Read The Story of Owen for Free Online

students that I had shown Owen Thorskard how to get to English class the first day of school and that this would be the limit of my anecdotal time with him. I wasn’t even particularly upset about it. I had plenty of other things to worry about. But something pulled at me. And it meant that every day, three times, when Owen slid into the seat next to mine and smiled, I smiled back at him.
    I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what it was. I spent three days trying to tease it out on the piano, the notes pulling at me as I scratched them out on the staff paper I preferred to scribble on rather than letting the computer take dictation for me. The piano was all wrong for him, though. It was too big and complicated. There were too many tones at the same time. Owen wasn’t shaped in chords. I knew the entire saxophone family was wrong without even picking one up, and the flute was out for sure. All of them were fine for support in the main piece, but the melody belonged to something else, and I couldn’t identify it.
    â€œSiobhan?” My music teacher’s voice pulled me out of my speculation. She sounded concerned, and I realized that I wassitting on the floor with staff paper everywhere and half the woodwind section within arm’s reach.
    â€œI’ll clean it up!” I said. “What time is it?” I realized that I was having this conversation backwards, and looked up to make eye contact. “Good morning, Mrs. Heskie.”
    I’d come in early today to play for a bit before classes started. Mum and Dad said they didn’t mind when I did it at home, but Mum was on nights at the hospital this week, and I hated to wake up and start playing just as she was going to bed. Mrs. Heskie usually got to school by seven o’clock anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal for her to let me use one of the soundproof music rooms.
    â€œYou just missed the five-minute bell,” she said. She was definitely laughing at me.
    â€œShoot,” I said, barely aware I’d spoken out loud. There was no way I was going to get all this put away before the final bell rang. I’d be lucky to get to my locker to drop off my coat as it was.
    â€œYou can leave it,” Mrs. Heskie said. “You’ll be back at lunch anyway, and none of my morning classes will need the practice rooms today.”
    â€œThanks,” I said, and grabbed my bag.
    â€œNo running in the halls!” she shouted after me, but I ignored her and made a dash for my locker.
    By the time I made it to English, seconds before the bell, I realized that my problem with Owen was that he wasn’t a woodwind at all. The woodwinds, single and double reeded, were my default after the piano because they were the easiest for me to play. I’d been playing the piano pretty much since I was old enough to sit upright on the bench, and when I’d startedhigh school, I discovered that I took to woodwinds as naturally as if I’d been playing them all my life. But that wasn’t going to be enough, apparently, if I ever wanted to get this song out of my head and onto the paper where it belonged. I was going to have to learn how to play the brass.

AN INVITATION TO DINNER
    When I sat down at my desk in algebra, Owen was already waiting for me. His gym teacher must’ve let them hit the showers way earlier than my last gym teacher had.
    â€œWhat are you doing tonight?” he asked, as soon as I was sitting down.
    â€œNothing,” I said. I had what most people would call a boring social life, a classical holdout in a punk rock world.
    â€œDo you want to come over for dinner?” he said. “Aunt Hannah’s been asking all month if I’ve made any friends yet.”
    â€œWill they freak out that you’ve made friends with a girl?” I asked him.
    â€œWill you freak out that you’re having dinner with Lottie Thorskard?” he fired back.
    â€œFair point,” I said. “Sure,