The Forgotten Academy Chapter One - Caspienne

Soft classical music spilled out of my alarm clock and gently coaxed the unconscious blackness away from my eyes. I turned over in bed, pushing the covers off the side and considered just letting it play. Waking up could be put off for another few hours, right? As my mind slowly came up from the peaceful realm of sleep I opened my eyes. I couldn’t sleep in today, I remembered. Tiredly I tried to recollect why not. The day was… September 10th? What was so important about that day?

Oh yeah. School.

I heaved a sigh and rolled out of bed, lazily scooping up the orange, floral blankets that now lay on the floor and plopping them back onto the mattress. Making the bed could wait. I reluctantly turned off the waking music and glanced at the time. Five forty-five in the morning was way too early for a fourteen year old to get up.

After getting dressed and attempting to somewhat tame my wild, dark hair, I grabbed my guitar and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen to find some breakfast. After I got down there I found that there was no need for me to have been so quiet. Taped to the fridge was a note in my dad’s scruffy handwriting:

Cass:

Hey sweetie! I’ve gone to the airport to catch an early flight to Michigan, be back Sunday. Have an awesome first day of school. Call me after you get back. Love you!

Dad

That’s right. He’d told me about this just a week ago, about his big interview with some celebrity in Michigan. I’d almost completely forgotten, being caught up in school preparations. After all, this was my first year going to a real public school. I’d always been homeschooled by Mom, but because of the divorce she moved back to France. I’d stayed with Dad because I thought he’d stay in Oklahoma. But, just a month after Mom moved, he broke the big news. “Guess what, Cass? I got this amazing job in New York…” Great.

I gulped down a glass of milk, picked up a banana, put on a light jacket, and slung my brand new turquoise backpack over my shoulder along with my guitar. Off into the busy world of New York City. Big whoop.

As I opened the door I was hit with a chill wind and the sound of early morning commuters bustling to their workplaces. The air smelled of old gasoline and discarded cigarettes. A breath of sadness escaped my lips as I remembered my house in Oklahoma, where I’d wake every morning to birdsongs and warm breezes. It was beautiful there. And here, on the main floor of an old townhouse on a bustling street, I missed it.

There was an old tree growing out of a space the sidewalk close by our residence, just a short walk away. And, every morning since we’d moved, I’d stand outside under it and play my guitar. The fact that school had started wasn’t going to stop me, either. Sometimes people would even throw loose change into my case. (which, I’ll have to admit, I didn’t mind one bit) Oh boy, if my mom knew. She’d throw a fit knowing that her daughter had turned into a guitar playing street performer. Haha.

As I made it to the tree, I removed Solace from her case and dropped my backpack onto the ground by my feet. Yeah, I named her. My dad bought her for me during the divorce. Really, learning how to play her helped with the stress a bit, hence her name. I lifted the strap up and around my neck, positioning my fingers above the second fret, and began to play “Drifting” by Andy McKee. As the first song I’d learned, it was indeed my favorite. I loved the overhand style, the percussion slaps, the weird tuning, and how it reminded most people of the movie “August Rush”. I played it for my mom once on video call, and even she was impressed.

I was quickly absorbed in the music as my hands flew across the strings in a frenzy of notes. If there were people watching, I didn’t care. They didn’t matter. It was just Solace and me, a team. I could feel the warm vibrations resonating out of us, filling up the cold air and choking out the loud street sounds. Even the smell was less noticeable. I swear, just for a moment, that I could have been back in Oklahoma again.

As the song ended with the last hammer-on, I looked up and New York came back. I didn’t expect to see anybody watching, but there somebody was. Almost right next to me, actually. Startled, I let out a little squeak of surprise and took a step back. The old man in a wheelchair let out a soft chuckle.

“You play okay, kid,” he said to me, his blue eyes twinkling.

I smiled back. “Thanks.”

“I’m surprised you still come out here, with school starting today.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but I could use the practice, and there might not be much time later in the day.” He nodded, then I realized something. “How do you know I play here often?”

He pointed his old finger to the townhouse right next to us. “I live right there, hear you every morning. Woke me up the first day,” he said, lowering his arm back onto his lap.

I grinned sheepishly, blood rushing to my cheeks. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, kid. I like hearin’ you play. Reminds me of myself when I was young. But, before I knew it, my hair thinned out and my moustache turned white, and my feet wouldn’t hold me up anymore.” He let out a deep rumbling laugh and slapped the arm of his chair lightly twice. He took off his grey fedora. “Now I have to wear this cursed hat to hide that I’ve got a bald spot on the back of my noggin’,” he said, replacing it back on top of his head.

“Your hat’s not so bad. I like it,” I answered politely, laughing on the inside.

“Well then you wear it. Never fancied it much anyway.” He took the hat back off, reached up, and placed it on my head, exposing that he did indeed have a small bald spot. He looked up at me for a while, then decided, “Looks better on you. What’s your name, kid?”

