A Secret Melody

by Hanleigh Bradley

I’m supposed to be unpacking but I’m more focused on Melody than the task at hand. Her attention is on her phone as she twirls a curl around her index finger. She has long, brown locks of wavy hair. Her eyes are a hazel colour although she hides them beneath a layer of dark, smoky make up.

  She’s wearing the same uniform that all the girls are wearing except she looks better in it than they do. What’s more, instead of the uniform black school shoes she should be wearing, she has a pair of vans on her feet.

  Looking up, she catches me watching her. She frowns but doesn’t say anything, taking me by surprise. I’d expected a telling off. From what I’ve gathered about her in the few hours I’ve known her, she’s about as blunt as they come.

  “It’s almost time for dinner,” she says instead.

  I glance at my watch, trying to remember what my welcome pack had said. “5:30 pm?”

  She nods her confirmation. Abby grimaces. “You mean I have to move?”

  “Yup.” Melody laughs, getting to her feet before pulling her friend up too.

  Reaching the canteen, Abby checks the menu. “Venison burgers. Yum.”

  Melody grimaces. “Veggie?”

  “Lasagne, you weirdo.”

  Melody glares at her friend. “Just because I don’t like killing my food.”

  “Don’t want to eat Bambi, is that it?” Abby smirks, teasingly.

  “Don’t want to eat Bambi, any more than I want to eat you.”

  “You’re a vegetarian?” I ask. I like eating meat and there’s no way in hell I won’t be having one of those Venison burgers on my plate; Bambi or not.

  “Yeah, ever since I was ten.”

  “Wow. Are your family...” I begin.

  “As if!” Melody laughs. “My family are massive carnivores.”

  “Like massive carnivores,” Abby repeats for emphasis, her eyes wide as if in shock. “Seriously! Watching Landon and Ayden eat is like watching cavemen eat.”

  “No joke.” Melody grins. “They think I’m abnormal.”

  “You kind of are,” Abby quips.

  “Fuck you.”

  “My mum is a vegetarian,” I tell them.

  “But you’re not?” she asks.

  “Nope – I’m one of those cavemen carnivores.” I wink at her.

  My first weekend at Chelston passes quickly, far quicker than I’d have anticipated. Melody for all her unwillingness has actually been pretty cool. On Friday night after dinner, her and Abby, had given me a tour of the school. They’d told me that it would probably be a quiet weekend with so many students returning home and the rest being stuck in the library or their rooms studying.

  Chelston School sits on the East Coast of England, right on the coast. The girls have promised to take me out to the local town next weekend. Although, first we’ll have to get permission from our form teacher. The rest of our weekend was spent in the library studying.

  Melody Peters is a geek! People seem to be oblivious to it but that doesn’t make it less true. Abby complained more times than I could count that she was fed up of studying on Sunday, but Melody had just ignored her and continued to read her textbook. I was grateful; changing school in the middle of the year undoubtedly means that I’m probably behind in some subjects and ahead in others. However you look at it, I need to study.

  Now it’s Monday morning and I’m walking to breakfast with Melody. Abby will meet us there because the Darwin building is on the other side of the school.

  Melody is yawning although she doesn’t look tired at all. We aren’t really talking. It’s not because we’re being rude but rather it’s 7:30 in the morning and neither one of us is particularly awake. We pass Mrs Partridge just as we join the queue for the canteen and she frowns at Melody.

  “I wonder when you’ll lose your phone today, Miss Peters.”

  Melody ignores her, but as Mrs Partridge turns the corner, out of earshot she turns to me.

  “I bloody hate her.”

  “I don’t think she likes you either to be honest.”

  “She really doesn’t,” Melody tells me. “She doesn’t like any of us, really. I don’t know why she works in a private school when she hates private school students so much. She thinks we’re all obnoxious, entitled brats.”

  “And are you?” I ask, an eyebrow raised, struggling to keep a smile off my face.

  “God, I hope not!” She laughs. “I mean there are some shitty people here, sure. But that happens in every school, right?”

  “Have you always gone to private school?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’ve been here since I turned nine and before that I went to another public school in Surrey. My parents’ have always paid. I don’t think they trust the government to educate me,” she tells me in a conspiratory tone. “You?”

  “No. This is my first. I’ve always been in State schools in the past.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Here? Or State?”

  “Both?” She looks intrigued.

  “States not bad. I enjoyed most of the schools I went to and fuck, I’ve been to a few.” I smile at her. “And as for here, I’ll tell you in a few months.”

  “You don’t think I’m obnoxious, do you?”

  “I barely know you, Melody.” I grin cheekily at her.

  “You’ll tell me in a few months,” she finishes for me.

  Chapter Five – Melody

  Mrs Partridge is standing up front, talking away about Pythagoras Theorem or something equally as uninteresting. I’m not listening. Seriously, how many times do you need to tell me that a2 + b2 = c2 before it sinks in. Let me tell you, at least for me the answer is once. It is always once and yet the teachers still continue to insist on repeating themselves.

  I’m not the only one struggling to focus.

  Zach keeps stealing my notebook so that he can add to my doodles, weaving an intrinsic pattern across the paper.

