I stepped out of my Chevy Silverado and frowned at the gothic-looking school. I didn't understand the point in going at all, but my dad insisted that it was necessary. It didn't do anything for me, and the stupid school required that every student take a certain number of electives or sports. Mine used to be music, but I quit that three years ago. That's when my mom died in a car wreck. I was there that night and I remember it clearly. The bright lights blinding me; the squealing tires like a cruel melody and the eternally cold rain making me shiver. Mom had just picked me up from a violin lesson that I insisted on going to despite the forecasted rainstorm. It was dark, very dark for five pm on a summer night. The other car had bright headlights and I guess we did too. Mom couldn't see, the other driver couldn't either and both cars swerved. Mom died on impact and I had almost no injuries. I don't know about the other driver. That was almost a year ago.
My name is Harmony Matthews and this is my story. I wish I could deny that the wreck ever happened but I can't. News of the accident spread like fire; hitting the front page of every major paper within fifteen miles. That's why I hate school so much; everyone either hates me, or pities me. I hate pitying looks and well who likes being hated. Not me, that's for sure. Truly, I can't say everyone hates or pities me. I have two best friends who do not. Mark who I have a major crush on; and Heather who is my rock. That's not to say that they agree with my behavior. They don't, of course. In fact, they hate how I am always so melancholy. But I couldn't help but stare bleakly at the white walls. Teachers don't bother me when I do; they just give me the notes I missed during that time. I sometimes wonder what went wrong. I'd had the perfect life before; a passion for which I had equal skill, confidence friends would die for, and a family that was a unit. In short, I was happy. Now I have none of that. I've tried other hobbies; sports of which I have not passion or skill, art which I have no skill in, and writing where I have no passion. I have no confidence at all; I can't even tell my best friend that I like him on a deeper level. And my family has no unit; it's just Dad and I now. And he works all the time. In short, I don't feel happy anymore, I feel depressed.
Back to the present, I watch as Heather and Mark pull in on either side of me. Heather was gorgeous compared to me. Tall, with dark hair and blue eyes. Her hair wasn't a frizzy mess like mine; it was perfectly straight. Dark and stunning compared to my red, curly hair, green eyes and average height. She drew eyes just getting out of her Ford Escape as she was now. "Good morning Harm!" she practically screamed when she spotted me. "Nothing good about it, Ther" I tell her as Mark gets out of his jeep. Heather told him I liked him, and he's been trying to get me to admit it. I won't; I mean who would like a total pessimist like me? Not a soul, that's who. Not that it mattered; I'm not interested in the date life. I'm not interested in anything.
After exchanging hellos with Mark, the three of us head for class. I'm glad it is a half day, so I won't have to worry about staring at the same walls for eight hours. But that doesn't stop the drama of first period. Melody Grange, the most popular girl here hates me. So, of course I am tripped walking up the rows of seats to my own. And then Melody says, "Harmony doesn't play because she couldn't compete" to her little friends. They used to be mine too. But, whatever. Other than that the day is boring and soon enough I am home.
Once I get there, I see a big package on the front step. It's not huge, but it's big enough that it won't fit in the mailbox. And it has my name on it. Wondering what it is, and hoping it's from a college I quickly slip inside and to my room. There, I open the package and drop it as I read the sender's address. Barnard College, it says. Barnard is primarily a music college. It's where my mother went and where I wanted to go when I still loved music. The package included a letter and several other things. The letter started out…
Dear Ms. Harmony Matthews
I have heard that you are as great a musician as you mother before you. And given the tapes sent, I see that it is true. However, since the board insists on auditions, we—I—ask that you come on May the seventeenth for an official audition….
May 17th? Barnard? Audition? I don't understand what is going on. I never sent a tape to them. But then, that would mean that someone else did. But who? It wouldn't have been Dad, so maybe Mark? I have to know, so I open a private message and ask him. He admits it of course, and apologizes too. He doesn't mean that though. I know he doesn't.