Smiling at Everything

The staccato beat of the metronome resonated off the walls of the soundproof room. A young boy seated at the piano played a tune, the sounds floating from the instrument. A woman stood behind him, her blue button-up blouse and black pencil skirt radiating professionalism. Her posture was perfect, shoulders back, back straight. Despite the brightly colored makeup adorning her eyes, her look radiated respect. On her button-up blouse was a tag that read "Jazz Presley."

Jazz stared at the boy's fingers moving across the piano keys. There was a far off look in her eyes that could be mistaken for lack of care. Her mind was focused on the music. Every note seemed perfectly lined up but her ears could pick up the sound of the metronome going off a fraction of second before the notes.

The music stopped and the young boy turned around in his seat, smiling up at her.

"How was that?" he asked.

Jazz threw on a fake smile, "That was great, Michael. When you get home, I want you to work on your tempo. It’s a hair off."

"Really? I didn't even hear it."

Jazz gave the same fake bubbly laugh she always did, walking to the boy's side and leaning to his height.

"That's why I'm the teacher and you're the student," she tapped his nose.

He scrunched his nose in mock irritation. Jazz was his favorite music instructor, the best he had in his short life. No one could be irritated with her. She was nice and happy. Any criticism was accompanied by a compliment. She believed in his ability to play.

Plus, she was really pretty.

"Alright, you're lessons over. Go over your warm ups, practice this piece, and learn the exercises on the next page. I'll see you again next week, young Padawan," Jazz said.

"Pada-what?" Michael asked, hopping off the piano stool.

"Ask your mom to get a Stars Wars DVD and you'll understand."

"Why would I watch Star Wars? That's for old people."

Jazz gasped overdramatically, "Are you calling me old?"

She pushed the door to the practice room, holding it open for Michael to step out.

"Yes," Michael replied.

He ran down the hallway of practice rooms into the front of the store, laughing. Jazz knew he was joking. All of her students joked around with her. It helped to keep the atmosphere light so they could learn better. She acted as their friend and instructor; they felt comfortable with her. She had a teacher in high school that did the same thing, which helped her learn better.

His motives were different though.

"Yeah, you better run," Jazz yelled after him.

She could hear his laughs and the chime of the stores front door being opened. Jazz sighed, letting her smile drop. It had been a long day of teaching lessons to kids of varying talent. But she was done for the day.

Even with RxN flourishing, she kept up with her lessons. No one really understood why she did if she didn't need the money. Everyone had quit their day jobs once the band started becoming more noticed, including Arpeggio. Jazz was the only one who kept teaching lessons, referring her students to other teachers when she was recording or RxN was on tour. They attributed it to one of Jazz's many sporadic traits. It was one of the things that made her the lovable Jazz they knew.

She knew why she did it though; it wasn't some unexplainable action. She continued to teach music lessons to give kids an appreciation for music. It didn't matter if the kid was good or not, she just wanted them to feel the music, to understand its language. Music helped her on a daily basis, maybe it would help them.

Jazz stepped back into the room, leaving the door open, and checked to make sure she had everything in her bag. On more than one occasion, she had left score sheets behind, as well as her penthouse keys. She hadn't taken anything out today because she had no break to look over her own music. As she suspected, everything was in place. She threw the bag over her shoulder, grabbed the key to the room off the piano, and shut down everything that had been used during the course of the day.

She wasn't just a piano and keyboard instructor. She taught beginner guitar and violin, as well as flute and clarinet. They were instruments she picked up in high school to broaden her horizons. At the time, she wanted to perform in a professional orchestra and become a composer.

The brunette left the room, closing and locking the door behind her. Fake smile re-plastered on her face in case anyone was in the building, she walked through the short hallway of classrooms to the front of the music store. She caught sight of a red and black haired male hopping around excitedly. She mentally questioned why RxN's bassist was here.

From any distance, Dorian was identifiable.

He stopped hopping once Jazz came into view, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Jazz," he exclaimed, running towards her and latching onto her body.

Jazz could feel her body want to tense up at the motion but refused to let it do so. Once again, her smile dropped, this time because of shock.

"Baby, get off of her," his boyfriend commanded.

"But I love her," Dorian exclaimed.

"You're going to crush her."

"Jazz, he just called me fat," Dorian wailed, pretending to cry into her shoulder.

Joseph groaned and placed a hand on Dorian's shoulder and Jazz's shoulder, pulling the two apart with ease. Dorian pouted at his boyfriend and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So why are you two here?" Jazz asked, returning to her happy demeanor.

"Party at the Neon's house," Dorian exclaimed.

"Okay, number one, its Alex's house too. And number two, it is not a party," Joseph corrected.

"Oh really? What do you call a get together that incorporates two different bands and their significant other's?"

"Not a party."

"Jazz, you agree with me, right?"

"Is there alcohol?" Jazz asked.

"No," Dorian replied.

"Then it's not a party."

Dorian gave a dramatic huff, "Fine. Get together at Neon and Alex's house, are you coming?"

"Of course," Jazz responded.

She didn't want to but she had nothing better to do than go home and think. Thinking brought on memories of the cause of her faux happy demeanor and only served to depress her. She didn't want to remember, she wanted to forget.

Dorian let out a cheer and began hopping around again.

"We'll see you there," Joseph said.

"Definitely," Jazz responded.

Joseph grabbed his boyfriend's arm and dragged him from the store. If they were to stay any longer, Dorian would have broken something. Though the bassist wouldn't have minded buying unnecessary equipment, Joseph minded useless junk cluttering their home.

Jazz let her smile drop when the couple was out of sight. She was the only one in the store now; she often was by the end of her lessons. The workers of the store were long gone. Though she wasn't a worker there, she had to close the shop on days that her lessons ran late. The owner trusted her enough to do so because she had been renting one of the backrooms for years to give lessons.

She decided to take her time with closing today. It was one of the few moments she could be herself.

In a couple of short hours, she would be faking happiness again in one of her best friend's homes.