Pressing the keys lightly, a beautiful sound comes out, and another right after that, but then I stop and take a sip of water from the bottle on the piano bench. I gulp down a block of clear liquid, and then smile to myself.
My life was in a state of almost perfection: I had the (five) best friends anyone could ever have, and I got an art scholarship to the IESNHTS, which stands for something that I haven't quite figured out yet; but anyway, it's an art program for surrealists like myself. My teacher, Miss Tremall, directs it. I've had her since I could draw a circle, and that's saying something.
In Voyage Town, it's hard to keep people in it because most leave to explore the "other worlds,". But I guess Miss Tremall never wanted to, and it's strange because even if she did, most citizens never come back.
My mind stay's in the thoughts of "are there really other worlds?" and "If there are, could I go to them?" until an obnoxious noise files into my head like a marching band to a football field.
Making an unpleasant face, I rush to grab my notebook, throw on a blue-striped sundress and shoes, and then fly down the stairs, in hopes that I wouldn't be late for the first day of IESNHTS.
I bite my lip as I look at my watch, and then open my front door, slam it shut, and nearly tumble down my two wooden steps. And after no light hits my face as it usually does, Iknew something wasn't right.
But as my curiosity sniffed for answers, Ihad to get to the tall building on time.
* * *
Pulling out a chair, I sit and deeply breathe: trying to catch my breath from when I was sprinting in the cloudy town.
"Welcome, class," Miss Tremall says and pushes her glasses closer to the bridge of her nose. "Now, I want everyone to come up to the board, and write their name," she says and the hands go up.
Mine, however, stays as down as the floor, but of course, since she knows me so well, has to call on me and two other's first.
Sighing deeply, I put my hands to the desk and push to stand up, feeling the sleepiness still lingering. I walked the four feet I had to get to the board, picked up an aqua marker that matched the color of my eyes, and wrote "Sorione Light," in the neatest cursive I could make out.
I turn away from the board, and the hand of a tall blonde girl goes up almost instantaneously.
"Do you have a question for anyone, Nalanie?"
"Um, yes," she says and fumbles with her fingers, "How do you pronounce your name?" her deep brown eyes shine with wonder.
I giggle a little at this because basically everyone searches for this answer, "It's like this," I turn away from her, pull the cap of the marker, and put the pronunciation on the white, hard paper. It read:Soar-eye-uh-nee.
"Oh, what a pretty name!" she said, sounding completely fascinated.
I smile and moments later, we returned to our seats, and the names continue to be written on the, now, colorful board.
Thirty long-feeling minutes pass until everyone's name is on it in different shades, and then Miss Tremall gives us "The Assignment Face". She dips her jaw down, her eyes pop out of her glasses, and she raises her eye brows.
"I want everyone to paint, color, draw anything you want," she says to us, claps twice and then walks to where I found a new seat in the back of the room.
"Everything okay, Sorione?" she asks lightly: apparently she could read the puzzled expression in my eyes.
"Yeah, but I have a question. You know how it neverrains, thunders, or how Voyage Town never has treacherous weather? Well, this morning, when I came out of my house, I saw storm clouds heading this way, and when I looked out to the horizon, it almost looked as if it was lightning." I say with a bewitched, baffled noise in my voice.
I finish talking and look up to Miss Tremall. This time, her jade green eyes are full moons. She exhales and runs to her desk, flings open a drawer and takes out a book that is drenched in dust. She flips pages as if her life depended on it, until her long finger strikes a page, and I watch in befuddlement as it scans the manila paper carefully, but before I could ask what she was searching for, she bangs it shut and throws it back into the only non-wooden drawer in her whole desk.
She comes back over to me, and whispers, "It means that new worlds are going to be created, and how many ever days it storms for, is how many people are going and how many new worlds are created," she says with a wide grin.
I smile to myself and my mind returns to its state of wonder and amazement at what could be created.