I was going to die. It was all just THAT simple. I, Azalea Ivers, was going to waltz up to the whiteboard, look over at Mr. Haverford and the whole class of terrifying, loud teenagers, and then I was going to die, right there in front of them all.

My hands sat sweating in my lap, my heart racing as I slouched lower and lower in my chair. It did practically nothing though, being as my seat was next to an empty desk. As I sat there growing more anxious in the tense wait for Mr. Haverford’s selection of his next victim, I began to chanting a frantic mantra in my mind. Don’t pick me, don’t pick me, don’t pick me, don’t pick me… He slunk around the classroom, revelling in the absolute terror that resided in all of his students’ faces. Don’t pick me, don’t pick me… Mr. Haverford's snide, greasy grin made my stomach turn over as his eyes met mine, and I knew in that moment, my fate was set. This was the end.
“Miss Ivers,” He sneered. I flinched and sank lower into my desk. “Would you like to complete the problem on the board for me?”  My heart pounded nervously in response. I shook my head, eyes locked onto the paper on my desk. I shouldn’t have been so scared. I knew exactly how to do the problem, and I had the neat numbers and symbols written on my paper to show it. My brain told me I could do the problem, easy as pie, but the rest of me seemed to disagree. Somehow, in some way, I was going to say or do the wrong thing and make a complete fool of myself. I wouldn’t survive the humiliation. Mr. Haverford’s faced pinched faintly in annoyance and he set his jaw.

“Go.”
Hands trembling, I stayed where I was. I looked down at my sneakers, refusing to allow myself a single glance at the masses of my smirking, relieved classmates. Fortunately for them, they were free of Mr. Haverford’s wrath. Unfortunately for me, I was not.

I just sat there in my desk, unable to move. My muscles were tense, and I felt like I was going to throw up. It was hours that I was frozen there, like somebody had hit the ‘Pause’ button on my life. I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, and I tried to fight the violent scarlet blush that crept hotly into my pale cheeks. I couldn’t stand the sensation of their burning gazes much longer. A few more seconds of this and I’d be lying there dead on the floor. I couldn’t -I WOULDN’T- survive this. But by some crazy spurt of luck, or maybe by a miracle, I managed to be released from the center of the class’s attention. 

“Oh, man, sorry I’m so late!” A new energy seemed to fill the room, and instantly the pressure was off of my shoulders. I sighed quietly, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I practically deflated, my muscles relaxing and my stomach calming itself slowly. I gratefully looked up at my savior, starting to breathe more easily. My eyes widened at what I saw.

He was tall and lanky, his wild coffee-brown curls messy and unkempt, like he’d just rolled out of bed and was either too lazy to fix them or he just didn’t care. His ‘Almost-Hipster’ glasses sat crookedly on his nose. Dressed in a striped gray t-shirt and a pair of jeans, he kept the sleeves of his dark green jacket rolled up to his elbows, and the worn leather bag drooping from his arm was plump with papers and school supplies. He wore the kind of smile that made him look like he genuinely cared about what you had to say, and his jade green eyes twinkled with such an infectious happy glow that you couldn’t help but grin. He had a radiant, friendly aura about him, and carried himself in such a way that was so carefree and so stupidly charming that I doubted Mr. Haverford would yell at him for being so late to class. He just had the kind of face that a person couldn’t be angry with for more than about five seconds.

“Ah - it’s not a big deal,” Mr.Haverford cleared his throat. “You got a pass?” The boy shook his head and shrugged.
“No. Today’s my first day here, and I figured I’d find the room in time, but…” He raised his thick eyebrows innocently, the corners of his mouth quirking up at the corners. My heart did a little flip and the world felt just a little brighter than before. Woah. I tore my eyes away from him and shook my head a little. Pull yourself together Azalea,  I scolded myself. Last time I checked, you were NOT some boy-crazy teenage girl.

“Well young man,” Mr. Haverford grumbled, stalking back to his desk. “Why don’t you find an empty seat and I’ll catch you up after class.” The boy nodded earnestly and grinned, already scanning the class for a place to sit. My heart skittered nervously as his eyes came to rest on the empty seat next to me. An instant later, I was trapped in his intense green gaze. My heart jumped into my throat. Blinking, I looked away and tucked a strand of my short honey-colored hair behind my ear as he sat down.

“I’m Adam,” He beamed. “Adam Heap.” Palms sweating, heart racing, I nodded slightly, but didn’t reply. Don’t say the wrong thing, don’t just sit here silently, what’s wrong with you? A million voices ran through my head, screaming at me. Adam leaned in closer, so close I could smell him. Peppermint and laundry soap. He smelled like peppermint and laundry soap. His voice pulled me back to my senses. “And you are?”

