Twisted Symphony

Manhattan is like no other place in the world, that's already obvious.

My suit case hits the unfamiliar cement sidewalk with a thud. My shorts feel like they are perma-glued to my butt. Great. New York City in June is not what I thought it would be.

Construction men are working on the sidewalk a few feet away, but I don’t see anything wrong with it. It just seems like construction workers in New York break things for no reason,or at least that’s what it feel like in the movies.

“Ya got everything miss?” A portly looking cab driver with the thickest New York accent I’ve ever heard in my life asks politely, but the way he’s talking makes me feel like I’m wasting his time.

“Uh.. yeah. That’s everything, thank you.”

He give me this little salute goodbye and drives off. I jump at the sound of a loud honking horn, attempting to break up a traffic jam that’s been existent since New York City was first founded. I roll my suitcase behind me and rest my duffle bag on my suitcase so one hand is free. I really hope I’m not lost because that would really suck. Suddenly, I stop in front of this massive looking building. It’s stone and looks like it doesn’t belong here at all. It’s too pretty, too clean, and to put together. Everything else around here looks so all over the place, which is completely fine, considering this is New York City and that’s sort of how it’s suppose to be.

I drag my suitcase behind me as I ring the silver button; while it gleams in the sweltering sun. It reads: HILDEBRANDT STUDENT HOUSING in perfect golden letters. I’m not lost.

What’s Hildebrandt? It’s where I’ll be spending the summer before my senior year. Besides that, it’s probably the top music and arts program in the country. It’s a summer program open to people fourteen to eighteen. How did I get in? Honestly I have no idea. All I know is I’ve been playing piano ever since I could think. I didn’t apply for anything. The letter just came in the mail one day. I like to think of it as a small miracle, and I refuse to question miracles. I stopped questioning miracles when the letter began:

Gabrielle Danes we are pleased to inform you..

Now I’m here and scared out of my mind, because I’ve never been to New York before and Illinois is nothing like this. Not the Chicago Illinois either. It’s the rest of Illinois I live in. You know the part nobody cares about? There I am, with my Mom and my older sister Megan. That’s it. My Dad is-absent for the time being. Okay so possibly forever, but this isn’t about him. This is about me for once. The thing is, this program can make you or break you and you really have to choose wisely.

I roll my suitcase and duffle bag into the lobby and thank god for air conditioning. The cold breeze hits me saving me from the humid heat. There a receptionist, or a security guard sitting at a front desk; I can’t figure which one. Either way she’s giving me this look as if I’ve made a terrible mistake. I smile and smooth down my white v-neck t-shirt and touch the fringes of my denim shorts for a second.

“Name?” She asks flatly.

“Gabrielle Danes.” I keep my voice steady.

She flips threw a clipboard and glances up at me. Then she looks back down. She goes to her desk and begins to type vigorously on the computer as I admire the glassy, gray marble floors.

"I.D?" She smacks her lips together.

I fumble through my bag and pull out my license and slide it towards her. She glances at it and begins to eye me.

“Oh yes here you are. Room 217. First floor down the hall to the left. Your roommate has already checked in. Orientation will be promptly at three o’clock and it is mandatory for all students to attend. Information will be dropped off to your room within the next hour or two.”

Then she looks away with tight pursed lips that make me feel like I’ve been scolded.

“Thank you.” I can even say that was pretty weak.

I'm heaving my suitcase down the hall and then it occurs to me I still have my sunglasses on. People are running wild in these hallways. It’s like a teenaged paradise for some. Loud music and students are even drawing on the walls. Some sort of Mural to all I guess. Most people even have their doors open. Like it’s one big house. Which technically it is. I get a few nods of acknowledgement. In an attempt to keep together and remain balanced I flip my chestnut colored hair to one side. That didn’t really work now did it? This should not be this much of a struggle. Unfortunately for me it is. I pass a mirror in the hallway and glance at myself. After all I don’t want to look like a complete lunatic when I meet my roommate.

I can honestly say everything is in order. My hair is still straight from this morning, My olive skin hasn’t burned, and for once my mascara refuses to run. I pull up to room 217. It’s not open. Of course. I fumble around in my pocket and fish out the key before shoving it in the lock. The door swings open as I prop my sunglasses on my head.

“Hey I- Whoa.” I stop myself.

I can feel my deep brown eyes go wide, as I drop my bags on the floor freeing myself of their restraints. There are two people making out on one of the beds. Well they were on what looked like my bed until I rudely interrupted them, and they both hit the ground with a loud crash. One's my roommate I assume. Red head with fair skin and perfectly plucked eyebrows. She looks really annoyed, like I should’ve knocked or something. I would be too, because I can see her lime green bra peeking out from the neck of her blue tank top. Her brown eyes are staring at this boy.

He’s got this satisfied smirk on his face. Tall. Sandy-blonde hair sticking up at all odd ends. It’s as if his make-out session has given him gods worst bed head. He’s not looking at her. His grey baby-blues are looking straight at me. All of me. Suddenly I feel like a science experiment, and a little bit violated.

“Sorry.” I squeak. Now all I’m trying to figure out is why in the world I’m apologizing.

“You should be.” The girl mumbles.

“Nah, It’s all good.” He dust himself off, adjust his gray t-shirt, and walks straight up to me; and holds out his hand smiling, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. I didn’t know people even shook hands anymore.

“I’m Johnnie.” I shake his hand back and feel very uncomfortable at the moment. Is he expecting me to partake in some sort of threesome? Then again maybe he just wants to know my name.

“Gabrielle.”I smile halfheartedly and shake his hand back because the looks my roommate is giving me makes me feel like I can’t sleep tonight, or any other night as a matter of fact.

“I’ll see you around, Kayla.” He glances back at his make-out buddy. He begins to walk out before hooking his hand onto the top of the door-frame and looking back at me. He points at me like he’s about to say something, but he’s forgotten. He just smiles and glances over me.

Analyzing me.