Elena's P.O.V.
It has been a month since I discovered the portal in the tree, and it has been a week since I heard the odd conversation between the two unknown men. I haven't found out who they were and what their words meant, and it bothered me to the bone.
Last time I put my guard down, I was chased, cornered and stuck in a tree with His Highness. So, no, I'm not going to make that mistake again.
Either you learn from it, or you act with experience in hand.
Running around the empty halls, I looked down at my half-broken watch, minutes passing like seconds.
God, Ms. Foster is going to kill me.
How was I supposed to know that the rooms had been changed?
Our school was huge, it consisted of dozens and dozens of classrooms where many of them held expensive and modern equipment, depending on the subject.
I have almost been at every inch of this place, but I would still, sometimes, get lost. But luckily for me, I have Hazel, and she knew the place like the back of her hand.
It's such an unfortunate that she's not here now.
A sigh of frustration left my lips as I could not find my way to the drama classroom where my death would take place. I know where it's located, I just don't know how to get there. Before there are any snarky comments thrown around, you should know that I have not been here in forever, so forgive me for not having a photographic memory.
"Oh, God, please don't kill me, please don't kill me. . ." I mumbled when I finally found the red, steel double-doors where an angry teacher would be waiting for me. I quickly trotted towards it and pushed the door open, the angry hinges barking and signalizing my arrival.
I'm dead.
"Ms. Foster, I am so sorry for coming so late, but I took my cast off, and-" My sentence took an abrupt turn when I met Ms. Foster's students instead of an angry teacher. "What's happening?"
Mayumi, a nice and sweet Asian girl I have spoken to a couple of times, put her cello down and shrugged her shoulders. "We don't know," she looked around the empty room with only us, merely a dozen of students, filling it. "We all got the same message to meet here, and. . . that's it."
I arched an eyebrow, "Ms. Foster would never let us have a lesson together, let alone a meet-up."
"That's what I said," Kenneth, the guy with the violin, pointed at me with his finger that matched the deep shade of mahogany. "This is ridiculous, I canceled all my plans for nothing."
"But it is not for nothing," a voice echoed with a soft tone in his words, and within a second, all heads were turned to the man standing on the stage. "I sent that message."
I squinted my eyes at the familiar features that radiated from the salt and pepper haired man, and the more I looked, the quicker the pieces fell to its place.
Then, the brick of realization finally kicked in. "Francis?" My lips did not work as a barrier anymore due to the punch from my dumbstruck state.
The man smiled kindly and shook his head. "Close enough, but not quite," he walked down the stage and made his way towards us. "My name is Franny O'Dannell. Yes, I know, it is a very funny name, laugh all you want. However, you will have to get used to it because I will be your music and singing teacher until Ms. Yvonne Foster returns to her rightful place."
Francis O'Donner and Franny O'Dannell. . . I can't be the only one seeing the similarity, right? Even the names sound alike, and the only difference that slightly severs the strong connection between them is the age. Franny looks like a younger version of Francis -probably in his mid-forties whereas the monk is in his sixties.
"Where's Ms. Foster?" Mayumi asked the pondering question.
Franny's warm smile did not falter nor did it widen. "Your teacher has been asked to lead one of the greatest orchestras, Westchester Philharmonic, and therefore had to fly to New York right away."
For a second there, I thought she had been arrested for going after the guy who had broken himself into her music store.
"How long is she going to be away?" Kenneth continued the thread of questions, packing his violin in its case.
The man that was glowing with warmth shrugged his shoulders. "Long enough to hire me as your teacher." A brief laugh danced in the air at his reply, creating smiles on some of our faces.
"Well, in that case, Mr. Franny O'Dannell," I spoke and stretched my hand out, taking the first step in the fresh - yet, not entirely new - encounter. "We are more than happy to have you as our music teacher."
The rest of the students followed my steps, and it didn't take too long before we had all exchanged our names and welcomed the new lecturer.
"Thank you," Franny smiled. "And now that I have met you, I want you to meet the person who is the reason for my late arrival." He turned towards the empty stage. "Oh, come on, Emil, don't be so shy," he waved his arm, gesturing to the blank space to come forward.
I furrowed my eyebrows like everybody else in the room. Did we just get a schizophrenic teacher again?
Before any of us could reach for our phones, something stirred in the shadows, and little by little, the figure of a tall boy was in clear sight.
"Guys, I want you to meet Emil," Franny waved for the guy with the beanie to step forward.