The voices began to shriek louder now, making my head feel like it was going to burst open and all the words would come spilling out. Say something! They roared. No, don’t,  you’ll say the wrong thing and he’ll never talk to you again! Gosh, you ruin everything you little FREAK. Don’t you know how to act? Their volume grew until it reached a point where they were all that I could hear, when suddenly, one voice rose above them.
“Azalea Ivers.” It spoke. Was that me? I blinked, a little horrified and a little amazed. I had just TALKED to somebody. Not JUST a somebody, but a BOY, and a cute one nonetheless! And to make things even better, it seemed like Adam was glad I’d talked to him, like he’d been waiting forever just to know my name. His lovely jade eyes twinkled below his long dark lashes, a goofy smile forming on his lips. He stared at me like that for ages, and my heart was out of control, jumping and fluttering all over the place. My stomach must have thought I was riding a roller-coaster, because I had that weird feeling in my middle, like all of my organs had gotten caught in my throat. I couldn’t quite think straight, and my thoughts were so cloudy and jumbled together that it was hard to pick them apart. Is this what having a stroke feels like? I wondered foggily. If it is, I kind of like it.
“Azalea Ivers, huh?” His smile somehow managing to widen. I couldn’t help but shyly grin back at him. “Well, Azalea,” He chimed as he held out a hand. I tentatively grasped it and we shook. His hand was warm and firm, wrapped around mine in a miniature embrace. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

There was nothing else that mattered but the music that exploded from my fingertips. I couldn’t feel anything but the smooth ivory and ebony pieces of magic that engulfed me within the deep, rich tones of the piano. Eyes shut, swaying back and forth with the song, I played, and played like my life depended on it. In a way, it did.
The music seemed to wrap me up and carry me somewhere far away, away from school, away from the stress of each silent day that passed there. When I was around all those people, all going in a thousand different directions and feeling a thousand different things, it was so easy for me to be overwhelmed, for me to be pulled under the current of all the voices. When I was around people, I felt trapped, unable to say what I needed to without saying the wrong thing and making a fool out of myself. But when I came home and sat down in front of my piano, I was safe, and free, and OKAY. I could breathe easier, think clearer, and I didn’t have to worry if I’d said or done something wrong; the piano didn’t care. It took all those mistakes and made them into something special, something bigger than myself. Playing made everything else in my world fade into the background, giving way to a newer one, a world that was more upbeat, more playful, more forgiving. It made me into some sort of a medium between the two, like a bridge between the light and the dark. The music made me magic.

  Sometimes, when I would be so deeply lost in the melodies and harmonies I created with my fingertips, I would sing as I played. Sometimes there were specific lyrics, sometimes there weren’t. Personally, I loved the times when I didn't sing someone else's words; it made me feel like I was completely in control, like I got to decide how things sounded and how they played out, no consequences. 

Today was one of those few special days when the music possessed my body, the harmony flowing freely from my fingers onto the keys and a melody jumping out of my throat. When the music took hold of me, it didn't let me go, not until a familiar voice startled me out of my special little world and back into the real one.

“Woah. I just want to say that I’d personally like to give whoever taught you to play like that one million dollars and a kiss on the mouth.” I jumped and whipped around to look at where the voice had come from. “You’re amazing.”

