You Must Remember This

Chapter 3: Minute Waltz

The music department at Heller was tucked away next to the locker rooms and down yet another level of steps. In the morning especially, arpeggios echoed through the halls before suddenly stopping, as if the students practicing knew others were listening. The more experienced students mentored the younger ones in the idiosyncrasies of the discipline, warning them of silly superstitions that by now they had internalized as fact. One must never walk through the door, they said, that led outside directly from the practice rooms; if they did so, their next concert was destined to be a failure. This custom only reinforced the geographic isolation of the area; as students practiced, they could forget they were at high school. Even the music teachers believed this, and they marked the door with caution tape.

Alan held his violin case hesitantly as he crept through the path of bamboo, past the locker rooms where some seniors in shorts eyed him warily, and down into the dungeon. He had played for a fairly long time, but he was rapidly beginning to believe he was underqualified compared to the rest of his ensemble. Alan felt shame when the teacher walked over to adjust his hand position, even though the teacher made adjustments to everyone's playing, no matter how good, and was too professional to display any signs of animus or exasperation. In fact, the more experienced students bristled most, believing they were worthy by now to play with the upperclassmen. There was a peculiar hierarchy within the music department with no special significance to anyone outside of it: the elders got to sit on the couch and ride shotgun on field trips.

Behrooz arrived at school precisely five minutes before classes began. When he had first came to Heller, he needed extra buffer time to find all his friends and greet them appropriately, but he began to realize that conversations were best enjoyed without the threat of their abrupt end. After slightly less than two weeks, Behrooz had finally learned all his classmates' names. He knew which ones to smile at, which ones were satisfied with a quick flash of a handwave, and which wanted him to ignore them.

"Hey, Tim!"

Tom grimaced, and was tempted to correct Behrooz, but it was early in the morning—perhaps he was sleep-deprived, and thus forgot basic phonics? Tom considered himself a nice guy with no need for petty conflicts.

"Hey, Behrooz, what's up?"

"Just hanging in there, just hanging in there." Behrooz moved speedily toward his first class and the other people he needed to greet, and Tom walked with carefully cultivated leisure around the corner to where Juliet was writing in her journal. Juliet used her journal as a diary and planner combined, using a wide variety of bullet points and arrows to organize her thoughts. If she did not use a variety of colors and possess neat handwriting, her intent would be completely illegible, not as if she let others look inside.

"I love the color scheme," Tom remarked from a safe distance at such an angle that he had no way of looking inside. Nevertheless, it was an educated guess, and by Juliet's warm smile Tom concluded he had started the conversation off on the right foot.

"I appreciate that. It's nothing much, really—I find it helps me keep track of life."

"What do you write inside?" Tom asked, moving closer to Juliet as she moved closer to him.

"My schedule, my diary, dreams, anything that catches my eye." Tom smiled and nodded as if he had an intimate familiarity with everything she mentioned, and Juliet took this as a sign to continue: "Do you keep a journal?"

Tom didn't keep a journal, but he wasn't sure if that was the right answer. After all, Juliet seemed to look favorably upon journals and those who wrote them, if she had any level of self-esteem; a harmless white lie could not possibly do any harm. Maybe it would soften his exterior a little in a way she would like. Perhaps an approach halfway would be best, allowing him the option of a tactical exit should he prove to be in over his head with journal-related jargon.