Some Kind of Magic

“I hate this school,” I said, my head hitting the table.

Elsie looked up from her laptop and over to me. “Really? I love this school.”

I frowned. “Everyone going here is stuck in detention until nine. How can you love it? And are they even allowed to keep us that long?”

“Well depending on the situation, they could keep you here all night,” she said with a shrug. I raised my eyebrows at her, doubtful. “Okay, maybe not all night but they can keep you here for several hours, for sure. And since we’ve only had one other food fight in the history of the school, which ended in someone who had snuck a gun in shooting somebody else in the foot, they react as fast as possible and aren’t really afraid to have everyone stay after hours ‘til nine. Besides, it gives us a chance to finish all of our first-day homework.”

“I guess,” I said, folding my arms on the desk and putting my head in the middle. “Would I get in trouble if I fell asleep?”

Elsie looked back at the clock on the wall. “I don’t think so. You’ve got about an hour so go nuts.”

I nodded. “Good.” And I closed my eyes. The school bell rang at two-thirty every day and since there were just over nine hundred students in the school—minus the fourth period lunch students—there were about five hundred of us that were stuck in the detention hall. And every classroom was filled. I only got to rest my eyes for about twenty minutes because the woman surveying the room had come around and tapped me on the shoulder, waking me up. After that, I just got right back to my fourth period work. That class was Creating and Writing Music for String Instruments and since I had played the violin for more than seven years, that course was right up my alley. The more time I spent at this school, the more I thought it was better suited if it was just strictly an arts academy. It was already halfway there because their music, dance and visual arts programs were already so popular among the students, and very well funded. And while at other schools, it was considered lame to be in band, the people involved in it at Westwood were considered legends or heroes, or the ultimate romantics. The music teachers actually had to hold auditions to get into it, but at RCI it was basically whoever wanted in was allowed. Plus, all students that came out for it were required to have previous music experience; at least one year of playing their instrument, could sight-read, and knew the notes from lowest to highest on both treble and base clef. Not many grade nines got into band because they were just starting out but apparently every now and again, there would be one or two students that excelled superbly, even though they had never played an instrument before but just caught on really fast. I planned on trying out for the senior band instead of junior because I knew I could keep up and also because Dylan, Robbie and Emma were all going out for it as well, so I wouldn’t be completely alone. They had warned me though, that the senior level of band was around 800, whereas junior was 200-400 and that was what I was used to. But there was nothing wrong with challenging myself. Emma, Dylan and Robbie had been in band since grade nine because they had all played their instruments since they were young—Dylan was six when he started the saxophone, Emma was seven with the piano, and Robbie had begun guitar lessons when he was nine after he switched from guitar to tuba, to trombone, to trumpet, and then back to guitar again in the time span of three years—so they were basically already guaranteed a spot on.

At nine o’clock, we were let out of detention, all of us starving. They hadn’t even given us a chance to eat something unless we had something in our bags already and anyone that went to get it from their lockers was escorted by a teacher to make sure they didn’t make a run for it. That was kind of ironic, in a confusing but humorous sense; what started the fight was also what we were deprived of when we got in trouble for it. Elsie and the twins decided to pick up some food on their way home but I was just going to get something to eat at my house, even though I knew that a good portion of the time that I was hoping would be for preparing my dinner was going to be spent being yelled at by my mother. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to text her and tell her where my time was going to be spent after school, so chances were Emma’s parents had called them to let them know or they were just sitting at home, worried out of their minds. As I was walking home, my hair was still sticky from coke and sauce and all of the other contents from people’s lunch that it had managed to catch, but I had gotten most of it out when I went to the bathroom before fourth period. It wasn’t really noticeable that anything had even gotten in it, but now my hair was back to its normal overly-curly self, and smelled like spaghetti. It was kind of nauseating.

When I left the school, Broderick’s parents were parked in front of the school, his dad leaning on the hood of the car with his hands in his pockets. He wore his business suit and when he noticed us, he looked up with a deep frown. “Food fight, Brod?” he stated disapprovingly, shaking his head. “Really?”

“Sorry dad,” Broderick said, looking down at his feet.

“Get in, you two,” he returned to his son and Emma. He looked at me then and tilted his head to the side. “I haven’t met you before. What’s your name?”

“Isabelle,” I replied.

“New friend?” he asked Broderick, who nodded. “Well in that case, hello Isabelle. Would you like a ride?”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind walking,” I replied, putting my hands up. “I could use the fresh air anyway, but thank you for the offer.”

“All right, suit yourself. Let’s go, guys,” he said, holding the back door opened for Emma and Broderick. “It was nice to meet you, Isabelle.”

