Camp Wisahickon

Chapter Eight

I'm sorry but who else loves a boy that can play guitar?! Enjoy the chapter :)

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I was five the first time I played piano. Of course, all I was doing was hitting the keys randomly, producing a horrible sound, but that didn't discourage my parents from getting me lessons. When I was ten, my parents hired a local piano teacher, dusted off our old Grand piano, and told me I had to practice three times a week after school.

At first, I didn't mind it. I liked the way that I picked it up so easily, and  I was really good at it without trying too hard. My parents went from a cheap local teacher to an expensive, renowned pianist when I started getting better. Practice went from three times a week to every day, changing from a half hour to an hour and a half.

When I was fifteen, I decided that I didn't want to play piano anymore. Sure, I was good, but my parents put way too much pressure on me. If they weren't hounding me about my schoolwork, they were demanding that I practice piano. They rarely let me see my friends, saying that practice was more important than going to the mall or having a sleepover.

Of course, they said no. They told me I had a gift, that I could play better than nearly anyone else at my age. They told me that I was letting them down if I didn't play, that I was doing myself and  others a disservice by denying my abilities. They threatened that my importance in the world would decrease, and that I would just be a boring person with a wasted talent.

At fifteen, that scorched me like you wouldn't believe. My parents had become more emotionless rule enforcers than actual caring parents. I believed every word they said and, although begrudgingly, I continued to play. I didn't want to disappoint my family, and I didn't want to become less of a person, so I practiced longer, participated in every recital, and in the end, I got better.

"Good work today, Amelia," Mrs. Brady commended as I finish the composition and remove my hands from the keys.

I give her a small smile. "Thank you."

As I begin to stand, Mrs. Brady informs me, "Your parents called me yesterday to see how you're doing in practice. I told them that you were coming along marvelously, as usual."

This didn't sound unusual. They told me that they'd call every week, and I knew that also meant they would call my piano teacher to make sure I was still on track. I nod, a tight lipped smile on my face, and say quietly, "I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Brady."

Practice went longer than usual today, which meant that I had to leave the auditorium immediately to go to the cafeteria. I scowled my whole walk to the dining hall, annoyed that instead of a nap, I was now bound by Marcus to serve a punishment for an act I didn't commit. I shook my head just thinking about the whole bra fiasco, and wondered why I didn't just let Carter take the fall for the whole thing.

When I got to the dining hall, I put my head down as I passed through the campers eating breakfast, not wanting to be noticed as I slide into the back of the kitchen area. The first person I saw was the lunch lady that yelled at me a few days ago when I caught Carter stealing those boxes, and she narrowed her eyes at me. I almost thought she was going to yell at me for being back there again, but instead she shakes her head.

"You're late," She scolds, and I glance at the clock to see its two minutes past ten. "You'll be on time for now on, do you understand?"

Damn. I felt like I was in preschool getting yelled at. Despite my numerous pranks here at camp throughout the years, I've never gotten punished, and only really got caught a few times. Standing in front of the intimidating lunch lady, who was watching me with narrowed eyes and a spatula in her hand, I suddenly realized that this is what Justin and James felt like every tim they were punished for their foolish actions.