Saving Laurel

1. The Bad Boy

Laurel Gilroy

Taking a seat, I tug the sleeves of my long sleeve shirt down over the tops of my hands. My books clutched against me.

Who knew being the new girl would be so nerve-racking? I feel like fresh meat out on display for a pack of hungry lions and it unnerves me.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the sudden intrusive thought that infiltrates my mind. My fingers tap against my books rhythmically as I glance around.

Posters of instruments and musicians adorn the walls, music stands piled in the corner, extra chairs beside them. A large hanging cymbal and various instruments strewn about.

I didn't even want to take music but my parent's last minute decision to uproot my life for my mom's new job meant that I got all the leftover classes.

Licking my dry lips, I glance to the clock above the door, the faintest sound of voices growing in the distance. I only have two more classes after this. Surely I can make it.

My heart starts to pound, my gaze dropping to my lap as I hear footsteps approaching. A group of kids spew through the door, loud and animated as they shove each other and laugh. I watch them from beneath my lashes, wishing I could turn into one of the cold, uncomfortable-folding chairs.

A girl with pink tipped hair laughs at a boy. His hair is a light brown, tousled and carefree like he runs his hands through it constantly. He smiles, causing a dimple to dot his cheek, perfectly white teeth sparkling under the light.

Even from where I sit, peaking up through my lashes and bangs, I know his type. His black faded jeans that are not too tight but not too baggy, the T-shirt that hits right at the waistband, a military green color that makes his green, or hazel maybe, eyes pop and compliment his soft hazelnut locks. The jean jacket that's faded and worn like it's been well loved for decades.

He's obviously a "bad" boy. Even his friends scream social outcasts and artsy weirdos.

The girl with the pink tipped hair shouts over the rest of them and says "play us a song piano man!"

I'm not expecting him to sit, nor am I expecting the sound that instantly emits from the piano and before I know it, I'm gawking.

It's beautiful. This melancholy melody that slowly dances through the room, subtly romantic as it pulls at the heartstrings of the piano.

I'm so entranced, I pay no attention as the classroom fills and the seats surround me become occupied. It's only when the piano grows silent and the roar of students fills the space that I realize my surroundings.

My heart leaps in my chest as a hand lands in my line of sight and I turn to see it's owner, meeting a pair of brown eyes.

"Hi, I'm Cora." The owner of the brown eyes says, long dark hair falling from her shoulders in soft ringlets.

I know her type too. Though the cheerleading uniform gives it away.

"Laurel." I tell her my name but skip the handshake.

"Are you new?" She asks me, I nod.

"Welcome to Eastwood." I hear her voice but I've already turned back to the piano man.