."

"Have you got any songs?"

"Oh no, I don't write songs. Just music."

She frowns slightly, looking back over the page. "You could make these into songs."

A part of me has always loved to sing, I inherited that from my parents. My mother has always encouraged me to be someone useful when I get older. A lawyer or a doctor, she never wanted me to go down the musical road. Explaining how it wrecked her life, as well as my father's.

Thankfully, I was allowed to learn piano because it would look good when applying for college. There was one day I remember quite vividly when my mother found me singing in my room when I was twelve after she had a few to drink. She screamed at me, she told me how awful I was and how much she despised me singing. Needless to say, ever since that day, I never sang in the house.

I hardly ever sing, but when I do I feel... myself.

"Let's hear you sing this one."

She points at a song I wrote about my dad when I was fifteen. It's short and bittersweet. My heart hurt when I saw the lyrics on the page and tears threaten to appear the more I look at my handwriting scribbled down on the crumpled paper.

"I don't know." I look down at my hands, tears stinging my eyes at this personal piece. I wrote it while I was in a dark place.

I refuse to cry.

"You can sing can't you?"

"It's not that. I--" Sky looks at me waiting and I sigh.

I'll just give it a try.

"Okay." I take a deep breath, looking down at my fingers on the white keys, and then I begin to play the same song on the piano while singing the short poem I know by heart.

I feel various emotions while I play. Surprisingly, the song flows beautifully to the point I can feel how real it is. How good it is.

In the end, my face breaks out into a wide smile.

Sky begins clapping her hands like a maniac, squealing. "That was wonderful! My God, Marnie! You're so good."

I giggle. I can't deny how good I feel when I'm playing the piano and singing my heart out. I wish my mom could be proud of what I love, I know my dad would be.

With a big smile on my face and my body full of excitement, my eyes flicker towards a dark figure a few feet behind Sky standing motionless with a thoughtful and slightly starstruck gaze.

My heart pumps loudly and the air in the room thickens.

He watches me with those intense forest-green eyes that captivate me so much.

Reese.

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