"You, gotta, like, enrol me in lessons?" Olivia said, boredom obvious in her tone. She had just come home from school, but no storm followed.

"Actually," I said, rummaging for the admission slip, "I already did."

I did and saw a lot today.

The path was full and bustling, for some reason. Guitar music played in every music school I entered, making me recall memories.

Then a kind of car arrived. A clean, white limousine, to be precise. And a man exited. He seemed like some big shot, for some reason. For some reason I took no interest in him until his worker, maybe, made an announcement through a handheld speaker.

It was then that I looked up.

He had a ruffled mop of wavy hair, and wore casual clothes. His eyes were the blue of glacier water.

It couldn't be.

Zachary?

Almost to show contradiction, a girl squeeled. She was with two others, one with long, brunette hair and green eyes, and the other, hazel hair and brown eyes framed by round-rimmed spectacles.

"Oh my gosh," the girl said.

"Is that The guitarist Marcus Cruz?"