“You too.” He walked around to the other side of the car and sat down, closing the door behind him and starting the engine. Emma and Broderick both gave me waves as they pulled away and I returned it before starting my long walk home. It wasn’t exactly pitch black yet, but the sun wasn’t setting either. It was that stage between a purple and a black sky, and it wouldn’t have been so freaky if I wasn’t walking by myself for a good half an hour. When I passed an alley, I thought I saw a shadow from behind me and quickly turned around, but no one was there. I frowned for a moment, and then kept on my way in silence. But again, I distinctly saw the outline of a person’s shadow and whipped around. A tall teenage boy stepped out of the alley with a smirk pulling at his mouth, revealing two rows of perfect teeth. A little too perfect.

“Hey there,” he spoke.

“You scared me,” I said, my heart beating erratically still.

“I’m sorry. I was just going to ask you . . .” He stepped closer, his shoulders squared with confidence like he was trying to intimidate me. I stayed where I was. “Are you alone?”

I looked around me and then back at him. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“So no one would notice if you disappeared for a few hours?” he asked, taking my wrist and pulling me closer. My eyebrows shot up, surprised.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled in a slimy, perverted, body-squirming way. “Do you have any weed on you? I know a great little place in the park, if you want to—”

“Jason,” another male voice suddenly broke through, much deeper and stronger, signifying a lot more power. The boy with his hand wrapped around me looked over his shoulder and I glanced past him. The silhouette of another boy was at the corner of the alleyway entrance, his arm up against the bricks and his head tilted to the side. “Leave the girl alone.”

“Who are you?” Jason asked with a scowl.

He stepped out of the darkness now and put his hands in his pockets. I could only blink at him as my memory processed that it was the boy from the night before, the magician. He was the last person I had expected to see around here.

“Oh, it’s you,” Jason scoffed. “What do you want?”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Have some respect. Get your hands off of her and leave her alone,” he returned, glaring. He had so much authority in his voice that I nearly mistook him for a police officer. He could have been one at that point, for all I knew.

Jason, with a quick glance at me, let go and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. It’s not even worth it. Just put away your fancy hands and stupid tricks and go away.”

“You’re not wanted here. Beat it,” the boy said, stepping forward. Jason put up his hands.

“I’m out of here,” he said, turning and walking away. I watched him go and then looked back at the boy. Admittedly, I had expected him to have disappeared because usually, that was how those kinds of things worked with magicians but he was still there. “Are you all right?” he asked me now, taking his hands back out and putting one on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I said but honestly, my wrist burned and stung a little because of how strong Jason’s grasp had been. It would go away in a few minutes though, I knew, so bringing it up would have been pointless. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry he was bothering you,” he said, lowering his head slightly. I took this moment when he wasn’t looking to give him a double take. He had a bony and perfectly shaped jaw line; long, thin neck that led down to strong shoulders. His hair was black, short and spiky with a bit of gel in it to shape it. He was very tall, the proud owner of a pair of very long legs that—from what I could make out beneath his black jeans—were also very muscular. He wore a simple white v-neck, giving me a very nice view of his toned chest and arms. For a magician, he certainly knew his way around the weight rooms. This guy was a real head-turner, and I didn’t know how I hadn’t realized it the first time I saw him. He was breathtaking.

“It’s perfectly fine,” I said finally. “I appreciate you stepping in though.”

“Any time. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you out so late by yourself?” he questioned, sounding genuinely concerned. “It’s kind of dangerous around here. Not the nicest spot to be by yourself, you know?”

I nodded. “Detention. I’m just walking home now.”

“Wow, your detentions last that long? What did you do? You don’t seem like the type to break the rules.”

“I’m usually not. I try to avoid trouble any opportunity I get but there was a cafeteria-wide food fight and it was impossible to get around.” I shrugged. “By the way, what you did last night . . . it was amazing. You just blew my mind.”

He grinned. What gorgeous teeth. “Really?”

“Yeah, you were fantastic. My mom would never admit it but I’m sure that you knocked her off her feet too,” I replied.

He laughed. “Well that’s always very nice to hear. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Isabelle,” I answered.

“Isabelle,” he repeated, smiling. “It’s a beautiful name, as are you. I’m sorry, but I really have to be going, and I’m late as it is. It was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope I see you again.” He took my hand in his. What soft skin he had. Then he lifted it to his lips and planted a light kiss on the back of my hand, before dropping it and turning away. He headed for the alley again, and it took me a minute before I processed that someone so perfect in my mind was actually leaving. When I caught up again, I leapt forward.

“Wait!” I called for him. “I didn’t get your name!” I looked around the corner, but he was nowhere in sight.

Just like a magician.