It was Adam, standing casually in the doorway, wearing a simple red t-shirt under a dark grey hoodie. Per usual, his glasses were crooked, his coffee-colored curls were out of control, and he was smiling that special Adam Smile that always made my heart skitter frantically in my chest.
"How did you get into my house?" I asked, blue eyes wide. Nervously I combed through my honey blonde hair in a failed attempt to get the short wavy strands under control. My hands were getting shaky, but at least I wasn't in full-panic mode. Yet.
I don't know, I contradicted myself silently. Maybe you're just getting better. Another thought popped into my head, one I almost didn't allow myself to consider. Maybe he's making you better.
Normally, if someone from school were to just show up at my house, I would have been absolutely paralyzed with fear; they were invading my most sacred, safe place. They were invading the only place I could really be me. They would cage me into my usual little box of fear, where I would sit there and worry if I’d said something wrong, or if I wasn’t doing the right things. I could worry myself into an absolute mess. And it was never that I was afraid of the physical PEOPLE; I wasn’t that crazy. I just was always too afraid of saying or doing something that made me look or sound stupid, too afraid they would make fun of me like they do to everybody who’s a little different. I guess I just thought I was better off not saying anything at all, if I could. Then they wouldn’t have anything to hold against me. At home, I was free to say and do whatever I wanted, finally safe from all the cruel judgements the kids at school could make. I could sing, and play piano, and let myself make up for all those quiet hours I’d had to struggle through. My home was my sanctuary.   
"Oh, your mom let me in." Adam said almost smugly, bringing me back from my thoughts. He said it as if he showed up to peoples' houses all the time, like meeting their mothers and barging into their private music sessions was something he did on a regular basis. I smiled. Only Adam.
To be honest, I’d changed since I’d met him. I smiled more, and I didn’t get quite as nervous at school when people would try to talk to me. I could almost talk to Adam the way I talked to my family, without analyzing each and every word I said before it was rolling off my lips.
"Huh." I replied, letting my fingers toy with the keys. "Okay, well can I ask the reason as to why you're here, in my house, just out of the blue?" Adam just chuckled and left his post in doorway, lifting a tattered old sketchbook and some drawing pencils.
He shrugged. "Mostly I came to ask if I could draw you, but I now that I've heard you play I may or may not have to listen to you again."
My cheeks flushed, a rosy pigment seeping warmly into my skin. I couldn’t tell if I was embarrassed or flattered by his answer. "What do you mean, you wanted to ask if you could 'draw me?' Because if you think this is going to be like Titanic where I say I want you to draw me like one of your French girls, you definitely thought wrong." I was only half joking, but Adam laughed anyway. It was a big, real belly laugh, and it was such a genuine sound that I couldn't help but smile a little. He had a good laugh.
"No no no, not like that," He chuckled, sitting down beside me on the piano bench. Once again, his scent engulfed me in a peppermint-laundry soap wave. "I've just got this really big art project coming up and they want us to find a subject to focus on, and I guess I just thought..." He trailed off and his face turned red. I was so nervous and excited I almost let out a little laugh, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep it from escaping. My heart pounded wildly. "I guess I thought you could be my subject, maybe?" He looked up at me, his jade green eyes full of question.
"I mean, if it's for your school project,” I started nonchalantly, trying to cover for the ridiculous flips and cartwheels and aerials that were being performed within me. “It’d be pretty crappy of me not to help you.”
Adam beamed. "Really?" He sounded like a little kid who'd just been told they were going to Disneyland. I nodded, a grin creeping into my lips. "Ah, that's AWESOME. Thank you so much!" He smiled so wide then that I was almost worried his face would split in half.
"So, umm... What do you want me to do, just, I don't know, pose or something?" I asked tentatively, unsure of what to do with myself. Adam seemed to realize the problem as well and he chewed on the end of his pencil as he opened his sketchbook to an empty page.
"No," he said thoughtfully, staring into the paper blankly. "I think it'd look a little too forced..." He suddenly snapped to attention, a wild look on his face. "Why don't you just play your piano? It seems like that would look so natural, with you playing, and I'd like to get the instrument in the picture too."
I drew my eyebrows together, a little confused. "But if I'm moving, won't that make everything a bit harder for you to draw?" Adam just stared at me. He seemed to be already starting to draw me in his mind, beginning to put the lines and shades of my face down onto a mental sketchpad.
“No, it actually should make it more interesting; the movement makes it real.” He murmured, starting to sculpt the first lines onto the actual sketchbook, making wide, sweeping motions as he did so. He kept looking back and forth between me and the paper, his eyes taking in every little detail. I just watched him for a moment, watched the way his brows pulled together, and how the very tip of his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth. I felt my cheeks grow hot when I noticed him staring back at me expectantly. What was I supposed to be doing again? I brushed my fingers over the key without thinking. Piano. I chastised. You’re supposed to play the piano. I shook my head and began.

At first, the playing was choppy and awkward, and I was continuously looking over at Adam as he sketched. I wasn’t sure what play; the music didn’t come to me as quickly as usual. Eventually I just started the first song that came to mind, This is Gospel, by Panic! At the Disco. In the beginning the notes dribbled out onto the keyboard sluggishly. But soon enough, the dribble turned to a solid flow, which then evolved into an unstoppable roar of music, of my magic. Without meaning too, I let my eyes close and I started swaying, my voice joining the mix of sounds not long after. As I played, I forgot about everything; Adam, the drawing, even myself, in a way. I became a part of the piano, nothing more than a medium for the music to possess. I no longer had feet; they were the pedals, making my notes longer or shorter however I pleased. I no longer had fingers; they were the keys, creating thousands upon thousands of different sounds and feelings. I no longer had a voice; it was the centre of the music, breathing life into the notes and making them into something that gave the music a human element, something that made it vulnerable and big and full of feeling. As I sat there playing, I forgot everything that I was, and I didn’t start to remember until the roar faded into a slowing stream. I didn’t remember until the last drops of magic had seeped out of my fingers, not until I noticed Adam still sitting beside me on the bench. His sketchbook was closed but he was still staring at me, his green eyes wide and his mouth open slightly. I abruptly stopped playing, my face burning with embarrassment.

“I… Uh…” I stammered, unsure of what to say. Adam just looked at me, silent. A jolt of panic lanced through my heart. Oh god. What have I done? How long has he just been sitting here? My nerves were quickly spinning out of control, and my heart pounded.

“That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard.” He began, his voice thick with awe. Awe? I felt my panic and nervousness turn quickly to joy and excitement. He blinked and shook his head, his wild curls bouncing with the motion. “Azalea, you are absolutely amazing.” I blushed furiously. My heart pounded faster, but for the first time, it wasn’t because I was afraid. Maybe he really is making me better.