One More Time

01

There's ten things I know about June Thomas.

One, she plays the piano. She's been in shows for years where she displays her talents. She stays after school in the practice rooms just about every day to play piano. She has her lessons on Thursday afternoons in those practice rooms.

Two, she doesn't talk. She walks through the halls silently, holding her folders of sheet music. The same sheet music she looks over every chance she gets. Headphone in her ears, listening to what I'd assume is more classical music.

Three, she doesn't eat lunch. She spends lunch in the practice rooms as well. Never giving herself a break from practicing piano.

Four, she's always so close to falling asleep in class. Her sheet music's usually sprawled out on her desk as she rests on top of it, never seeming to pay attention to the lecture.

Five, she does alright in school. Well, actually she does really amazing. Every time I glance over at her test score it's always an A or B. She must study extra, especially because I never see her listening in class.

Six, there's close to no form of way to find her anywhere. Her name never pops up on any social media unless posted from a performance, never a personal post.

Seven, she wore her glasses to school one day. She got called four eyes by some popular girls in the class. Ever since then I've never seen her wear those glasses. It's been close to two years though.

Eight, she always wears her hair in a high ponytail. Her dusky brown hair was naturally wavy and the baby hairs at the top of her forehead somehow stayed in an orderly fashion. Her hair laid perfectly when she'd sit down, when she'd lay her head on her desk, when she walked through the halls.

Nine, she still wears the winter school uniform in spring. She pulls the sleeves of her cardigan down constantly. She holds onto the fabric when she raises her hard so the sleeve doesn't fall. She holds the fabric of her sleeve against her palm when she goes to adjust her tie.

Ten, she hasn't a clue who I am. Not in the "she could never notice a guy like me" type of way but just a casual type of way. I pass her in the halls, I have a few classes with her, I'm just a guy at her school.

It's creepy I've paid this much attention to her, I know. But she interests me. With every slight movement she makes I can't help but feel my eyes pulling me to watch. Almost as if I'm under a spell of hers. I don't understand how everyone else doesn't stare and watch and ogle at her. I don't understand why everyone cringes and moves closer to their locker as she walks down the halls with her headphones in.

I can never escape her. It's like she's always there. Everywhere I go, she's there. It's almost like a sign from above.

The only reason I know she goes to the practice rooms everyday after school is because I listen. I hear it. Ever since the old club I was in had a special day in which I got out early, I've heard it. It was that fateful day I'd overheard the sound of a piano's beautiful music. I heard the music of Tchaikovsky before there was a slam of random notes.

I followed the sound. I followed the music. It led me to the practice rooms where through the compact classroom window I saw her. June Thomas' fists on the keys as well as her head downcasted on them. She picked herself up again, removing her hands and head from the keys. Murmuring a few words I couldn't make out, she started her music again.

Her fingers danced over the keys still playing the same piece as before. Her arms and fingers moved elegantly across the board of music. Her movements fluid and fast. Her eyes fixated on her fingers, narrowing her eyes as her focus zoned in more.

Once she'd made it through the whole piece she took a breath before beginning it again. It was soothing. I'd never heard someone play in such a way. The next slam sounded, her head falling between her fists on the keys. She recovered quicker than last time and sat up. Her eyes closed as she took in a breath and whispered to herself again.

The practice door on the opposite side of the hall opened, my head snapped to peek at it. Someone exited, holding their violin case in hand. When the door shut it left a loud crash making June Thomas' head swiftly rotated to the sound. I quickly moved out of the way of the window so she wouldn't see me. I stood against the wall, regulating my breathing after facing the fear of being caught and called creepy but soon the muffled music began to play again.

I let out a sigh of relief and went back to peeking through the window to see her play.

Ever since that day I've sat outside that practice room so I could hear her play while I did my homework. Listening to her play beautifully then get upset after missing one note was strangely comforting.

I've never been caught listening to the beautiful music she'd play but even if I did I'd have the excuse of doing my homework.

Beethoven today. She began playing. Too fast. A slam sounded. Again, she started. Wrong note. Another slam on the keyboard. Start. Slam. Start. Slam. Start. Slam.

I began to place my things away in my bag. I always tried to leave earlier enough so I wouldn't be caught. I swung my bag over my shoulder as she had already started the song over again.

Too slow. Slam. A shriek sounded.

I jumped a little. The scream was loud enough that I could hear it. You aren't supposed to hear anything out of the practice rooms except for the faint sounds of instruments. I turned around to peek through the window.

She had her hands clenching the sides of her head. Her eyes large in a sort of shock. What was going on? She pushed a stand of music over with the back of her arm. She stood still, slouching down, her breathing now looked irregular and heavy.

"One more time." I was able to hear her say.

She moved back over to the piano, muttering another phrase, possibly the same one. Once again, she began to play the same Beethoven piece. Wrong note. Slam.

Her hands went up to hair again. "I can't do this one more time!" I could hear her shout through the sound proof walls.

I began to turn away. Now was the time to leave.

But as I made it down the hallway... I did hear her playing

One more time.