“Caspienne,” I said.

“You’re gonna do great things one day, Caspienne.”

Then, he turned and wheeled down the street, leaving his hat and a five dollar bill inside.

I quietly laughed, then took out my phone to check the time. Oh no! 7:30 already? I was going to be late! Hastily, I stashed Solace back in her case and swung my backpack back over my shoulder, then dashed down the street to the subway station.

~-~

I stopped at the front doors and read the words above them. Wendell Middle School. Yep, this was the place. My phone said the time was 7:45 exactly, so I wasn’t late after all. School started at 8:05. My heart beat quicker as I entered the main hall, but no one seemed to notice me as I made my way to my locker. Solace would stay inside there. The only reason I even brought her was because I had a guitar class 5th period. It sort of made me uneasy, leaving her, but I couldn’t very well take her around to all my classes, could I? So I approached the army green locker and put in the com, gingerly placing Solace inside along with the man’s fedora.

“See you later,” I whispered, then closed the door.

I wove my way around groups of kids and to my first period class, Science. But if I had previously had any chance of not being noticed, it was disintegrated the moment I stepped into the classroom. Almost immediately, a group of kids whipped their heads around and stared at me, obviously the kind of popular clique I’d heard about from my friends in Oklahoma. I felt their eyes on me as my teacher, a younger man with reddish hair and a crooked smile, told me to “just sit anywhere”. So I found a desk in the back corner of the room and sat down. A girl with short, bright purple hair and icy blue eyes stalked towards my desk.

“Hi,” she said, putting her weight on one leg and blowing a bubble with the pink gum in her mouth, “I’m Jase. I don’t recognize you. You from around here?”

After a moment’s hesitation, I said quietly, “Uh, no, actually. My dad and I just moved here from Oklahoma.”

Jase was joined by a tall, blonde boy wearing sunglasses and baggy clothes. “Ooooh, she’s a country girl. What’s your name, country girl?” he taunted.

“Caspienne,” I replied quietly.

“Haha, isn’t that the name of the prince in a book? What is it, like, The Chronicles of Nerdia or something?”

Just then, the bell for class to start rang, and the group of kids scurried to find desks. So this was public school. And, by the way, I’d never read The Chronicles of Narnia.

I survived first, second, third, and even fourth period. The teachers were nice enough, once I got past the fact that they could never remember my name. I mean, come on. “Caspienne” couldn’t be that hard to remember, could it?

The minute I entered the music room with Solace strapped to my back, I knew it was not going to be what I had expected. Several chairs, some filled, were set out in front of a large, raised platform with a whiteboard on the wall behind it. Who I assumed was the teacher was sitting at the back of the room behind a computer, her green eyes reflecting the light of the screen. She was younger, maybe in her twenties or thirties. But she had way too many piercings for my taste. Her arms were covered in tattoos and she was wearing an old t-shirt with faded, unreadable letters on it. The word “goth” came to mind. Interesting.

I sat down, again in the back corner, and waited. No one noticed me there, they were all too busy fine tuning their instruments and chatting with friends. The bell rang, and after a minute I watched the teacher look up dazedly from her computer and saunter up to the mini stage in the front of the room. She had a clipboard in her hand.

“Hello everyone. My name is Miss Slater, but you’ll call me Nikki. Looks like you all have some pretty nice guitars. I’ll call roll now. In order to be accounted for you will come up and show me what you know. So, let’s get started. Leon Armstrong?”

A short kid walked to the stage with a beat up guitar, played a few chords, and then stopped.

“Do you read music?” Nikki asked.

The boy nodded yes, and she dismissed him after marking something on her clipboard.

“Tori Baker?”

This continued for several minutes, and I tried to make mental notes of names and faces. Most kids didn’t know a lot about the guitar, although some guy named Eli could play and read music quite well. Nikki even smiled at him. After she called the name “Cam Putnam” and a girl with long black hair went up and didn’t know how to play at all, I knew it was my turn.

Nikki looked at the clipboard and paused, staring blankly at my name. Oh joy.

“Ca- Caspienne Quinn?” At least she pronounced it right.

I stood up and put Solace’s strap over my neck. As I stood up on the stage I realized that I didn’t know what to play. Nikki eyed me expectantly. Might as well do something, so began to play the song that I played under the tree that morning.

I felt the whole room go silent and the other kid’s eyes all move to look at me. But do you know what? I didn’t care one bit. I played the stress of the morning and the embarrassment of being new into the song. Soon, the whole classroom, including Nikki the goth guitar teacher, was whisked away and replaced with music. It was three and a half minutes of pure wonderful.

But, as everything does, the song came to an end and school came back. I looked up from Solace to find everyone just staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

After a period of silence, Nikki said, “Your guitar’s tuned wrong.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You read music?” she asked, not answering my question and looking back down at her clipboard.