  He gives me an irritatingly hot grin. I ignore it. I have to ignore it or I might end up liking him and I barely know him.

  Mrs Partridge wanders over to us as she speaks. Looking down at my page she frowns, tuts but doesn’t comment before walking away. Perhaps I should just be grateful that I haven’t had my phone confiscated yet.

  With her back to us she says, “everyone in pairs, I want you to answer questions seventeen to twenty five in your text books.”

  Zach grins at me again and I swear that boy is trying to stop my heart. I’m still frustrated that I’m just expected to be his friend because a teacher decided but I’ve sort of accepted it. Almost. He’s actually not too bad. We had a pretty fun weekend together but that doesn’t change the fact that all of this is just a little forced.

  I usually get really fussy about who I work with, especially in math class because I struggle to work at their pace. Even Abby. It’s not that she’s stupid, it’s just that I’m better at math. She’s amazing with words. Put us both in an English exam and she will beat me every time. The same with science. But math is sort of my thing and no one keeps up.

  Except apparently Zach.

  He sits next to me, his knee bumping into mine every once and a while, working through the questions with me. His methodology is perfect, faultless. We’re on question twenty in no time. By now, normally I’d have had to correct my partner at least three or four times. Not with Zach. If anything, he’s waiting for me. Not because he’s quicker but because his handwriting is rushed and barely legible while mine is perfectly concise, every letter planned in place like the notes I play on the piano.

  The question is answered in my brain long before it’s written on the page.

  Zach smirks when we finally reach the last question. I can barely believe it but his handwriting seems to have gotten even worse. He drops his pen as if dropping the mic, reaching his arms behind his head and leaning back.

  I chuckle slightly at the sight. “Don’t look too comfortable or Mrs will be back.”

  “Scared she’ll give you more work to do?” He lifts a brow at
me, challenge evident.

  “Hardly – more that your handwriting will get worse.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Can you read it?” I return his challenging look.

  “Sure, I can,” he says, lacking conviction.

  “Mhm.” I grin.

  “Can I copy yours?” A cheeky smile accompanies his request.

  “Sure but next time, maybe you could write just a little slower,” I suggest.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” He offers me a great, wide smile. “My mind is too quick for that.” His words are egotistical. I get it though.

  “Don’t you think I have the same problem?” I ask. “I just choose to allow my mind to be five steps ahead.”

  “Prove it.” He challenges me.

  “Fine,” I huff. “Choose a question and we’ll race.”

  “I’ll win.”

  “Sure. If you say so.”

  “You think I’m arrogant?”

  “I know you’re arrogant,” I correct him.

  “You can only tell me that in a few months,” he replies, a smirk settled on his face.

  His words make me smile, although I try to hide it.

  Chapter Six – Zach

  She beat me! I’m not sure how but she actually beat me. No one ever beats me at math. I automatically challenge her to a rematch but she does it again.

  Her handwriting is significantly less pretty than before but unlike mine it is still legible.

  I bark out a swear when she beats me for a third time, drawing the attention of the other students and Mrs Partridge. Abby gives us both a quizzing look before returning to her own questions – the ones her and her partner are still working through. Mrs Partridge looks angry as she strides across the classroom towards us.

  “Why aren’t you two working on the questions?” She asks us, anger dripping from her voice.

  Melody opens her mouth to respond but I beat her to it, finally beating her at something. The small victory causes me to cheer inwardly.

  “We finished them about fifteen minutes ago,” I respond.

  “Unlikely.” That’s all she says as she holds out her hand, presumably demanding our work. I offer her my notebook.

  “Melody’s workings are more legible apparently,” I say sarcastically, causing Melody to have to stifle a giggle behind her hand.

  When the teacher has finished looking over our work she asks us why we hadn’t told her we had finished. I retort honestly, “we thought it would be more fun to compete, to see who could answer the questions quicker.”

  Her face looks confused, as if it can’t settle on an emotion. She can’t decide whether to be impressed or angry. “Well, do questions thirty to thirty seven, please.” She tuts again. “This is a classroom and you are here to learn. If you do not finish the questions, you can add them to your homework assignment.” I don’t know whether to be offended that she doesn’t think we can answer seven questions in the remaining twelve minutes or angry that she’s giving us extra homework.

  She walks away and I glance at Melody, rolling my eyes.

  Every day I seem to learn something new about Melody Peters. The first day I met her I learnt that she doesn’t make friends easily. Day two, I learnt that she is everyone’s favourite person. An impressive feat considering her distaste for making friends. On day three – Sunday – I learnt why. She’s kind. Like really kind. Not that fake – I’m using you – kind but that real – I want nothing back – kind. Day four, I learnt that she might be cleverer than me. More than anything else, that had surprised me. So when on Tuesday she amazes me again it no longer surprises me.

  I hear her before I see her. I’m with Abby. We’re supposed to be meeting Melody for dinner. I’ve not had a music lesson yet so this building is completely new to me. I glance into the classrooms and different practice rooms as we pass them. It’s much like the other music departments, in my other schools, except perhaps it looks more expensive and perhaps slightly newer.

