Christopher skimmed through the schedule for the day. He had six lessons planned, four in his studio, two at the students' homes. He sighed and slouched on the arm chair next to the grand piano. The instrument reigned over the whole room, its dark smooth wood reflecting the morning light from the window, which annoyingly settled in a shiny rectangle on his eyes. Reluctant to move, Christopher Holden rested a few more moments on the arm chair. At 35 years old, after a well started but ended too early musical career, he had resorted to teach. He would raise young students to do what he couldn't, a good idea, it seemed, but he didn't think teenagers and little kids would be so annoying. There were good moments, but he mostly had to shatter the youth's dreams, raised and built by their parents' honest, but worthless praises.
Resigned to see what the first day of the year brought him, he opened the door to the first student of his work day.
Priscilla Summers had always been one of the brightest students in her high school. A hard-working, obedient, pretty little girl, who spent her days either at school, at home, or at her piano lessons. And she was a talented player. Her family didn't believe in complimenting much. She had been raised by a hard and strict father, who had passed away a couple of years earlier, leaving a mourning wife with all intentions of keeping up his rules in the house and their daughter out of troubles. But one thing was never kept from Priscilla. The grand piano in her room was her best friend, her confident, the way she expressed her feelings and the place where she retired when sad or angry. On her senior year, Priscilla's music could grant her a scholarship, and she wanted it desperately, to finally get away from home and start her own life. So she had found the best teacher in town, and started an intense course of three lessons a week.
At four in the afternoon, Priscilla stood ready behind the door of her teacher's study, waiting for the previous student to exit. When the door finally opened, and a frightened little boy exited running, barely looking at her face, she walked in, showing off her best smile. She had always been told to smile when scared or nervous, it helped to hide it.
Something Christopher didn't expect from hi second lesson was... well her. The girl who stood in the doorway, wrapped tightly in her school uniform, was in every way beautiful. Under the plaid grey skirt, her long legs failed to be hidden from any stare, and it was clear she had started to fill out the uniform in places it hadn't been fitted for. Her breasts, even if fairly small strained against the fabric of her white blouse, perfectly fit around her slim waist and little shoulders. But what really caught his eyes were the little pearls of pale blue on her face, shiny and curious, with a hint of embarrassment probably caused by his stare. Her eyes lit up her face, framed by her wavy black hair, long to her waist.
"Mr. Holden?" her tiny little voice was a whisper. An intriguing whisper.
"Yes. Hum... Miss Summers, am I right?" he had to stop staring. He couldn't.
"Priscilla Summers, yes. Just Priscilla is fine." She entered and set her bag on the piano bench.
"I would feel more comfortable calling you Miss. Summers, if you don't mind." He gestured her to sit. He had to keep some distance from this angel.
"That's.... ok." She shrugged. "Shall we start Mr. Holden?" she took out her music and handed it to him. Christopher forced himself to concentrate and focused on the sheets. For the whole hour, he kept his eyes away from her figure.
The lessons with Mr. Holden turned out to take away most of Priscilla's free time. He was a demanding teacher, and since she expressed her ambition get into to the Juilliard, he started making her learn more and more songs. She was talented, but he kept correcting her, never satisfied. Priscilla started thinking he was purposefully trying to make her give up.
But that wasn't in Christopher mind at all. He was actually marveled by her passion for the keys in front of her, and, once he could finally take his eyes off her, he started seeing the future he could have had in her. He really believe she could do it, and he was determined to make of her the best piano player of the country.
And while she played, his stare lingered on every little bit of her. He started noticing her little movements. Her trembling her fidgeting hands that became steady and secure once on the black and white keys, her feet normally scraping one another nervously, suddenly perfectly still and coordinated on the pedals, her concentrated stare on the hard parts, or her peaceful and full of passion cute face when she played something that inspired her. Christopher tried to detach himself from her, but he was growing an obsession.
More than once he woke up sweating from a dream not appropriate at all, the feeling of her skin on his still more real than ever.
One day, he had a great opportunity for her to begin to make her name known, and without thinking twice, he showed up at her house.
"Mr. Holden!" her mother welcomed him in at the door. "We weren't expecting you! Priscilla! Come down, your piano teacher is here!"
Christopher sat on the couch and held the cup of tea magically appeared in front of him. "Mrs. Summers, I have some good news for your daughter."
Priscilla sat right in front of him at that moment. Christopher almost choked on the tea seeing her. For the first time he saw her in casual clothes, and she wasn't any less beautiful. She wore a pair of thin black legging and a jean shirt buttoned up only high enough to be decent. The color of her creamy skin distracted him enough that he wasn't sure why he was there anymore, until...
"What is it Mr. Holden?" she said cheerfully, taking a cookie from the tray, only to put it back down where her mother shot her an icy glare.
"Well, Miss Summers, I was asked to advice one of my students for the inauguration of the new theatre downtown. The ceremony consists in the student playing for the audience to start the opening season of the theatre. I suggested my best student." He set down the cup and looked proudly at her. "You, Miss Summers."
There was a gleeful screech, while Priscilla covered her mouth with both her hands, then she looked pleadingly at her mother. "Please mom?"
The woman didn't even look at her daughter. "When is it?"
"It's on Friday night. There will be a dinner party, and her exhibition afterwards. It might not end too early, but it should all be over around ten or eleven pm."
"She's too young to go to such an event by herself." The woman started to get up, and Christopher watched astonished the young girl not raising a single protest.
"She could... bring a date, and I could drive them both, I am bound to attend anyway."
"Priscilla is not allowed to date. There will be no smooching and groping while she leaves at my expenses." Mrs. Summers was walking briskly out of the room, and it would have all ended there. then he saw the carpet between Priscilla's feet slowly filling of wet drops. She was crying, silently.
"Mrs. Summers, how about I take her with me? I could be her escort, as her teacher." That stopped the woman on her tracks.
"As her teacher you say? Sounds appropriate. What do you say Priscilla? Would you like to go?"
"Of course, mother!" her face shot up, smiling, under her teary eyes.
"Ok, then. I want your promise you won't take your eyes off her, Mr. Holden."
"I won't." he pressed a hand over his heart, thinking he could hardly ever do that at all, anyway.
"Perfect then. I imagine it's a formal night?"
"It is ma'am."
"I have a dress for you Priscilla, you can try it on tonight. Now, Mr. Holden would you like to stay for dinner?"
"No thank you, I have a night class to teach." He shook her hand. "Have a good night Mrs. Summers."
"You too Mr. Holden. Priscilla show him the door, I need to watch the stew that's cooking."
As soon as they reached the entrance, Priscilla hugged her teacher briefly. It was still enough to take his breath away, feeling her chest pressed on his body.
