"good afternoon Ms. Raycliff!" his mother said as she opened the door. james rolled his eyes from behind the massive instrument case he had been told to carry all the way from the car. good god, he thought. music teachers. they're all insane. granted, he believed art teachers to be the most nutty, but music teachers were a close second. especially this one, Ronna Raycliff. a cello teacher from some ice cube of a state up north somewhere.
"come in! come in! how are you?" ms. raycliff exclaimed, yanking the door open farther. it seemed to be very sticky on it's hinges.
"good, thanks."
"go ahead and put your shoes up and hang your coats, i've got hot drinks waiting in the living room"
"marcato! thank you!" james remained silent as he slung his coat on the hook and carted the curvy, white case into the living room. as ms. raycliff had promised there was steaming mugs of cocoa waiting on a spindly little table. "hot drinks" why cant she just say hot chocolate? you'd think she was serving tea. he internally gagged at the thought of the watery, yellow liquid made from, of all things, leaves.
"so is that it?" ms. raycliff asked nodding towards the case james had lain down on the floor in the middle of the room. he wanted to say "of course it is, see anything else here that could be the cello?" but he merely nodded soberly and took a sip of his drink. it scalded his tongue and he nearly swore, but bit his tongue, for sure his mother would look at him in that disapproving way that he so hated. it made him feel like he wasn't good enough. i could be snuggled in my bed right now, on the computer, he thought viciously but no, mom had to drag me down here.
"it was his sister's, she...passed away a year ago"
"oh I'm sorry."  i bet. james just sat and listened to them talk.
"she loved playing cello more than anything! she didn't say anything about what was to be done with it before she left, but....she said it shouldn't be played. she said that we shouldn't even pizzicato one note, and if we did, something bad would happen. now i don't believe in ghost stories, but i think it would be best if you could find a home for it. you've got lots of students, surely one of them will need a bigger cello soon? i mean, james will never amount to the great player she was, so why bother having him play it?" Oh, that stung.
"ill see what i can do."
james thought the cello was almost as boring as the Phachelbel's Canon it played, but none the less, what his sister had said was an intreguing mystery. her words seemed staccato, like they couldn't connect with meaning. he needed to D.C. al CODA, as they say, and find where it all began.

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do not cry, my white rose, there are adventures waiting for us.