truth

Nayda. He supposed it was a pretty name. He also supposed that she had a rather pretty face. Delicate-looking, with soft features, an exquisite subject for a portrait waiting to be painted. He only wished that he could’ve spoken to her longer. But the look she had given him was extremely unnerving. Aiden didn’t like people prying in his mind, and he doubted anyone would like what they would find. At this thought, Aiden remembered the thing that he was dreading. “Maybe I won’t go home just yet,” he said to himself.

********************

What a strange boy, she thought, watching him walk straight out of the school-building as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Wait, that wasn’t right. From what she had seen, the boy had actually seemed very tense, as if he was concerned about something far away from the world of high school and meeting new students in the hallway, no matter how strange the circumstances under which they met.

As the main doors of the school swung back into place, making a loud and unsurprisingly uninviting sound, Nayda felt an exceptionally strong urge to look down at the ground. The impulse was unexpected, but had a feeling of necessity to it. Nayda succumbed to it, gazing down and seeing a manila envelope bearing the phrase: Property of Aiden Michaels.

He had said his name was Aiden during the brief exchange they had shared. Somewhat of an odd name; maybe they could’ve discussed it. In fact, she had a rather uncommon name herself. Why, they could’ve spoken about absolutely anything—school, family, hobbies, friends…anything. But, he had hurried off after helping her up. And besides, she had to get to class. She was already late as it was. It was almost too bad; Nayda would’ve appreciated some company and someone to talk to in this strange new school.

Placing the envelope into her bag, she promised to remember to return it at her first opportunity. She continued on down the hallway, occasionally peering into classrooms she passed, hoping that she’d find the one she was searching for. This is ridiculous, she thought. I mean, how hard could it be to find Room 105. She assumed there’d only be one. But, for all she knew, this school could be Hell in disguise, and there were actually six-hundred and sixty-six different classrooms bearing a placard stating that they were all Room 105. In her frustration, Nayda began to recall the four previous schools she had attended in the past year before coming to this one. She had always had trouble making friends and she never understood why. It was possible that losing her parents at a young age had affected her ability to socialize. She missed her mom and dad terribly, it was true, but she thought that she had gotten over it. After all, it was a long time ago. And, if there was one thing she hated more, it was dwelling on the past. Especially when there was a much more painful present to think about.

After her parents died, Nayda went to a foster home. Eventually, she was assigned to a semi-willing couple that adopted her and raised her. Well, maybe they didn’t raise her, but they did feed her. Didn’t that suggest that they cared for her? Maybe a teeny bit? But, as she grew older, she realized that her foster parents didn’t seem to like her much at all. In truth, her adoptive mother had even confided in Nayda that she had hoped for a better daughter, one that would listen to her parents, focus on her studies, and follow the dreams that her parents set for her. Well, sadly for them, that girl was not Nayda. She listened to her foster parents to a certain extent, and she did well enough in school, at least in her own eyes; but never would she allow someone else to force a dream upon her. Nayda was determined to set her own future and create her own hopes and dreams. However, she had no clue as to what those would be. All she knew thus far was that she enjoyed one thing more than anything else in the world, and that was playing music.

She reminisced of her real parents, and the day they introduced music to her. She was 7 years old and her parents had brought home some huge wooden contraption on wheels. They had wheeled it into the living room with her sitting atop it. She had been so excited. Her father had told her that it was a gift for her and that he hoped she would love it. “Oh, I’m sure she will,” her mother had said. “Especially after she learns how to play.”

“What is it?” Nayda had asked curiously.

“It’s called a piano. It produces music, at least when it’s used correctly it does.” Her mother had smirked at this last remark. “Actually, honey, Daddy isn’t that good at using this particular instrument,” her father had said abashedly.

“But, you won’t have to worry, honey,” her mother had said calmly. “I promise to teach you how to play. And that way you can learn to love music too.”

“But, I do love music, Mommy.”

“I don’t think you understand, baby. I don’t mean music like the songs you hear on the radio, or the alphabet song, or even the songs your father sings while he’s in the shower,” Mommy had explained slowly. “I’m talking about a type of music that is different to every person that hears it. A type of music that is unique and wonderful and that sings throughout your soul expressing all the happiness and joy locked up inside. Even when you’re sad, this song will lift all of the pains and heartache away, leaving you free.”

“I know, Mommy. That’s the kind of music I was talking about.”

“Really?” Mommy replied curiously. “And when have you heard it?”

Nayda thought for a second. “Well, I hear it when I think about you and Daddy,” she had said, grinning at her loving parents.

“Excuse me, miss.” Nayda was pulled out of her dream reluctantly, as if coming out of a deep sleep. “Hello there. Are you lost?” asked a woman standing at the doorway of one of the classrooms. Nayda looked above the woman’s head. The sign read: “Room 105.” Figures. “I said, Are you lost?”

Apparently not, Nayda thought to herself. “Um, no. Thank you though. But I think I’ve found where I need to be. See, I’m a new student here.”

“Oh?” the woman replied, seemingly unimpressed. “Regardless, you are still late. And what class are you supposed to be in right now?”

Nayda referenced her schedule. “Art class in Room 105.”

“What a coincidence. That happens to be my class,” the woman stated impassively. “My name is Ms. Olivier, and I’m going to be your teacher.”

********************