Chapter 15

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As she walked around campus with a newfound confidence, Miren wondered if any of her classes would be able to meet the unbelievable, exhilarating high that was first hour.

So far it didn't seem like a possibility.

Calc was calc; she had bookwork on solving trigonometric integrals. And the instructor—Miren was actually delighted to see that he was malea middle aged, quiet man, seemed polite enough to not draw unwarranted attention to her.

"Welcome to Rinzen, Mr. Ellison," he had said. He didn't call her up to introduce herself or anything. And Miren was fine with that. She was too busy basking in the glow of pissing the hell out of Ms. Cowdry.

As Miren ventured outside, she began to enjoy the fact that the school had such a detached campus. The perimeter of the school was enclosed by black gates, but almost each subject of class had its own type of building, permitting Miren to go outside and soak up the fresh fall air.

She was sure that it made things unpleasant during the wintertime, but since it was only mid September, the air was brisk and cool, the sun supplying her with moderate warmth. It was that type of neutral weather where you could wear practically anything and not fall victim to the staggering effects of Mother Nature.

With the school map in hand, Miren walked toward Jasper Theater for philharmonic orchestra. When she opened them, she was exposed to a space that resembled her old orchestra room at Rosemunde. Built like a small theater, about thirty emerald green viewing chairs were aligned in three rows. A large stage lifted about three feet from the ground. On it was a group of students chatting and strumming their instruments.

She walked toward an empty seat, following along with the students. She continued strumming her viola about five minutes before starring out into space. Something didn't feel right. Where's the teacher?

As she began to think about the instructor's absence, she could hear shoes shuffling from behind the stage. The instructor probably had a small office there. But emerging from the dark depths of the backstage wasn't a teacher, but rather a student with a violin in hand.

Jeno? She squinted her eyes at him when his gaze nonchalantly met her's. In a short notice, he was standing center stage.

"Mr. Gales is unavailable at the moment," he said. "I will be administering the warm up."

He then held his violin for proper play. "Instruments up."

The students obeyed, and on Jeno's cue, began to tune their instruments accordingly. After a little while, Jeno brought down his instrument. "That's enough."

As if on cue, Mr. Gales, a white-haired older man, met up with Jeno. "Thank you for your help!" he said, patting the young male's shoulder, "You can sit down now."

Jeno nodded, taking a seat in the front of the first circular row. Looking up from the back row, Miren rolled her eyes when she saw where he was sitting. He was first-chair violin.

Of course, Miren thought, shaking her head, the tormentors get everything, don't they?

"Moving on," The instructor began, shattering Miren's thoughts, "I'm sorry I kept all of you waiting. I had a doctor's appointment this morning. I have this deep, oozing rash on my arm—"

"Too much information," Jeno interrupted, almost jokingly.

Miren's eyes widened. She didn't know it was possible for Jeno to show any other emotion aside disdain toward her. Some of the boys began chuckling. Mr. Gales began to shush them, waving his short arms in the air.

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