Lookit! I wrote Kyle XY fic!
Title: Practice
Author: yaycoffee
Characters: Amanda/Kyle
Genre: gen (sort of)
Rating: G
Word Count: 420
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm making no money. Just playing with what ABC Family gave me.
Summary: She's not playing kid songs any more.
Spoilers: For the pilot. Do we count the pilot?
"Practice"
She was six years old when she first sat down at a piano bench. Her teacher was gray-haired old Mrs. Schumacher, who smelled like mints and furniture polish and browning roses. She was all "do it again" and "sit up straight" and "keep your fingers light."
Amanda sometimes wonders why she can't remember when it actually began to sound "Mary Had a Little Lamb" instead of meaningless sounds, but at some point it must have. It must have.
She can remember Mary and The Little Old Lady Who Swallowed a Spider and Heart and Soul and that thrill of finally not having to tell her hands to move. No thinking. Just music.
But she's not playing kid songs any more. Now it's Chopin and Hayden and Pachelbel, and there is recital and competition and her future to think about.
For the life of her, she can't make her fingers listen to her brain. She's played the Pachelbel over and over and over again, and nothing she does makes it sound right. The tune is sharp. She hits the wrong key. She hits the right key but at the wrong beat, and she is this close to slamming down the lid and applying for the business program at the community college.
She closes her eyes, and somehow she can smell roses and furniture polish, so she sits up straight and plays the notes again. She feels her heartbeat soar when she realizes she got through the first measure, and it sounded all right. She can't quite remember what comes next, but she doesn't dare open up her eyes, afraid to break the spell. Afraid her pinky will slip again. Afraid of flat. Afraid of sharp.
So, she keeps her eyes closed and just lets her fingers dance, and she can hear it. She can hear the miracle.
It takes a full beat for her to orient herself at the sound of his voice, and when she turns around she notices first that Mom's face is red and angry and frightened. Then there are other people coming in, but she doesn't really notice them at all because what she sees in front of her is black hair and pale skin and the bluest eyes she's ever seen.
He is looking at her the way that Pachelbel's Canon sounds--beautiful and full of wonder and mystery and something else even more confusing, and by the time she's found her voice, he is gone.
*fin*
Author: yaycoffee
Characters: Amanda/Kyle
Genre: gen (sort of)
Rating: G
Word Count: 420
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm making no money. Just playing with what ABC Family gave me.
Summary: She's not playing kid songs any more.
Spoilers: For the pilot. Do we count the pilot?
"Practice"
She was six years old when she first sat down at a piano bench. Her teacher was gray-haired old Mrs. Schumacher, who smelled like mints and furniture polish and browning roses. She was all "do it again" and "sit up straight" and "keep your fingers light."
Amanda sometimes wonders why she can't remember when it actually began to sound "Mary Had a Little Lamb" instead of meaningless sounds, but at some point it must have. It must have.
She can remember Mary and The Little Old Lady Who Swallowed a Spider and Heart and Soul and that thrill of finally not having to tell her hands to move. No thinking. Just music.
But she's not playing kid songs any more. Now it's Chopin and Hayden and Pachelbel, and there is recital and competition and her future to think about.
For the life of her, she can't make her fingers listen to her brain. She's played the Pachelbel over and over and over again, and nothing she does makes it sound right. The tune is sharp. She hits the wrong key. She hits the right key but at the wrong beat, and she is this close to slamming down the lid and applying for the business program at the community college.
She closes her eyes, and somehow she can smell roses and furniture polish, so she sits up straight and plays the notes again. She feels her heartbeat soar when she realizes she got through the first measure, and it sounded all right. She can't quite remember what comes next, but she doesn't dare open up her eyes, afraid to break the spell. Afraid her pinky will slip again. Afraid of flat. Afraid of sharp.
So, she keeps her eyes closed and just lets her fingers dance, and she can hear it. She can hear the miracle.
It takes a full beat for her to orient herself at the sound of his voice, and when she turns around she notices first that Mom's face is red and angry and frightened. Then there are other people coming in, but she doesn't really notice them at all because what she sees in front of her is black hair and pale skin and the bluest eyes she's ever seen.
He is looking at her the way that Pachelbel's Canon sounds--beautiful and full of wonder and mystery and something else even more confusing, and by the time she's found her voice, he is gone.
*fin*