I press my fingers against the keys, letting the gentle sound fill up the room. The song is beautiful and soft, almost angelic. I try my best to play it perfectly, but I stumble on one chord. I panic, lifting my fingers up.

"I'm sorry," I turn to the instructor. "I'm nervous."

"I can tell," she chuckles. "I can give you a second chance, but unfortunately, you don't get a third."

"That's okay. I can do it."

I let out a deep breath, trying to focus on the song. I read the chords carefully, and try once more. This is my last chance to get it right.

Come on, I tell myself. You've got this.

I press my fingers against the keys. The metronome beeps in the background, keeping me on track. The tune sounds just as it should. With only a small fumble, I make it through the hardest part. I zone out completely, letting my hands do all the work.

This is what peace feels like.

In a heavenly daze, I make it to the end of the song. The final chords are the easiest, and I play them flawlessly.

I sigh in relief. Perfect.

"Well done," the instructor nods. "What was your name again?"

"Sarah Stone."

"Sarah Stone," she repeats, making a note on her clipboard. "You're dismissed."

I gather my things, removing the papers from their stand. I fold them up neatly, knowing I'll need to practice at home. Because it's the first class, the instructor wanted to know our capabilities before beginning with the content of the semester.

This class is all about classical music. That's not my preferred style to play, but it's a requirement for the music major. I can already tell the students in this class are insanely talented.

We've each been taken into the studio separately, but it wasn't soundproof, so I've heard everything that's been played, and the leftover students heard me.

I walk past them as I head out of the building. Just like every other day in LA, it's bright and sunny out. It's such nice weather that I actually became excited about my first day of college.

And I survived!

I actually enjoyed it, too. I was nervous about my music class, but nothing makes me feel better than playing piano. My biology lecture was surprisingly interesting. It was just a basic overview of the topics of the semester, but I'm already looking forward to it.

I begin my walk home, dragging my sneakers over the pavements. As I leave the campus, the amount of people around begins to slim. It's about a 20-minute walk home, but I'm not too worried. I wish I'd brought my headphones, though. I could really use some Mumford and Sons right now. Or Vance Joy. Or maybe just my entire Happy Folk playlist.

If my life was a movie, I'd be skipping over the sidewalk right now.

But my life isn't a movie. Instead of my legs skipping, my heart is. There's a car slowing down beside me. I speed up, walking as far away from the road as possible. It's an old, green Jeep that I don't recognise.

"Sarah," they say.

My breath hitches. I glance at them out of the corner of my eye, but keep my pace going.

"Sarah, stop."

Wait a minute. That voice. I know that voice.

"Tyler?" I ask. I pause in my step, causing him to stop the car. He's sitting behind the wheel, scowling at me. There's a cigarette hanging between his lips, but it's not lit.

"Get in the car," he says.

"What?" I take a step towards him.

"Get in the fucking car."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"Home."

Why the hell would I get in a car with him? It's probably full of drugs. Maybe he's high. Or drunk for that matter. He's probably a reckless driver, too. I don't want to die today.

"I'm okay," I say. "I'll walk."

"No, you won't."

"Yes, I will."

"Get in the fucking car, Sarah."

"Why?"

"Because I fucking said so!"

Is he serious?

"Are you sober?" I ask him.

"What?" he squints his eyes, surprised by my words. He pulls the cigarette from his lips, holding it between his fingers on the wheel.

"Are you sober?" I repeat.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear I haven't had a drink today," he grumbles.

"What about drugs?"

"What about them?"

"I saw you smoking the other day."

"So?"

"So I'm not getting in the car if you're stoned!"

"Jesus Christ," he groans.

"Just tell me if you're stoned or not."

"I'm not."

"Are you lying?"

"No!" he insists. "For fuck's sake, can you just get in the car?"

I sigh, giving into him. I pull the door open. There's a bunch of fast food packaging littered on the floor. I hesitantly step on it, climbing inside. There are no seatbelts. Great.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he exclaims. "You can't just walk around here like that!"

"What are you talking about?" I frown.

"Do you know how ducking dangerous it is around here? Jesus Christ. Do you want to get killed?"

"Don't yell at me, Tyler."

"Fucking hell," he grumbles, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket, lighting it. He takes a long drag, and starts the car. "Drive to campus from now on."

"I can't," I respond.

"Bullshit."

"I don't have a car," I tell him, but it's not the whole truth.

"Take Lenas. I don't give a shit. Just don't walk around here on your own."

"Why do you even care?" I blurt.

"I don't."

"Then why did you force me to get in?"

"I didn't. You got in willingly."

"You didn't give me much of a choice."

"Yeah well, for whatever fuckin' reason, Owen cares about you."

"And you care about Owen?"

"Yes," he scowls. "I care about Owen."

I purse my lips, trying to hide the giant smile that's forcing its way onto my face. I knew it. Tyler actually cares about people. He has feelings. They're just hidden somewhere very, very, very deep down in his chest.

"What the fuck is wrong with your face?"

"Hmm?" I mumble, surprised by his words.

"Your face," he repeats.

"Nothing," I frown, my humour gone. "I was just surprised. I didn't think you cared about anyone."

He scoffs. "You don't fucking know me."

"Yeah," I say. "You make sure of that, don't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you've been nothing but rude to me since we met."

His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the wheel. He brings his cigarette back to his lips, taking another long drag. I grimace as he blows out smoke. Disgusting. He clenches his jaw, but doesn't respond.

A tense silence falls between us. The only sound to be heard is the soft tune playing from the radio. It's a song I recognise, but I'm surprised to hear it played by someone other than me.

"You listen to The National?" I ask, but my voice sounds more like a whisper.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. Without saying anything, he presses a button on the radio, turning it off.

I shouldn't even bothered asking.

The car shakes as we pull into the parking lot. I hold onto the door handle, pulling it as soon as Tyler pulls up the hand brake. I practically jump out, but Tyler doesn't follow.

"I thought you said you were going home?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I lied."

"Then where are you going?"

"The gym."

"Oh," I say. "Well, thanks for driving me."

"Don't get used to it. I'm not a fucking chauffeur."

He reverses away, speeding back to the road.

That was probably the most civil conversation I've ever had with him.