𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 & 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐲 🩰 | [COMPLETED]

xii. days three & four: vanilla ice cream

♚♚♚

I get hypnotized by Travis as he pressed his fingers over the piano. He knows exactly what black and white keys to hit, not needing the security of sheet music. His hands command the instrument, making rich, booming notes emerge from the hollow wood. I roll my tongue in my squishy cheek, trying to stop the biggest smile from taking over my face.

The challenge gets nearly impossible as I recognized another song from my ballet class, it's by Lizst! He knows Lizst! But he's altering the song, almost making it sound lower than it usually is. And yet, it doesn't sound off. It sounds perfect.

"How many keys are there?" I curiously ask.

"Eighty-eight," he answers. "There are three pitches: high, low, and very low. Do you wanna lift the top up to look inside?"

I pinch the hard edge of the rectangle cover, squeaking it open, and peeked inside. Some keys have three strings at the end, some have two, and others have only one. I watch as the keys with one string get slammed into the wood, ending in a big thud in the piano. He pants, retracting his hands from the instrument.

"You changed it," I say.

"Wow, you noticed?"

"Yeah. We played that song in our Ballet 5 class during center work. You made it sound lower."

He shrugs. "I just played it how I wanted to play it. It's fun."

"Is that allowed? To not play it exactly like it's written on the sheet music?" I question.

"Why wouldn't it be? No one's watching. It's like improv."

"Improv makes my stomach hurt," I say. "When you're in ballet, if you get one move wrong everyone will know."

"You're a dancer. You dance on stage, you're bound to slip up, literally and figuratively."

I give him a warm smile. "It's what my friend says, too. But it's like people wear magnifying glasses all the time and they don't care about the rest of the moves you do right. They only focus on the one thing you get wrong."

"I think you dance perfectly. But anyway, playing Liszt really hurts..." he remarks while twitching his fingers.

I snort. "You still think I dance perfectly after seeing my videos?"

"I've never seen your videos," he admits. "Don't need to."

I blink. "Really? How you do know that I dance perfectly, then?"

"The second time we met I watched you dance."

I sigh. "Those were just warm ups, though. It wasn't the real deal."

"Exactly. If I think that you're good even when you just do warm ups, then you must be amazing."

He could've looked me up online. He could've seen all my competition videos. My mistakes and rejections filmed for the entire internet to view and comment. But he didn't. He only saw the me in real life. In a way, it felt like he was protecting my privacy.

I giggle. "I think your fingers hurt because you go WAY too hard on these songs."

"Alright, if you want me to play something more low-key, I'll do it."

He stretches his fingers again, and lightly drags them over the keys. I light up, instantly recognizing the tune.

"The Entertainer!" I shout excitedly.

I do something to test his theory. I bring my arms out and twirl around, not caring about specific moves or structure. Then, I drop to the ground, my brain floating in zero gravity as he finishes the song. I gaze up at his face, and his eyes crease, clapping his hands.