Kanna-sama: Thankfully, since I was in chorus for five years, I can make sense of piano sheet music

Kanna-sama: Thankfully, since I was in chorus for five years, I can make sense of piano sheet music. My own passion for music is able to be transferred into my writing. Yay!

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Title: Tumbling Over Cliffs

Rating: T

Genre: Romance/Drama/Humor

Summary: April isn’t sure what direction her life is taking, but after meeting Jasper and singing with him, she knows that she wants to do something with this newfound talent. And she learns through her brother’s mistakes and a deep friendship that love is a hard, powerful emotion.

Notes/Warnings: Music-centered fic; short-chaptered; minor humor

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Prologue

There were few things that I wasn’t sure of in my life. The only thing, my mother teased, that I had no idea about was myself. She was more than right. I was seventeen, nearing closer and closer to graduating from high school, and I didn’t have the slightest clue what I wanted to do with myself.

Often enough, I didn’t care much for what was going on in my own life, seeing as how it was dull and without activity. I concentrated on solving everyone else’s problems, instead. For awhile, I thought that might mean I should become a therapist. I played with this idea for a week at the most and abandoned it when I recalled what therapists generally looked like and how annoying they were. First off, they were old, with boring voices, eyes that said “I say that I understand, but I really don’t,” and wore the ugliest clothing on the face of the earth. As for the second part, well, as I said, they have this look on their face that says they don’t really understand. My mom went to therapy for awhile after her dad died and I was there sometimes.

I hated that woman.

She would nod her head, ask, “And how does that make you feel?” or “Would you like to continue on that thought?” Basically, therapists were just there for you to rant at. Yeah, it might make you feel a little better, but can you honestly say that you are better? Take the criminally insane: one in three of them had gone to see therapists beforehand to rant at. See how they ended up?

Well, when I posed this thought to my mother, she had a queer sort of expression on her face before turning around and leaving me standing in the kitchen. The next day, she had decided she wouldn’t need to see a therapist anymore. Instead, she was taking up yoga to “clear her anguished soul” as she put it. I had sympathized with her, but isn’t that a bit on the dramatic side?

In any case, after my grandpa’s death, and my older brother of nineteen getting in some trouble with his college (something to do with drugs or some other) we moved a few cities away from ours. Goodbye, Old Town. Hello, New Town.

And Hello, New Opportunities.

That is, new opportunities to butt into other people’s business and forget about my own.

Tumbling Over Cliffs

My family was as unconventional as they came. My mom worked as a woman engineer with scientists and technology. My dad, on the other hand, worked as a part-time astronomy college professor and was the one that cooked and cleaned the majority of the time. I had never seen how strange it was until my brother got in a fight about it when he was ten and came home sulking and raging – to me, as always, even when I was eight.

David, in fact, was more normal than I was. He did perfect in math and science, something we all assumed he inherited from mom, and got into trouble with law from fights or drugs. I couldn’t remember a time after he turned thirteen when he didn’t smell like cigarettes or pot. After a guest speaker came into my second-grade class one day, having to press a machine to his throat in order to speak, I covered my brother’s walls with handwritten notes with information about how awful smoking was and even printed out pictures of ruined lungs. I remembered with pride how he kept a picture of those lungs on his wall and stopped smoking. I wasn’t as worried about his pot-smoking, though.

As for myself, I felt I was the misfit in the family. I didn’t have any real talents that I could see except for my dabbling in photography. This, from my point of view, was not a good thing, seeing as how I had a dad that taught astronomy, a mom that worked with science, and a brother who loved math. I would be like a baby that was born with their twin attached to them. I felt like that already. I got straight Cs in everything, even Gym! Even when I try my hardest, it amounts to nothing but ‘average.’ After years of it being that consistent, it becomes a bit annoying.

I imagine that’s why I’m so ignored at school.

When we first moved to New Town, as I call it, there were a few curious glances at us as we hauled our things around the yard, as moving men dragged furniture into the house, and as David simply stood there in the middle of the yard, being his naturally lazy self. After the few first days, however, the neighborhood returned to a generally normal attitude. Even now, in October, no one tries to befriend us. If we wanted some friends, we had to go out and make them. David didn’t have a problem with this and neither did my parents. But me?

