Page 1 of Heartstring

1

MIK

THEN

I stareat the board again. Who knew a single school could have so many different clubs?

“Come on, dude. I’m getting old here. Just pick a club and let’s go.” Justin eyes the end of the hall. He has a crush on one of the girls in our class. It’s hard to keep track of which one, but knowing him, it could be several at once.

“I need to pick the right one. What if I try the running club, and then I hate running? I’ll have to do it for a whole year.”

He pulls his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Then pick the math club. It’s statistically safe to predict the mathletes will do zero running.”

I roll my eyes and call him a name in my head.

He groans. “Why is it so hard anyway? And why do you even need to join a club?”

I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “My dad thinks it’ll look good on my academic record.”

Justin snorts. “Record? Dude, you’re twelve.”

I know. Ifuckingknow. But just like I’ve learned to keep my cursing inside my head, I’ve also learned to do what my dad wants for an easy life.

“I’m gonna split. Call me later.”

I watch as he confidently walks toward the girl group before they all turn the corner and are out of sight.

Maybe Justin’s right, and this is all pointless. It’s not like I need extra credit. My grades are as good as they can be.

As I turn around to walk out, I hear music from the opposite end of the hall. It’s a Queen song I recognize from one of my parents’ albums.

I follow the sound until I’m outside the music room.

Whoever is playing the tune on the old piano isn’t just good. They’re very good.

I can play the piano too. My mom insists on weekly lessons even though I’m not that good. I prefer to play the guitar, which I practice in secret.

If my mom finds out, I’ll be grounded for two months. At least.

The music stops, so I turn to leave, but something about the playing makes me stay. Without thinking, my hand is on the door handle, and I slowly open the door.

My entrance isn’t all that stealthy because my backpack gets stuck on the door handle as I walk in, and the old zipper gives way. My schoolbooks all fall to the floor with a loud thud.

Shit.

I grab the books quickly and put them back in the backpack. The zipper isn’t broken, at least. I’d never convince my mother to buy me an equal replacement for this backpack, and there’s no way I’m walking around the school with a monogrammed leather messenger bag.No fucking way.

When I look up, I’m surprised to see a kid my age at the piano.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

He has brown eyes and brown hair, and a sharp jaw with an almost-dimple on his chin. My belly does a funny flip.

“Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stop you or interrupt. I just…”

“Are you here for the music club?”

I open my mouth to say no, but his hopeful gaze makes my head nod before I think too much about it.