Kizzie rested the neck of her cello against her own neck and held the bow up against the strings. She hesitated for a moment, her splayed fingers on the neck tensing to form the opening note and laid the bow against the strings. One slow pull resulted in a long, low, rich ominous hum that split the still air around her. One small shift of her fingers formed another note as she pushed the bow in the opposite direction, this time getting a light sound in comparison. She then launched into the quick-pace of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, her fingers flying over the neck of the cello as she rocked in her seat. But the longer she played the more scrunched up her face became until she scowled. Here she was, sitting around practicing the cello when whoever attacked Charlie still roamed the halls scott free. It just wasn’t fair! They should be strung up by their thumbs or drawn and quartered or something! Not get to walk along and attend class with the rest of them. There were Puri whispering about but that couldn’t be it. It just couldn’t be. Even so, the mystery around it all didn’t sit right with her and, with abrupt swiftness, she removed the bow from the strings and threw it as hard as she could before scrunching in her seat, resting her forehead against her palm.
