SAVANTS
Chapture 4's

All I can think of is, he's so bad boy. It was not that he looked like a Bad boy, he was more like a pent-up rage, like a tiger pacing around in a cage. I can't take my eyes off her.

I'm not the only one affected. The atmosphere in the room changed. The girls sit a little straighter, the boys become restless - all because these god-like creatures have deigned to come among us ordinary humans. Or can it be called a wolf among sheep?

"Mr Benedict, you're very kind to join us" said Mr. Keneally in a tone of sarcasm, his previous good humor being cold.

A small scene flashed through my mind, The music master faced the Evil Wolfman. "We're all glad you've broken away from your schedule which is definitely much more important to make music with us, even if your arrival is a bit late."

The guy furrowed his brows, clearly not regretting. He took out a pair of drumsticks with his fingers. "I'm late?" His voice was as deep as I imagined, shrugging the bass tone. The clarinet player boldly elbowed his ribs, reminding to behave well in front of the teacher.

Mr. Keneally's patience is really suppressed. "Yes, you're late. I believe it's a custom at this school to apologize to the teacher if you're late"

The drumstick stopped, the guy looked at Mr. Keneally for a moment, his expression arrogant like a young master who dared to correct him. Finally, he said, "Sorry."

I had the impression that the entire room was sighing in relief because the conflict had been averted.

"You're good but it has to be done. Watch your attitude, Mr. Benedict, you may be talented but I'm not interested in a prima don't know how to treat a fellow musician. And you, Miss Bright, are you a team player" Mr. Keneally turned towards me, shattering my hopes that I had been forgotten. "Or do you suffer the same attitude as our Lord Zed Benedict?"

A very unfair question. Equated with that arrogant guy and I'm not even comparable to him.

I've never spoken to Wolfman and I've been asked to criticize him. He had the kind of appearance that made even the most confident girl a little amazed at him and, since my self-esteem was far below to begin with, what I felt was closer to terror.

"I ... I don't know. But I'm late too."

The boy's gaze turned towards me, then thought of me as nothing more than a speck of mud in his Wolfman boots.

"Let's find out what you can do Miss Bright. Jazz band!" Mr. Keneally shoots music like Frisbee. "Mr Hoffman, you took the saxophone, Yves Benedict the clarinet part. Maybe you can persuade your brother to please all of us with his drums?"

"Of course, Mr. Keneally" replied one wearing a subdistrict like John Lennon, looking at the biker with an annoyed look.

"Zed, come here."

His brother? Well, how did that happen? They may look a little similar to each other but in attitude they both differ considerably.

"Miss Bright can replace me at the piano." Said Mr. Keneally.

I really don't want to appear in front of everyone.

"Nm ... Mr. Keneally, I'd rather'

"Sit down." Cut it.

I sat down, adjusting the height of the bench. At least music is familiar to me.

"Don't mind Mr. Keneally," muttered Nelson, holding my shoulder. "He's doing this to everybody, testing your nerves, he said." With a small laugh.

I'm waiting for the others to finish it.

With the first touch, I knew music like honey was full of firmer, stronger, able to do great range.It relaxes me because nothing can provide a barrier between me and the whole room. Drifting in the melody drives away my nervousness and I start enjoying myself.

Live for music the same way my parents did for their art. It's not about performance, I prefer to play in the empty space, for me like freedom.

While playing with others, I realized my fellow players not as people but as voices. Nelson, smooth and loose; Yves, clarinet player, shrewd, smart, sometimes funny and Zed. I felt like he understood music like me, his anticipation of the flawless mood swings and tempo was spot on.

"Very good, no, very good!" Mr. Keneally yelled when we were done. "I'm worried, I just got knocked out of a jazz band." He gave me a blink.

"You're good," Nelson said in a low voice as he passed through my back.

Mr. Keneally went on to other things, organizing choir and orchestra exercises, but no one else was asked to play. I remained in place, staring at my reflection in the raised piano lid, fingers tapping the keys without pressing.

I felt a light touch on my shoulder. The students left but Nelson and the clarinet player standing behind me, Zed further still looked as if he would rather not be here.

Nelson points to the clarinet player. "Sky, meet him Yves."

"Hey. You're cool." Yves smiled, pushing his glasses further up the base of his nose.

"Thank you."

"Idiot is my brother, Zed." He waved at the pouting biker.

"Maybe he doesn't need to know, Yves," growled Zed.

Yves ignored. "Don't mind him. He's like that with everyone."

Nelson laughed and left us.

"You twins?" They had the same skin color and golden brown skin, but Yves had a round face with fine black hair. Zed has well-defined features, a pointed nose, large eyes with long eyelashes, and hair that is also straight and thick, fit into one of those colorful bad guys rather than a boring good guy. A fallen hero, one of the tragic types who turns to the dark side like a ...

Focus Sky, don't get carried away with your imagination.

Yves shook his head. "Cannot be. I'm a year older than him. I'm a senior. He's the baby in the family."

I've never seen anyone who looks like a baby like Zed. My respect for Yves soared because it was obvious he wasn't intimidated by his brother.

"Well, thank you, I'm sure he wants to know that." Zed folded his hands, tapping his feet in annoyance.

"See you at the band's next rehearsal." Yves pulled Zed away.

"Yes, sure," I murmured, watching the two brothers coming out of the music room.

I hummed an ironic little note, imagining the two of them jumping into the sky as they went from our sight of ordinary humans.