Prelude (The Rhapsody Quartet) Read Free

produced something beautiful, though nothing structured.
    Before I was sixteen. Not exceeding ten days. So weird.
    I sighed and flopped backwards onto my bed. I didn’t learn much today about my parents, but what I did learn wasn’t what I was expecting. But then again, what was I expecting? I couldn’t really remember them. I was almost three when they died, but the only memories I had were foggy.
    Sometimes I thought I remembered music. Sometimes that seemed like it must have been in a dream. Sometimes I’d remember laughter, or strange voices, speaking in languages I couldn’t recognize, or maybe it was just words a toddler wouldn’t know yet. I thought I remembered soft blue lights, and water. Sometimes I’d remember comforting nightly rituals, soft hands stroking my hair as I fell asleep. As much as I tried to cling to these thoughts, I wasn’t even sure if they were real memories or fabrications.
    I re-read the letter. It still didn’t make any sense. “If I’m supposed to be an adult at sixteen,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling tired from the day, “I guess I’ll know what they meant in a week.”
    It was supposed to be a joke. How could I have known?
     
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     
    Six days later, my morning started off typically. I headed to school, managing to meet my goal of remaining invisible to my peers and teachers until around 11:30. That’s when things started to get strange.
    I was in Algebra class, which on a good day was bad enough. Math was never something that held much interest to me. As concrete as everyone said it was, I’ve never found my Algebra equations anything other than abstract and foreign. I was about fifteen minutes into our lecture when it hit me like being doused with ice water.
    I had the jitters— intense jitters, the kind that would have to be achieved by downing fifteen energy drinks with an espresso chaser. My heart went from beating steadily to suddenly tearing around my ribcage like a frightened rabbit. My hands started shaking, and sitting still in class seemed utterly impossible. I wiped my sweating palms on my pants and glanced at the clock. There was over half an hour of class left.
    I tapped my foot, rapped my pencil across my desk, and fidgeted far more than I’d have felt remotely comfortable doing given any other scenario. But it wasn’t enough. I felt like I needed to go outside and run a marathon, compete in the Olympics, do anything but sit in class and try to solve for x.
    I’m not sure how I survived the ordeal, but I do know that the last ten minutes of class— the longest ten minutes of my life— I spent staring at the second hand of the clock ticking away and praying for the bell to ring. By this point, completely out of my usual character, I’d already determined that the second half of the day would be skipped. When the minute hand finally tumbled over to the hour and the bell rang, I was up like a shot and running out the door.
    Somewhere down the hallway, Stacie Robinson was leaving class. I slammed into her, tripping in the process and falling to the ground in a heap.
    “Ugh,” she said, giving me a look of sheer disgust.
    That was when the jitters stopped. Abruptly stopped, and I felt my shoulders sagging in relief. My heart began to slow down. Maybe I wouldn’t need to skip my last couple of classes, after all.
    Stacie peered a little closer, “What’s wrong with you, freak?” Her eyes narrowed, “ Wait a minute.. .”
    As she scrutinized my face, a sudden wave of nausea flooded me. And with that, I threw up on her Jimmy Choos.
     
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
     
    I spent the rest of the day and night in my room, intermittently doing jumping jacks and lying down, my stomach turning. At one point, I attempted to use the internet to self-diagnose but didn’t find anything that matched my symptoms. Around one in the morning, I felt the strangeness lift from my body. My hands were no longer shaking, and to my intense relief I was no longer