  That’s when I hear her. Except I don’t realise it’s her. Not yet. All I hear is a beautiful melody coming from a piano somewhere in one of the rooms we haven’t reached yet.

  It’s seamless, a perfect unending sound; unlike the sounds we’d heard when we first entered the building there isn’t a single duff note.

  When she comes into view I’m awestruck. In this moment, sat at a grand piano, she’s never seemed more alive to me. Her back is straight as her hands glide across the notes. Her hair is falling out of her ponytail and the look on her face is pure bliss. Her eyes closed, she doesn’t realise that we’re here and I’m silently grateful because I get to see a part of her she’d probably never willingly show me. She’s bloody amazing.

  Her eyes open, landing on me. If I had expected her hands to falter, I’d underestimated her. She continues as if unaffected. The melody changes and that’s when I realise there’s no sheet music in front of her. She’s playing either from memory or completely spontaneously.

  Abby leans in, whispering in my ear, “she makes it up usually. She thinks of a person and creates a melody that describes them – how she sees them.”

  I can’t look away from Melody. Her eyes are on me too.

  The melody changes again. It’s sadder, sweeter and I crave to know what thoughts inspire it. I wonder if she’d tell me if I asked. Probably not.

  When she stops and silence echoes around us I’m disappointed. Abby is the first to break the quiet.

  “Dinner time?”

  We both nod, saying nothing.

  I want to tell her that that had been amazing except amazing as a word doesn’t cut it and I can’t think of one that does so I remain silent. The girls fall into an easy conversation about god knows what, some tv show they always watch but my mind is still in that practice room with the grand piano. In my mind she’s still playing.

  “Do you play your other instruments as well as the piano?” I ask because I’m not sure I can handle a repeating that level of awe. She’ll have me thinking too much of her in no time.

  She grimaces. “I guess. I’ve never really compared. The violin is harder, I think. It can be a bit screechy if you aren’t careful.” She considers my question further but doesn’t say anything else.

  Abby on the other hand doesn’t stay quiet. “I don’t remember the last time your violin screeched. Can’t have been in the last three years...”

  Every day she surprises me and by the time I’ve been at the school for a week she has fast become my favourite person. Abby is cool. She’s a great laugh and easy to get on with but there is something about Melody, something different, unique. The brief occasions where we don’t sit together in class infuriate me more than they should. I know I should make other friends too and so I go about the routine of introducing myself to the people I meet but I struggle to keep my attention off her.

  During PE, I’m supposed to be playing rugby with my male classmates but my eyes keep drifting to where Melody is playing hockey with the girls.

  “You like her?” One boy I’ve yet to meet says pointedly.

  “Who?” I act as if I haven’t got a clue what he’s on about.

  “Melody Peters.”

  Another guy chuckles. “All the guys like Mel,” he says matter-of-factly. He seems friendlier than the first. He’s Asian, with dark hair, caramel brown eyes and an easy smile.

  “I’ve had her,” the original boy says.

  “Piss off, dickwad,” a third lad retorts angrily.

  “None of them like it but it’s true,” the first boy says with a cruel smirk before heading off in the direction of the ball. My hands turn to fists at my side and I almost chase after him.

  “Ignore him,” the second boy says. “I’m Alex Lansing and this is Ben Richter.” He points at the third boy who offers me a wave. “We’re in your Physics class.” Then he’s pointing off up the pitch, towards the first boy, “and that twat over there is Harry. He’s a dick and you should definitely ignore him.”r />
  Chapter Seven – Melody

  I try not to notice when Harry approaches Zach. I try not to worry that he’ll say something or that Zach will think badly about me.

  Almost everything Harry says is a lie. Except that we had sex over Christmas Break. That much is true. The rest, everything else he says is complete cock and bull. That doesn’t stop him saying it like it’s fact and sure everyone believes me over him... but Zach doesn’t know me as well as they do. He’s known me all of a week while the others in this school have known me for years.

  Abby notices the look on my face, and her eyes follow my line of sight.

  She frowns. “Do you want me to warn him off Harry?” Her offer is sweet but I won’t stand in the way of Zach making friends, even if he chooses to be friends with an arsehole like Harry.

  “No.” Zach seems like a good judge of character. I just hope that he sees through Harry’s lies.

  I’m nervous when Zach catches up with us at lunch. He isn’t alone. Fortunately, it isn’t Harry that stands at his side. Alex waves at us as they approach. They’re talking animatedly when they reach us about some book that they’ve both read.

  “Alright girls.” Alex grins at us. “Did you win?”

  I return the smile. “Of course. We had Abby.”

  The boys continue their previous conversation as we queue outside the canteen. I’m quieter than normal but I can’t get rid of the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if Harry said something?

  Harry pushes past us, arm wrapped around Hannah. They look at us all snidely as if they genuinely think they are better than us, better than me. Hannah’s eyes glare at me, telling me ‘he chose me.’ Her voice in my head almost makes a HA HA noise. What she doesn’t realise is that I don’t want what she has. I might have before I had it, before I realised just how shitty her boyfriend actually is, and how right my big brother was about him.

  Now instead of the jealously she seems to think I feel, all I actually feel is pity. Because he’ll probably treat her no better than he treated me.