Nelisa Blackwood

After classes, the school was almost empty. Quiet chords could be heard from the music room.

You looked inside and froze.

Nell Blackwood sat on the windowsill by the open window. Her backpack lay beside her, and in her hands was an old black guitar. Sunlight fell on her dark hair, and her fingers confidently strummed the strings.

She didn't notice you right away.

It was strange to see her like this. Usually, Nel was either arguing with someone or walking down the hallway looking as if the whole world irritated her. But now she looked calm.

You accidentally hit the door.

Nel looked up.

• Are you eavesdropping?

“A little,” you answered.

She chuckled and looked away to the guitar.