Page 8 of Fractured Souls

His pointer finger touches my chin and tilts my head up to meet his eyes, almost so dark they could be black, but up close I see the brown within them. He has cropped short hair with it shorter on the sides and longer in the middle. It's not styled and looks as if he runs his fingers through it all the time. He's slim, but I'm guessing he is built under the hoodie he is wearing along with dark jeans and black boots. He has a ring on almost every finger.

Through my intense staring I realize he still has his finger under my chin. I try to duck my head, but he won’t let me. He studies me intently before asking in a deep baritone voice, “Are you good?” I nod, and he gives me a slight smirk. Holy butterflies. Then he nods in return as he removes his finger. “You play before?” I nod again; I'm really getting tired of nodding so much. I feel like a fucking bobble head.

He goes to say more, but then the teacher comes walking by. “Ah yes, Mr. Anderson, it would seem Miss. Wilson is our Allstar Competition winner of the year. Congratulations, my dear.” I give a small smile and nod.

I hear a quiet snicker followed by a whisper, “What's wrong with her? Can't she talk?” to which someone else responds, “I heard she went crazy and can't talk now.”

I feel myself tense up, which doesn't go unnoticed by the guy sitting next to me.

“Enough,” who I know as Mr. Anderson says in a deep, dark voice that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand and my pulse kick up at the same time. Holy shit, his voice is commanding, and you'd think it would terrify me, but instead I just get this intense tingling feeling working its way through my body.

The teacher chides, “Alright, class, that's not how we treat new students. Back to work. Mr. Anderson, catch up Miss Wilson. She'll be your partner now.”

“Got it, Mr. B,” says Mr. Anderson. I pull out my notebook and write,Name?and show it to him. He gives me another tiny smirk and says, “Ryker.” Then he stares at me before letting out a deep chuckle. Holy hell, I feel like I could listen to that chuckle all day long. What is wrong with me?Before I can get lost in those thoughts, he says, “You gonna tell me yours?”

Oh shit. Oops. I write down my name and show him.

“Badass name for a badass chick.” I scrunch my nose up at that, and all he does is smirk at me before focusing on the piano again. “So, we are just creating our own pieces now since we spent the last month learning to read notes. Can you read and write them?”

I nod and write,I've been playing since I was four, and I've written my own songs before.He reads it and runs a hand through his hair, “Right, sorry, dumb question. Since you did Allstar you would've had to show proof you can compose. How did you get on so young anyways? I heard the waitlist is crazy and usually only seniors get in.”

I write,My mom's mentor heard me play when I was twelve, and he put in a recommendation to get me on the list to compete, and since it only happens once a year, I just got accepted this year.Not adding the parts where my mom is actually dead, and I have no idea how Mother got me in now with a different last name and so young.

Thinking about that brings to surface a memory of when mom told me about it four years or so ago.

“Baby girl!” Mom yells for me.

I was outside talking to a few of the other kids that live close by. I say bye and run back up to the house.

Mom is standing on the back porch holding her phone bouncing on her toes. She has a huge grin on her face, which makes me smile back at her. I love my mom's smile; it’s infectious. When she lets out her big one, like right now, she gets this dimple in each cheek, and her eyes spark the brightest hazel color I have ever seen.

“What's up, Mom?” I ask her as I skid to a stop.

“That was Josh I was just on the phone with! He had news he wanted to tell me.” Josh is my piano instructor. Even through all of our moves, he still teaches me. Sometimes it just had to be over video chat.

She bounces on her toes again, looking like a rocket ready to take off at any second. “Okay,” I draw out with a chuckle. “What is this news?”

“You know the Allstars Competition we had talked about with Josh at your last practice?” I nod. “Well, he said that he talked with a friend of his that helps run the competition every year, and he might be able to get you on the waitlist to compete.”

I scrunch my brows. “But you have to be older. I thought a junior or senior.”

“Yes, normally you do. But since you are homeschooled and very smart,”—she bops my nose as I roll my eyes—“you are technically ahead. Plus, you have been working closely with Josh for many years, and he said he would be able to swing it for you. You would be on the waitlist, so it would still be two or three years away, but baby girl, the money you win could help so much for your college fund! Or a ‘whatever Harley plans to do in the future’ fund.”

I chuckle at how she uses air quotes. Mom is a firm believer that I can go do whatever I want after I graduate. She said I have a good head on my shoulders for being so young. She always ends up crying when she says it, though.

“Wow. That would be so cool. But nerve-racking. Mom, I don't know if I am even good enough for that,” I say as I wring my fingers together in front of me. I couldn't even imagine trying to play by myself in front of so many people right now. As amazing as it would be, it's scary.

“Oh baby, you would do amazing. And we still have a few years, so don’t stress about it right now. Just be excited!” She hugs me tight and squeals as she tells me how proud she is of me.

The memory fades as Ryker nods and says, “Well, I've heard it's a big deal and colleges will be after you next year since you're a bigshot now.” He winks. “I'm only taking this because I can play half decent and didn't know what else to take for my arts credit.”

I nod, and my lips tilt up a fraction, I write in my notebook asking him if I can warm up before we get started. He nods and makes room for me to play. I take a deep breath, straighten my back, lay my fingers on the keys, and then let the power of the piano take over.

I close my eyes and play, a huge grin forming on my lips as I keep playing, everything just coming back to me, as if it's only been days since I played with my mom and not years. As I finish, I open my eyes and realize the room is silent.

I look around and notice all eyes are on me. I automatically turn my head to search out Ryker next to me, as if I'll find comfort in those dark eyes of his.Wow, okay, slow your roll, Harley… You don't know this guy.

His eyes are on me, and he has the biggest smile on his face. It automatically calms me down, and my shoulders sag. I didn't even realize I had gotten so tense. Ryker lets out a low whistle and starts clapping, which seems to pull everyone else out of their intense daze, and they also start clapping.

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