Defiantly, I stated, “No,” and hopped off the stage back into the corner.

~-~

As I got off the subway I pulled out my phone and called my dad. After seven or eight rings, I got his voicemail box.

“Hi Dad, this is Cass. Just calling to let you know I just got out of school and I’m going home now. Call me when you get the chance. Hope you’re having fun in Michigan. Love you. Bye,” I said, then pressed the “end” button. Oh well. So much for calling him after school.

Making your way through New York City crowds is hard. Especially at the subway station. It took me twenty minutes alone just to get out of there. But, nonetheless, I did make it out in one piece. As I walked down the street I found that the old man was waiting for me at the tree. He had a new hat, and I must say, the old newsboy cap suited him much better.

“You got another hat,” I remarked, pulling the fedora out of my backpack and putting it on over my now tired, wavy hair.

He smiled at me. “So it is, and I trust that’s the same one I gave you this morning. How was your first day?”

“It was good. Interesting. I’ve never been to a public school before,” I said.

“Yes, those schools can be quite odd.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Solace came out of her case and I started to play. Just for fun, no song in mind. I just mixed in slap harmonics, open strings, minor chords, and the whole day. Notes told the story of the alarm clock, the man and his grey fedora, Jase’s purple hair, and Nikki’s converse shoes. They mimicked the low hum of the subway and the ringing of my dad’s unanswered phone. September 10th.

As I brought the song to an end, the man looked up at me with a small smile and just nodded.

“That was yours, wasn’t it?” he said.

“Yeah, I guess.” I absent-mindedly plucked a few open strings.

He placed his old hands on the wheels of his wheelchair and started to push himself forward, but I interrupted him.

“Excuse me, but I never got to ask you your name.”

He turned his head back to me and chuckled. “My name? My name doesn’t make a difference. It will soon be forgotten.” He winked and tipped his hat, then turned back around and wheeled away.

I looked forward to these mornings on the streets when my dad was on trips, where I’d meet with, play for, and talk to the nameless old man. He became like my second grandfather. Every morning, unfailingly, he’d be beside the tree, even if I didn’t show. Usually after school, too.

Then, one day, he wasn’t.

I stood awkwardly under the tree, whose leaves had now turned golden and were falling onto the cracked sidewalk. I waited. And waited longer. I waited a day. Two days. And he wasn’t there. I’d told him that my dad was on business again, that I’d be here. But he was nowhere to be seen. So I slowly walked to the subway and left to school.

His disappearance nagged at me through the whole day. My concentration faltered as I tried to listen to my teachers lecture. Where was he? Why wasn’t he at the tree the past mornings?

The day dragged on and on. I swear, someone had rigged the clocks to tick twice as slowly. I was almost asleep by the time I heard the last bell ring. Hauling myself out of my seat, I walked down the hall, picked up Solace, and trudged back to the subway station. Sitting down inside the train, I found myself gazing out the window as everything sped past in a blur. So deep in thought, it seemed like all the chatter in the car turned silent and it was just me. Just Caspienne Quinn and her guitar. My hand reached up and took the man’s fedora off of my head, and I slowly ran my fingers over the rough, grey canvas that it was made out of.

“Where are you?” I whispered.

I looked up and noticed that the train had come to a stop. And no wonder it was as quiet as if I was the only one there. I was. Everyone had left and I hadn’t even noticed.

I slung my backpack and Solace back over my shoulder and exited the car, my shoes echoing on the cold cement as I did so. It was eerily quiet, even though I saw a few people sitting on the scattered yellow benches that dotted the station. No one said anything, and no one seemed to be in motion, either. Then I realized that this was not the station I usually got off at. Crap. Did I miss my stop? I didn’t remember falling asleep but maybe I did.

In search of a policeman or someone of the same authority, I approached a girl on a bench, reading. She looked up at me through her big glasses, something no one else had done, and stood up, blocking my passage. She was a little taller and obviously older than me.

“Excuse me,” I attempted to squeeze past her, “I have to find someone to help me get back home. I missed my stop.”

“Well, you’ve found help right here,” she stated.

“Do you work here?” I asked.

“More or less.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, then noticed the nametag pinned to her green dress. Seawillow D.

She sighed, flipping one of her two long, blonde braids back behind her shoulder. “Come on. Follow me.”

So I did. What else could I do? She led me up a flight of stairs, which led outdoors. Different than the streets I was used to, but I kept walking. We approached a large building that looked like it should have been a museum, but as we entered the doors I observed that it was more of a school on the inside. It reminded me of my middle school, the one I had just left. A plump secretary sat typing in an office close by, lockers lined both sides of the hallway. Seawillow turned around to face me.

“Welcome to The Forgotten Academy.”