“It was gloomy dark and grayish—perfect for a first day of school,” thought Christina bitterly as she tapped her finger consistently on her violin case.
Rain poured over the body of her father’s old Saab, tearing at the water-proof, fabric sunroof. Christina played with the handle of her plain violin case. She knew the instrument wasn’t as good as her classmate’s would be, but she trusted it more than herself. It had been with her since second grade, and despite the constant chiding and prodding from her teacher she kept it— to hope. She could feel the back tires of the car grudgingly roll over a muddy, gravel road; it was struggling to keep on top of the broken surface, barely succeeding with each rotation.
“Christina. Get your stuff together. We’ll have to run in,” stated Christina’s father happily in an attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. She scoffed and took a hold of her book bag; then placed a plastic bag over her violin case, making sure it was secure.
The school was humongous, gorgeous and looked like an eighteenth century castle—definitely bigger than what the pamphlets showed. The International Institution for the Musically Talented Young Teen sat tucked into some hillside within the wilderness between New York and the Canadian Border. Stone consisting of a shade between brown and grey made most of the fence around the building, creating an old style, rural look through the addition of natural light green, fuzzy moss and complicated trails of vines that curled around, through and above the stone wall that was around four feet high. A black, mechanically locked gate rested on the road Mr. Reid’s shaking pale blue Saab stopped on.
“Wait here. We’re a bit early, so I guess they haven’t opened the gates yet. I’ll go tell them we’re here.”
Christina gave no notification that she even heard her father; instead, she leaned against the back seat’s car door, and continued tapping her fingers on the plain poppy seed colored Violin case, and gripped her sharpie-decorated, white backpack. Her bored, forest green eyes stared blankly through the steady downpour or rain, faintly making out the blur of shapes in the distance.
Mr. Reid suddenly opened the door, causing the young teen to topple out onto the hard pavement. Christina gave her father a stinging glare before picking her self up and pulling out an umbrella—not that it had mattered, since she was already soaked.
“Good thing you’re getting your uniform today,” Mr. Reid offered cautiously, then laughed awkwardly. He heaved a sigh as his only daughter, who muttered a quiet, “Worthless”, brushed past him quickly. The gate opened and Christina continued into the school yard on foot.