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Noelle might have grown, but she hadnotoutgrown her love for black. She draped herself from head to toe in black, and as she'd become more interested in makeup, she'd started kohling her eyes with a black liner too.
Her teachers had objected at first, as had her mother and her brother. Yet despite their many protestations, she'd continued to adorn herself as she felt comfortable. Eventually, given her scholarly excellence, her prowess at the piano and the many prestigious awards she was collecting left and right, the school had decided it was something it could allow.
Noelle might still beodd, but now, people tolerated it.
The price of genius—as some called it. But to her, it was simply the price of sanity.
Accordingly, this time it had been her talent instead of her unusual predilections that had gained her enemies. Of course, calling Ann Marie an enemy was an exaggeration. She was merely the girl who always had a bone to pick with Noelle—mostly because they were in the same grade, and both specialized on the piano.
Though Ann Marie wasn't on Noelle's level, she was an extremely talented player. From the moment Noelle had entered the school, a competition of sorts had begun between the two. Unfortunately, they went to the same contests and took part in the same recitals, which meant that Ann Marie came perpetually in second place and was always compared to Noelle.
On her part, Noelle had tried to befriend the girl, thinking they could have fun together at the piano. She'd never had a friend before, let alone one who also played her favorite instrument, so for a moment she'd been excited at the prospect. But Ann Marie had refused all of Noelle's attempts at civility, turning even the most laid back exercise into a competition.
To a certain degree, Noelle understood where the girl was coming from. Her parents were both famous in the classical world—her mother a virtuosa violinist and her father a renowned conductor. She had a legacy she needed to uphold. Noelle could imagine how hard it must be for her to not be the best at something everyone expected her to excel in.
But that didn't mean Noelle was going to step aside just because she felt sorry for her. She valued her craft and she valued honesty and hard work. If at some point Ann Marie was going to surpass her, then so be it. Noelle would then work harder to regain her place.
She just wished Ann Marie didn't always turn everything into a bitter contest, especially now that the school was organizing its most important competition.
It was the most awaited moment of the year, and a student in each instrument would be chosen to take part in a concert at Carnegie Hall alongside renowned names in classical music.
It was also the reason why Noelle was currently in the piano room, ready to think about her next composition and the main piece she would present at the school competition.
Dropping her bag to the ground, she took a moment to look around the room.
The chairs were all wrong, the windows closed and creating a stuffy atmosphere and the blackboard full offoreignmusical annotations.
A tingle went down her spine, an itch developing at the base of her skull as she took in everything that was wrong with the way the classroom looked—everything that wasn't asshehad left it.
Quick at work, she started with the organization of the furniture before cleaning the board and opening the windows to allow for some fresh air. Only when she was done could she finally breathe out relieved, her body slowly calming down as she took in the perfection of her space. It was only for a few hours, but for that time it was hers.
Making sure the door was locked, she proceeded to dump the contents of her bag on a desk.
She might have aslightobsession with things being a certain way, but she was far from the most organized person. In fact, the messy contents of her bag exemplified the way her mind worked. A chaotic and tumultuous foundation that slowly and steadily transformed into the calm before the storm—before disintegrating back into chaos.
As she stared at her belongings, she picked what she needed at the moment—a pencil, manuscript paper, her tablet and a pair of earbuds.
Seating herself at the piano, she carefully arranged her items on top of the piano, plugging in her earbuds and positioning the tablet in front of her.
Most of the awards Noelle had won had been for performing canonic pieces, but she wanted to be eventually known for her personal compositions. If she won the school contest she would be one step closer to establishing herself in the classical field.
In the previous year, she had her first solo concert performing her interpretation of various classical pieces. Though the event had been a success, it would be nothing compared to playing in one of the most celebrated venues for classical music. By winning the upcoming contest, she would have the opportunity to stand on one of the biggest stages and share her compositions to the world.
A smile pulled at her lips as she clicked play on the tablet, resuming the show from where she'd left off.
Her contact with the outside world was limited, her self-imposed isolation a result of years of accumulated mistrust and a fear of rejection. She may not have positive personal experiences to influence her compositions—though she had plenty of negative ones—but that hadn't stopped her from finding the most unlikely sources.
TV Shows. Movies. Books.
She lived vicariously through every single character she immersed herself in, and though she had limited experience with emotions, through others' happiness and sorrows, their struggles and their successes, Noelle managed to see the world through different eyes.
She couldlivewithout the burden of living.
She might not have firsthand experience of love, friendship, or heart-break. But by fully transposing herself into the stories she was consuming, she felt those emotions as if they were her own. In turn, she was able to lay them down on a piece of paper and continue the infinite circle of creation.
As she resumed the episode, Noelle couldn't help but blush as she watched a kiss between Buffy and Spike, the tension palpable even through the screen.
Pencil in hand, she grabbed the manuscript sheet, laying down note after note. Starting from the two lovers embrace she let her mind travel, closing her eyes and imagining it was her instead of Buffy. But it wasn't Spike she was picturing with her. It was a faceless, nameless person, but someone who suffused her chest with the deepest emotion she'd ever felt.