There wasn’t any way in hell that I was going to just bounce up to someone and start talking.

For one thing, I am the second plainest type of person you’ll ever see: I have the dark, waveless auburn hair and pale, no-way-will-it-tan skin of my mother and the hazel eyes of my dear beloved father. Secondly, I am shy as a rabbit. Instead of being noticed, I would much rather dig a hole in the ground and huddle in it and turn my back on the world. My mom has always told me that I should get out in the world and make friends, but I don’t make friends. My last ones came to me. That’s how I have it done and wouldn’t want it any other way. After all, being alone isn’t so bad.

I just wish I could at least claim to have straight As and not have a social life. When you have straight Cs and no social life – well, that doesn’t make you a nerd; it makes you a loser.

In a way, I admire my brother. He has the handsome softness that my dad’s face has and black, black hair that is curly and falls over his forehead gracefully. He has the slightly darker skin of a Grecian, which is my dad’s nationality, and a strong body without even going to the gym. He has an easy way with people that not even my mom has. It’s a charm only he and dad possess and every time I witness it, I want to pound them both in the ground.

I can see why mom fell in love with dad.

Today, it was October fifteenth, only a week or so after homecoming weekend. When David had asked me if I was going, I scoffed and told him, “As if I would waste my time!”

The jackass had said: “What time is that? The time you spend being worthless?”

Sometimes I wish him to the depths of hell.

For the first two months of school, I had an empty period that was supposed to be filled with an elective because that part of my transcript hadn’t transferred to my new school correctly. Why, I couldn’t say, but I was having trouble deciding what I wanted to be in. The only two I could possibly go in was art or choir. Now, I have no problem with drawing, but I have met the art teacher and nearly shoved her into a locker because from behind she looks like a student. I have also heard horrifying stories about her getting major pissed off and throwing a knife across the room. I’ve even passed through the hall and witnessed her screaming at a student, waving her short, thin arms in the air frantically. Suffice to say, I don’t relish the idea of being in that lady’s class.

With choir, I had a different issue. I have never sung in my entire life, not even with songs on the radio. I had hummed, but never sang. My counselor, Mr. Wicks, had calmly told me that all I would have to do was sing some scales (what are scales, I had wondered at the time) and the national anthem. To do this, I would need to go see the choral teacher, Mr. Lauer. I didn’t even know where this guy’s classroom was!

Sighing to myself and drawing my knees up to my chest, I stared down at the schedule on the table with its holes in the seats and tabletop. I always ate my lunch out in the courtyard, but I was so bothered by my current problem, I had just bought a Gatorade and some chips to munch on and left it at that. Now, with the sun glaring down at my bowed head and the chatter of my fellow students around me, I felt a little irritated with it all. I had done my electives at my last school with French! Why should I have to do some other stupid class?

Suddenly, the soft wind that was blowing pushed my paper off the table and I let out a strangled cry of protest. Untangling myself, I hopped to my feet and bent down to get my paper, but another hand reached it before mine. Freezing, I slowly straightened and stared with wide eyes at the male that returned my stare with a serene, neutral expression. A tiny shiver of apprehension went up my spine. I had never seen this guy since coming to school, but his attire was quite familiar. He was donned in black pants with what looked like black boots sticking out from beneath them and a white, strangely elegant long-sleeved shirt with a loose black tie hanging from it. I could only see one of his cold, blue eyes because his hair hung over his other eye.

Oh, man, please don’t say anything, I thought desperately. I didn’t want to engage in any conversation with some guy who’d more likely have a bad run-in with my brother than anything, seeing as David despised people that dressed like this. Please, please, please, please...

“You lost your paper,” he quietly told me, his voice soft and silky. I shivered and gave an uncertain smile, holding out a shaky hand. He didn’t remove his eyes from my face as he handed me the paper. I felt my smile, already small and weak, starting to collapse. He released the paper and I forced a smile of thanks on my lips before fleeing back to my table. When I looked back after shoving my paper in my book bag, he was gone, starting down to the other part of the courtyard.

Breathing with relief, I pulled my bag over my shoulder and went inside, glad to have escaped that uncomfortable encounter.

