The Geek Revolution ✓

45 | soft

"WHY ARE WE AT THE elementary school?"

Due to my surprise, I stop moving and simply gape at the child-made artwork and pot plants in the foyer. Funny how on the day I'm supposed to be ditching, I end up back in school. Just not my own.

Derek looks over his shoulder at me, saying simply, "I teach here."

"How are you qualified to? You're still in high school."

"Age is just a number." The receptionist doesn't even question Derek's presence as we walk by. She even goes as far as to smile at him.

"Having a nice day, Derek?" she asks.

"I suppose so. It's been very entertaining." His eyes glimmer at me when he signs me as his guest.

When I look at Derek, I see a very private, very destructive teenage boy, blackmailes by some insecurity of his. How could any adult look at him and see a man mature enough to teach children? How? Luckily, the school is in the middle of a period. From an outsider's perspective, the place seems to be resting.

Since Derek clearly knows where he is going, I walk quickly to keep up with Derek's long strides, peering curiously in each classroom. Deeper into the halls, there's a clear transition when we reach the music department. The walls stop being creamy white, and start accumulating a layer of music posters and signs.

The classes here are filled with students playing instruments or working on music theory. Derek skips multiple doors until he reaches the end of the hallway, and unlocks the room there. Damn. Do they trust this guy with a key?

The small room is dark, cold, smells of dust. Derek's silhouette is moving along the wall, hands outstretched for a light switch. Then the heater. He looks over his shoulder at me, hesitantly positioned by the door, as if to say you coming? I hurry into the room, shutting the door behind me as the air pump whirs to life.

There's a handful of music stands and chairs in the corner, guitar fingerings charts and pictures of music icons pinned to the wall. Inspirational quotes about music. "I'm guessing you teach algebra," I smirk.

Derek chuckles. "Totally."

"Do people know you do this?"

"No." Derek says warningly, "And I'd like to keep this out of the gossip column, too."

I roll my eyes. We both know I'm a girl of my word. But I can't help wondering what about this warrants so much secrecy. Is this why Derek ditches school so often? "Why?"

"This is just something too personal to share."

I frown. "I don't understand."

"You don't need to," Derek says, setting three music stands out in a semicircle. A chair behind each one. I pick up the guitar Derek brought into the room and pass it to him.

"Can I hear you play?"

"I've got a lesson in five minutes, Sophie."

Wryly, I tell him, "Most songs are only four minutes."

His eyes narrow at me, not with anger, but with something more along the lines of curiosity. "Fine. One four-minute song, coming right up."

He takes a seat in one of the chairs, propping the guitar on his knee, comfortably hunched over it. I stay standing, leaning my hip against the wall.

And, as I expected, he plays phenomenally. His fingers pluck a steady ballad, which I didn't expect to get much better. But then he starts singing, and I might have to hate this guy, but for one day I can simply listen to his voice and just die happily.