He was tall and slim, his jet black hair was tucked in a dark green beanie, but the locks of hair still fell over his eyes, almost hiding his deep, balmy brown orbs that were protected by his long eyelashes. A small, black earring pierced his right ear, and he buried his hands in his pockets.
Emil said nothing but greeted us with a nod and a quick glance before his gaze fell on, what seemed to be, very interesting shoes. I must say, Timberland shoes are, in fact, quite fascinating.
Although there was an awkward tension, Franny still smiled ear to ear, either not catching the thickening atmosphere or simply not caring about it. "He does not talk much," was our new teacher's response before he waved the quiet boy towards our direction again.
With slow steps, the dark-haired boy reached us - and when I say 'reached us', I mean he's standing a couple of feet away, but at least he's closer than he was before.
"Emil, here, is a genius on guitar," Mr. O'Dannell continued, pulling out the hidden string instrument from one of the seats. "Show them what you got, Cavanaugh."
Hesitantly, the jet-black-haired boy took the guitar out of the old man's hands, and with slow movements, he pulled the belt over his head.
"He's kinda. . . weird, don't you think so too?" Mayumi whispered in my ear, looking at me through her bangs that touched the line of her eyes.
"We're all weird, May," I replied, watching Emil getting comfortable on a chair in the middle of the stage. "He's no different from you and me - after all, I did find you sleeping with your violoncello one time."
"Hey, you promised you wouldn't mention that!"
I chuckled, "What I'm trying to say is that there is nothing wrong to act or be peculiar - it's just who you are."
Mayumi opened her mouth to say something but sealed her lips when she found no words. Just as our small conversation had ended, the sound of a melodic and beautiful sound filled our ears and the empty room.
I watched Emil's fingers dance across the strings and how his eyes were locked in a deep concentration and focusing on each and every tone. With open ears, I listened carefully to his words that came out like a beautiful song.
If there is one thing I have learned about music, then it's that lyrics are not the only one with a story to tell.
He played Shawn Mendes' song, one of my favorites, Mercy as if there was no tomorrow. Not only is it lovely to listen to the song through contemporary devices, but hearing it live and played from the heart; that's just pure magic.
It was dead silent when the last string was played. Some of us had heard the song before, others not - but in the end, no one could argue that the performance was not marvelous.
"Wonderful as always, Emil," Mr. O'Dannell applauded - a proud smile painted on his face, - which was closely followed by the rest of us copying his actions. "Now that we have gotten that out of the way, what do you guys say about working together to fill the rest of the song's details in?"
Once again, the silence lay as a blanket in the air, however, Ms. Foster's students and I managed to communicate with a shared look that translated: 'I'm-not-telling-him-you-tell'.
Franny waited patiently for a reply, giving us a weird glance with his smile falling as we were quieter than students on their first day of school. But in the end, a brave soul finally raised her hand.
"Mr. O'Dannell, sir," Emma, the red-haired girl who played both the saxophone and piano, started. "Ms. Foster forbade us from doing any sort of collaboration, she said it was a waste of time and talent."
That's just a mild version of what our strict teacher said - and if you think that's bad, you should have listened to her rant about how the guitar is the most useless instrument in the history.
The man shook his head in a chuckle that was half-empty of humor, "Well, that is. . . her opinion of the case." Franny tried to not sound rude, but I could still detect the tone of bewilderment and disbelief in his words. "But she is not here now, and therefore, I say it is okay for collaborations and duets."
Murmuring traveled around our small group, some accepted it, others did not - either out of fear of what might happen if Ms. Foster found out, or just simply not wanting to because they, or should I say, someone, think they're better than all of us.
"So, who wants to sing while Emil plays?" Franny's eyes and face contained smiles and, to my surprise, amusement.
No one volunteered, either not knowing how to sing or too scared and uncomfortable that they let the stage fright control them.
I looked around, waiting for someone to say or do something - but it seemed like everyone had sealed their lips or just become mute.
Ah, screw it.
I raised my hand, "I would like to sing, Mr. O'Dannell."
"Fantastic, Elena!" He clapped his hands, his smile widening so his snow-like teeth were exposed. "I want you guys to take notes of Ms. Campbell's dedication in taking the first step. If a collaboration is going to work, both parts must contribute to the performance. After all, you cannot create a melody without an instrument, and you cannot sing without words."
He's just like Francis; open-minded and kind to the bone.
"Yeah, Elena, your enthusiasm is just as great as your fall!" Laughter followed the comment, which made me cringe inwardly as she was the only one laughing at her own joke. "After all, you can't fall down a hill without breaking an arm."
