Muse.

Chapter 1

The hallways started to empty as the bell for last period rang. The sounds of clanging lockers and the murmur of conversations faded away. Except in one particular room. And if you followed that noise carefully, further down towards the school entrance, you would find the science lab. At least, that was what the fading letters on the open door said. But if you took a peek or just glanced when you passed by, you'd notice the science equipment has been replaced by bulky cameras, students' notepads, and hanging pictures along the walls. 

That is Mr. Charles' Photography Class. And this is where our story begins. 

It begins with a boy with mahogany hair and hazel eyes entering Mr. Charles' photography class; finding his way through the groups of chatting students to his usual seat near the window. It was the last day before summer vacation, and everyone in the room was more restless than normal, with yearbooks being passed around.

"Alright, class, settle down. Settle down." said Mr. Charles, rising from his wooden desk near the door. "I have something important to tell you."

The room began to hush.

"Since you teenagers are going to have a long break, " he continues, in his deep fatherly voice, walking to the front of his desk," I have tasked you with something simple: I would like you to find a muse."

A hum of discussions filled the class. Some people groaned in protest.

The boy with mahogany hair raised up his hand, "Mr. Charles, what is a muse?"

"Very good question, Connor, my boy. I was just about to get to it. You see, a muse can be anyone from friends to family--even strangers! As long as that is someone who inspires,  someone who makes that sudden spark in your mind where everything makes sense or completely different. Either way, because of  that someone,you are glad you have seen things in a whole new light."

 The class fell silent for a moment. 

A muse, Connor thought. Who could it be?

"Mr. Charles', why are you giving us this project?" another student at the back, Gus, asks. "We won't get anything in return."

"Do you mean say, that experience from this upcoming project, will not be of value to you? Wasn't that the reason you joined this class? For the experience that you might use in the near future, when you become the photographers you dream to be."

"Yeah. Good picture, good money," one of them joke.

Mr. Charles just sighs, shaking his head. And continued telling the class details about their project. He wants at least 17 shots, to commemorate the 17th Arts Festival of the school, where they will also display their masterpieces. Failure to do so, will result in an instant F. Students started to protest complaining about the assignment as a whole, while Mr. Charles counters with the fact that they will have enough time.

All this while, the boy, Connor, was looking out the window, pondering on who his muse would be. Who, he thought. Definitely not Laura, my little sister. She jumps around too much. And Mum and Dad...well, they do inspire me. Everyday. But, how about somebody different for a change? 

Then he remembered. That girl. The one on the bus, on that day when he was still recovering with the fact that his beloved grandfather won't come back from the dead. Her eyes were like glistening black pearls. That girl. The one who, when she asked if the seat was taken, had a smile that, not only made his heart stop, but just had this sort of hidden message that made him know that things would be okay. That's it!  A muse. 

Then, the bell rang. Everyone in the building screamed and made some noise.  The whole photography class began to disperse into the now deafening hallway.

"Don't forget! No pictures, no grade!" Mr. Charles' called out.

His class was almost empty, except for a few students still signing pages and Connor. He walked toward the wrinkle-ridden photography teacher.

"Mr. Charles, I have a question regarding our project."  

"Go ahead, son," the teacher replied as he took a seat back at his desk.

"If the person who was our muse, was a complete stranger, how would you ask them about it? Do you go straight up to them?"

"Connor, my boy, from my experience," Mr. Charles pauses, pushing up his glasses, "there are only two ways. You either let them ask you, which is quite impossible unless you are let's say...buff, and melt all the girls' hearts."

Mr. Charles' eyes shifted to the crowd of girls outside the classroom , to the ever-muscular Ben Harvey--also one the members of the photography class. They both chuckled.

"Or," he says, going back to their conversation, " you summon up your guts and ask yourself."

Connor nodded and noticed, from the classroom's window that the bus he usually takes home  was approaching. The girl! he suddenly remembered. 

"Thanks, Mr. Charles!" he managed to say, as he ran out the door. 

"One more thing!" Mr. Charles suddenly shouts.

Connor turned back, momentarily.

"You must remember that your muse will lead the way."

"Sure thing," Connor replies, not really understanding what he meant. "Have a great summer, Mr. Charles!"

And he ran for the bus stop.