☼ Charlotte “Charlie” Robinson - 17 - Senior - She/Her - Violin Major - Location: Courtyard - Tags: Open ☼Charlie’s fourth and final year of Hollywood Academy of the Arts, or HAOTA (‘how-ta’), as she liked to call it, was here. She would graduate as the class of ’84. Was she going to miss this place? Yes. In a way. Was she going to miss all the rich, famous snobs here? No. No, not really. Though, one might argue that she
was one of those snobs. But a person who would say that about her didn’t know her all that well. She really tried her best not to associate herself of her talents with her parents fame, and liked to believe that she managed to get into HAOTA by her own doing and not by the fame and riches of her family. Nevertheless, she managed to have a fair high school life with the occasional ups and downs. More downs than ups, but she was pretty optimistic anyways so it wasn’t that bad. But Charlie still wondered how her fourth and final year was going to go and what kind of person she would become by the time graduation came around. But anyways, it was a Monday, like any other. As usual, Charlie could be seen lugging around her black violin case along with her heavy backpack. She was one of those people to just keep everything in her bag and never take it out until the last semester when it eventually started to reach the weight of about 100 lbs. She strolled into the rather large courtyard at approximately 8:05 AM. It was her first period study hall, so she liked to spend it practicing violin in the courtyard with the bright and sunny LA sun beaming down on her. She took out her instrument, applied rosin to her bow, gave the violin a little tune-up, and brought it to her chin. She took a deep breath before beginning to play Chopin’s “
Mazurka in F Sharp Minor, Opus 6, No. 1”. Her playing was beautiful. It was swift and deep, played with true emotion. The other students in the courtyard never seemed to mind since she did it so well. The teachers didn’t mind either. Well, the first time she started playing in freshman year, a teacher yelled at her for being disruptive, but then the kids in her class encouraged the teacher to let her play. From then on, she was trademarked as “the girl who plays violin in the courtyard every morning”. Not quite a catchy nickname, but still one that she was ok with being known for. Better than “the girl who fell into the punch bowl at junior prom”.
☾ Joseph Martin - 18 - Senior - He/Him - Writing Major - Location: Courtyard - Tags: Open ☾Joseph had always been a slightly strange boy. Looking at him or the way he spoke, you would have never guessed that he was born in rural Texas. He looked like he was from somewhere drab and gloomy... like New York or Seattle. He actually lived with his aunt and his mother in an apartment in Downtown LA. Joseph wasn’t rich by any means, he was only invited here on a scholarship. Hardly anyone even knew that his dad was a celebrity, since he kept that secret (due to his dad being a “dirty, rotten, scumbag”, as his mother would say). Of course, he never thought of himself as “strange”. Instead, he preferred to think of himself as “misunderstood”. He only had a few good friends or so, but he was more of a loner anyway. If he hadn’t gone to a preforming or visual arts school, he would have been relentlessly bullied anywhere else. He was a bit awkward and carried a pessimistic attitude with him wherever he went. He had been told many times to “lighten up” or “stop being such a buzzkill”. He wasn’t invited to parties anymore after he had once read aloud his somewhat depressing short story at an open mic at a fellow classmate’s house; though it was pretty a impressive story. Joseph had been in his own world, scribbling down poetry in journal. Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the courtyard, a girl played violin standing under a willow tree. She did every morning. A different song. Everyday. Joseph was fine with it though. He was a big fan of classical music and often found that it helped him study and work. He couldn’t stand that new synthetic pop music that everyone craved. But Joseph kept writing, keeping his thoughts to himself. But currently, he couldn’t find any inspiration. He was having trouble coming up with a dang thing. Writer’s block. Obviously. He scribbled out the words he had just written and ripped out the page entirely, crumbling it up amd throwing it at the trashcan... and missing. “Writer’s block. Typical.” He groaned into his hands.