"Just like you can't live without a brain- oh, wait. . ." I turned around to look at the older girl, watching her raven hair fall over her coal-colored eyes that were filled with daggers.
"Why, you little-"
"Alright, that is enough," Franny chimed in, stopping our mini-fight before it got out of hand.
Terry, the one wanting to kill me, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was a tall and a strong girl that could take down any football player - and her future for that matter, considering she had to go a year over again. In addition, she always wore black clothes.
I like her style, just not her personality.
Although everyone was scared to make the raven-haired girl madder, they could not hold back their choked giggles - even Emil showed a certain gaiety.
Franny handed me the song sheet, ignoring the thick atmosphere between Terry and I. "Alright, let's see what you got."
I met the jet-haired boy's eyes, giving him a smile as he nodded in a silent counting. Then the song started.
"You've got a hold of me
Don't even know your power
I stand a hundred feet
But I fall when I'm around you
"Show me an open door
Then you go and slam it on me
I can't take anymore
I'm saying baby,
"Please have mercy on me
Take it easy on my heart
Even though you don't mean to hurt me
You keep tearing me apart
Would you please have mercy, mercy on my heart
Would you please have mercy, mercy on my heart."
At the beginning of the song, I held the song sheet in front of my face in an attempt to conceal as much of myself as possible. I was nervous, my stomach was a chaotic mess of butterflies that crashed and collided with each other.
However, little by little, I warmed up to my small audience and let my hand fall to the side.
I knew the lyrics without the song sheet - after all, I have always loved Shawn Mendes and his brilliant work.
"I'd drive through the night
Just to be near you, baby
Heart old and testified
Tell me that I'm not crazy
"I'm not asking for a lot
Just that you're honest with me
My pride is all I got
I'm saying baby,
"Please have mercy on me
Take it easy on my heart
Even though you don't mean to hurt me
You keep tearing me apart
Would you please have mercy on me
I'm a puppet on your string
And even though you got good intentions
I need you to set me free
Would you please have mercy, mercy on my heart
Would you please have mercy, mercy on my heart."
I was enjoying more and more of the song, and with each new stanza, my voice blended further into the melody and into the lyrics; just like a harmonic synergy.
"Consuming all the air inside my lungs
Ripping all the skin from off my bones
I'm prepared to sacrifice my life
I would gladly do it twice
Consuming all the air inside my lungs
Ripping all the skin from off my bones
I'm prepared to sacrifice my life
I would gladly do it twice
"Please have mercy on me
Take it easy on my heart
Even though you don't mean to hurt me
You keep tearing me apart
Would you please have mercy on me
I'm a puppet on your string
And even though you got good intentions
I need you to set me free
"I'm begging you for mercy, mercy
Begging you, begging you, please, baby
I'm begging you for mercy, mercy
Ooh, I'm begging you, I'm begging you."
When the last, echoing string had its final dance, Franny was not a second too late to applaud us. "Bravo!" He continued with the clapping, and soon enough, the lonely applause wasn't standing alone.
I looked over at Emil who was avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room; he did not claim his rightful ovation, nor did he touch the spotlight as he quickly walked off the stage.
Why doesn't he accept his accomplished result?
I was about to chase him down, but Franny patted my shoulder and in the process, stopped me from following the shadowed boy. The shake of Mr. O'Dannell's head was solely visible, but it was his silver eyes that spoke to me first.
"Let him go," he whispered, not wanting the others to hear his words. "He is. . . shy when it gets down to the final chord."
I furrowed my eyebrows, Too shy to hold onto his well deserved earning? Either he's too humble for this world, or we have yet to see the other side of the coin.
Although I strongly disliked taking all the praise, I would loathe myself even more if I bothered Emil and pushed him into something he didn't want to.
"Alright, students, that is enough for today!" Franny spoke loudly to all the ears in the room. "More information about the lessons will come next week, but until then - enjoy your free time!"
Everyone bid their goodbyes in an asynchronous chorus, I, however, stayed until I was the only one left in the room.
"Mr. O'Dannell," I said when the door finally closed, looking into the familiar, almost transparent, eyes that shined with smiles and kindness. "I just wanted to welcome you once again to our school, and to our. . . unique family."
He gave a brief laugh that echoed in the air, "Thank you, Elena - and please, by all means, call me Franny."
I nodded to his words, letting a small gleam dance on my lips as I could not stop myself from comparing him to Francis. They're just too alike that I can't help it.
With a final goodbye, I left the room and closed the door softly after me.