Band met after school on Wednesday’s so the next day, I spent three hours waiting in a long line of people who were competing against me for the three available spots as violin players. There were fifteen of us trying out, so I was pretty nervous. They gave me some sheet music to play and practice while I waited for my turn. It made me dizzy to look at because, as I had stated before, it was not my level; it was far above my level. Everyone had received a different piece to play, just so they could see how qualified we were for different music. By the time I went in, I was shaking and felt a little sweaty as well because I really wanted the last spot. Two had been filled before me—one by the girl right in front of me in the line, who was a four time first place national violin player and clearly an obvious choice—so I was pretty nervous. I didn’t want to get turned down because I knew I could improve, I just needed the opportunity. That was why my spot in band was so important. I stepped into the music room and sat down in the chair in front of the judge’s table. The seats were filled by two previous music students that had graduated with scholarships for music programs in Universities across Canada, and then the three music teachers of the school. It was a tough crowd, because they weren’t the only ones watching me. Everyone that had gained a spot in the band had taken their place where their instrument division was, and I could already see Emma, Dylan and Robbie had received a place. There were seventy students so far, and seven places to go, not counting the last violin spot that I planned on getting.

I adjusted my music stand and told the judges my name when they asked, as well as answering their other questions like my homeroom class, how long I’ve been on my instrument, any previous experience I’ve had with it (such as competitions, accomplishments, past studios, etc.), and of course the obvious, what my instrument even was. They were already aware that I was playing in the string family but I had to get more specific, because they were coming in no dignified order. While the teachers wrote something down on their paper, I looked up at the other students in the music room. The violin players caught my eye first and while one smiled and gave me the thumbs up, the other one glared the crap out of me. This was the girl that had been in front of me in the line. I smiled back at the first girl to show my appreciation and then glanced over at Dylan, who sat with the other alto saxophone players. He winked at me and mouthed “good luck” and I returned with a “thank you” before facing the judges again. The one male teacher gave me a nod to start and I lifted the violin up to my shoulder, putting my cheek against it to hold it in place. Then I began to play.

They had selected Camille Saint-Saëns’ “Havanaise in E Major” for me to play, which I had tried once at my lessons outside of school, but I had messed up royally because it was so difficult. I never got past the first two pages of it. But this time, I was determined to get to the end, even if it killed me. It went fairly smoothly for the nearly ten minutes that it took me to play it; I didn’t do as bad as I had the first time, I did have to go a bit slower than how it was supposed to be played but it was a very complicated piece. I made a few mistakes as well, and I could see out of the corner of my eye that the judges we writing things down when they caught my slip-ups but overall, it went a lot better than I had expected. If I was someone in the audience, I wouldn’t have flinched even once because it really didn’t sound all that bad. And even more amazing, the judges let me get to the finish without cutting me off and I knew they had done that for a few people before me. No wonder they came out crying.

When I finished, the students that were watching me stood up to clap, because as Dylan would tell me later, besides myself and the two other violinists chosen for the band, I was the only one to receive a piece that difficult and actually play it all the way through. The judges looked down at their pages and scribbled things down or consulted each other about what to do with me. Frankly, I didn’t care if I was turned down for it because I didn’t feel like the world’s biggest screw-up after that. For something so far above my letter, I kicked ass pretty hard. I saw one of the former students smile at the teacher beside her and nod, whispering something that I couldn’t make out. Then the teacher right in the center stood up and raised her hand, silencing the students who were congratulating me on my performance.

“Thank you Isabelle,” she said, taking her place in her seat again. “That was very well done for someone with your experience.”

“Thank you,” I said, slightly breathless. “I realize that I haven’t been playing as long as other students have, and I may not have as much experience but—”

“Listen to us first,” the male teacher on her right side spoke quickly. My mouth snapped closed so quickly that I could hear my two rows of teeth make contact with each other. “For a piece that difficult, you did excellent. However . . . the senior band goes up against other schools whose bands play that level daily, with no problems. We have won nationals for five years in a row and we’d like to keep that streak coming. All of us noticed that you played the wrong notes every now and again.”

I gulped, nervous for what was to come next.

“But you have potential,” the woman in the middle said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table and her chin resting on the top of her folded hands. “This girl here . . .” She nodded to the woman on her left. “Her name is Lauryn Conrade. She was a violin player as well and was in the exact same position as you.”

“It’s true,” Lauryn said, laughing. “Exact same piece too. I messed up a few times with it, and I hadn’t been playing nearly as long as others in the band had. Personally, junior band would have been more my level but they gave me a shot, because they knew they could mold me, improve me, make me a better player than I had ever dreamed of being.” She shrugged and put her arms out to the side. “And look at me now. I go to one of the most prestigious Universities in the country that is just legendary because of their music department. And I got in on a scholarship, all because I took the initiative to try that piece that you just did in front of a room full of talented musicians. And it got me to a point where I was the most experienced player in my whole section.”

“And that’s exactly why we think you would be perfect for senior band,” the man said. He smiled once he saw my jaw drop. “Welcome to the family, Isabelle.”

“You go girl!” I heard someone scream from the back of the room and looked back to see Robbie with his fist raised into the air and a giant grin on his face. I laughed and was welcomed with pats on the back and clapping as I walked up the stairs to sit with the rest of the violinists.

“Congratulations,” the girl I sat beside said to me with a warm smile. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you,” I beamed. I couldn’t have been more proud of myself.