Disclaimer: I am NOT Stephenie Meyer and I will never be. (cries uncontrolably)
Sorry. This is a short chapter. The other ones are longer, I promise. It's just a matter of time before I get them up.
This has to be the longest flight ever. I was traveling from sunny, happy Phoenix, Arizona to the wet, rainy, gloomy town of Forks, Washington to live with my dad, Charlie, while my mom, Renee runs off to Florida with her new husband, Phil.
I was so close to my mom. She got me interested in classical music. When I was 7 years old, she took me to see The Nutcracker. I heard the oboe, its beautiful reedy sound, and fell in love with it. I also loved the ballet. I asked my mom if she would let me have an oboe teacher and take dance classes. I kept up with them and never stopped loving them.
When I went into 6th grade, I tried the clarinet. I was really good. I learned all of the fingerings and other rules in a heartbeat. In 7th grade, I tried the alto saxophone. Piece of cake.
Then I started writing songs for each instrument. I gave them to my band director and he loved them. I had found another talent. My friends in the band wanted me to write them songs.
I also joined dance classes. At home I choreographed a dance and showed it to my teacher. She asked me to teach it to her. After she learned it, she asked me to help her teach it to the class. She asked me to choreograph all of the other dances.
When I was in 8th grade, my mom put me in cotillion. I did not love ballroom dancing, but I was good at it. I didn't love cotillion either, but it had some use.
I started high school in band. I loved it! I memorized my music quickly. I got solos and important parts. I love marching band.
Now as a 17-year-old, I was leaving that life behind.
I had started composing a trio for oboe, clarinet, and alto saxophone.
"Ugh," I said. I was stuck. I suddenly felt the need to listen to my iPod. I put it on shuffle and the Pas de Deux from the Nutcracker played softly in my ears.
Ding. The captain of the plane was talking. I took out my ear-buds to hear him. "We will be landing in Port Angeles, Washington in about 10 minutes. Please make sure your carry-on items are stowed under the seat in front of you or in the overhead compartments, your tray tables are up and locked, and your seat backs are in the full upright position. Thank you for flying Southwest Airlines." I put my music in its binder, and tucked the binder into my backpack. I wound my ear-buds my Pod and stuck it into my purse. I closed my eyes and focused on the plane landing. I felt at ease, and before I knew it we were touching down in Port Angeles.
Ding. Again, the captain. "Please keep your seatbelts fastened until the aircraft is at a full and complete stop at the gate. Thanks for flying with us. Please visit us again."
I doubted that I would use Southwest again. Their chairs sucked, and they didn't have very many flight options. Besides, I may not leave Forks for a while.
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