I don’t want to follow in their footsteps.

I never have and I never will. Never a rebel, never an outsider, never an insider, never a conformer.

So what was I? Who was I?

Good questions.

Questions I ask myself to this day, I assure you.

The truth? I didn’t know what I was. I didn’t know who I was. I have this vague recollection of parents. Two of them. Both blonde. Both blue eyed. Both died.

It’s bizarre and I feel oddly heartless that I don’t remember them. It honestly didn’t bug me. I was no-one’s child.

Passed on to my odd aunt and raised slightly Estella style, I didn’t ask questions. Questions were for those with nothing better to do. But me, I had something to do, I always had something to do.

Music was pushed on me at a very young age. Music, and more music. Piano. Violin. Cello.

And to my aunt’s mistake, guitar.

By the time I was seven, I was as fluent in piano, violin and cello as I was in the English language. My music tutor (I was home-schooled), Mr Naib said I was a remarkable talent and that I had “music in my blood”. This thought intrigued me, and so I did the unthinkable. I questioned my aunt.

It was winter, I remember that. She was sitting in a rocking chair, looking like some sort of ancient knitting doll. She was always knitting.

“How come I have music in my blood?” I asked her, my seven year old voice oddly excited. I was usually a very calm child.

“Lily-anna Price, that’s none of your business. Don’t ask questions. The world doesn’t like people who ask questions.”

And so life went on like that. I would ask a question, be refused an answer, and then I’d forget said question. Life with my aunt was oddly secluded. I hardly ever went outside. We didn’t have a TV in the house, although we did have a CD player. At times, late at night I could hear her listening to Frank Sinatra and crying. I didn’t have friends, I didn’t have toys, I didn’t have dolls. I had my instruments and my books.

But it was never enough.

It was summer.

I was 15.

I snuck out.

***

She was the blondest girl I’d ever seen.

Actually, it was almost to the level of white. It hung to her shoulders in a simple cut, not like everyone else’s. I looked at this girl and knew she wasn’t like anyone else. Pale like someone who had never really experienced sunlight, eyes wide like someone who had never really experienced this world, she ran down the dark street like an angel fleeing from God.

I leapt over a couple of walls, scaled a couple of fences and stood to wait for her at the end of the street.

She damn near knocked me down. She was a tiny little thing, but the force of impact alone would have knocked someone a little smaller than me down. She took two dainty steps back, reeling from the impact. Her wide blue eyes looked right through me.

“Jesus Christ, where are you headed in such a rush?” I asked. She shook her head, as if she couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was small, like her. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Well I’m not broken or anything, and if you’re ok I think we can just forget about it.” I could feel her studying me. I wasn’t sure what she saw. Probably a boy her own age, a little skinny, quite tall with messy chestnut hair. Wearing way too much eyeliner that almost blinded his green eyes. That was me, all dressed up for another night in the shadows.

“I’m alright.” She told me, her voice a little more defiant this time. I smiled.

“Well good. Where are you going anyway?”

Her forehead furrowed and the tip of her tongue appeared between her pink lips. She looked deep in thought. Finally, she answered.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I repeated, in disbelief.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

We stood in silence for a moment. I felt that I should introduce myself, so I offered her my hand. She shook it.

“I’m Andrew.”

“Lily-anna.”

“That’s a beautiful name.” I told her. She blushed, going a violent shade of pink. “But why don’t I just call you Lily?” I suggested.

“Ok. You can call me Lily. If I can call you Andy.” I grinned.

“You sure do drive a hard bargain.” I teased. “But it’s a deal.” I began to walk slowly in the direction of the skate park, where I was headed. She followed me, a pale shimmer at the side of a boy in black.

“Where are you going?” She asked, sounding panicked.

“The skate park. A lot of my friends hang out there. Do you want to come with?” I really hoped she said yes. This little blonde girl with the wide eyes intrigued me.

“Yes, alright.”

“I’ve not seen you around.” I said quietly, a conversation opener I hoped.

“No, I don’t suppose you have.”

“I mean, I haven’t seen you at school or anything.” I explained.

“I don’t go to school. I have tutors.”

“Oh. Are your parents those weird religious types?” I asked. When you’re that age, any question goes. There is nothing too personal, and there is an empathy among teenagers for each other, something adults have never quite managed to hold on to.

“My parents are dead.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” I ran my hand through my hair in embarrassment.

“Don’t apologise. I don’t miss them. I didn’t even know them.”

“Did they die when you were very young Lily?”

“Yes, I suppose they did.”

We walked under a street light, and I studied her. She was wearing very neat pale blue jeans and a matching sweater. She looked like a little lost girl in a big kid’s city. I wanted very badly to look after her.

I didn’t know how difficult it would be.