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Mr. Lauer’s room was where all the other music rooms were. I should have known it would be in the band hall, but I tend to let those thoughts escape my mind when I’m having an apoplexy. The room was fairly empty when I entered, with only a tall, slender man and a tiny freshman girl present. I inched in and the door squeaked closed behind me. I winced as the two turned. I suspected this to be the choral teacher, because he said with a pleasant smile, “I’ll be with you in a minute.” I stood awkwardly by the door and brushed my long hair from my face, thankful that my bangs were a little longer than eyebrow-length and rarely bothered me. Other girls had to pin their bangs back constantly.

Once the tiny freshman girl had skittered off, I hesitantly approached Mr. Lauer. He was one of the more handsome teachers, but still old with lightening blonde hair and dark skin. He had square glasses that were propped on a long nose and thin lips, but a nice smile. I bet that half of the girls he taught swooned whenever they saw him. I was made of tougher stuff: David had playacted what older guys did to younger girls so that I didn’t make any mistakes. He had done that shortly after one of his friends had boldly asked me out. I had been fourteen and had given him the blankest look in history. What was I supposed to think? – That he was serious?

“Hello,” Mr. Lauer greeted presently. “What can I help you with?” He had a nice voice, I noted. It’s no wonder he can sing so well. You would have to, in order to be a choral teacher, right?

“Um...I was told I had to do something before I could sign up for choir...?” I slowly asked in a small voice. I didn’t want to do this. I could feel heat starting up my neck and to my cheeks. Oh, hell’s bells, I was blushing.

His eyes brightened. “Yes, of course.” He went to the piano in the front of the room. It was an electric piano, which I found odd because I always imagined people that sang and played the piano with old, wooden pianos. Seeing my look of incredulity, he explained, “This works better than the wood piano and is easier to use and tune. Now, I would like you to sing the major scale from low Do to high Do.” I eyed him nervously. What does he mean, D'oh? Isn’t that what Homer Simpson always says...? “Here, let me sing it for you,” he said after a long pause. He punched a key on the piano and then sang Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do. “Now, you sing it.”

Grimacing, I turned my eyes to something – anything but his face – and sang the scale. He instructed me on the next exercise he wanted me to do and I copied him. It was easier, then, when I had to sing the anthem. I didn’t really hear myself sing, but heard the words in my head, as I heard them all the time on TV during the super bowl: “O, say can you see...”

When I was finished, he didn’t say anything for a long time, staring down at the piano keys with his hands settled on the white ones. I stared at his bowed head, shifting uncomfortably, wondering what he was thinking. I didn’t like it when I couldn’t see a person’s eyes; you can control your expression, but never your eyes. “...Sir?” I ventured after the silence stretched out painfully.

“You’ve never been in choir, is that right?” He asked, raising his head and looking at me intensely. I took a step back, surprised by the fierceness on his face.

“N-no, I haven’t.” For one split second, I considered running as fast I could from that empty room with that crazy man in it, but he spoke before I was given the chance to make a conclusion from that.

“You have a very beautiful voice,” he stated, frowning at me over the piano. “What’s your name?”

“April Rider.”

He nodded in a wise, contemplative way that had me nervous all over again. “Does anyone else in your family sing?” I shook my head. As far as I knew, no one did. “Amazing,” Mr. Lauer murmured, his eyes looking dazzled. “A rare talent in your family, then. Well, Miss Rider, you have a lovely soprano sound. The whole reason I do these tests before allowing people to sign up for choir is to determine which choir they’re put in. We have Basic and Select Choir, and then we have the top one, Supreme Sounds Choir.” He paused at this and looked at me with a thoughtful expression. “I think you would do well in that one, April.” I stared at him mutely, feeling my heart pounding against my chest with panic. I wasn’t expecting this.

“B-but I don’t know anything!” I protested as he rose from the piano bench and went to a cupboard and started gathering things, putting them in a binder. “I didn’t even know what a major scale was before today!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll learn as you go along,” he told me smoothly. He turned and handed me a binder. I stared at it, despair welling up inside me. I took it and turned my gaze up to him, knowing how helpless I looked. “You’ll be fine,” he assured with such a smile of kindness that I couldn’t but trust his words.

End Chapter One