Page 21 of The Sins of Noelle

While every other kid of her age played faithfully by the score, to a trained ear it was obvious that slight modifications had been made to certain notes, giving the overall piece a new and fresh approach.

And that was where her true talent lay—innovation. Noelle loved to compose just as much as she liked to play, and despite continuous admonishments from her teachers that she was altering the classical pieces, she never stopped.

Cisco couldn't help but smile as he spotted her piano instructor in the corner, her mouth set in a grim line, her brows furrowed with frustration at Noelle's blatant disregard of rules.

"She did it again, didn't she?" his mother asked in a hushed tone, her gaze on the teacher.

Though Elena wasn't as versed in classical music, she knew her daughter well enough to realize she would never play by the rules—not even ones as simple as a piano score.

"She did," Cisco nodded appreciatively. "And she did it marvelously."

The recital came to an end, and Noelle reluctantly came to their side.

She was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a black button-up shirt. Her hair was plaited in one braid at her back, her face fresh and…blank.

His mother was right that she resembled him—both in appearance and in her demeanor.

She had the same olive complexion as he did, her eyes a light hazel color that wavered between brown and green depending on the lighting. His own eyes were similar with the exception that one was perpetually green and the other brown.

Yet it was her personality that reminded him so much of his own.

He'd never been a people person either, preferring the company of books or other nonverbal creatures. His deep dislike of the verbal variety had started early in his childhood when he'd realized his way of thinking was so different from anyone else's that he couldneverget his point across. It was almost like talking in a foreign language, of which he was the last known speaker. In the beginning, he'd tried to explain himself and his train of thought. But soon he'd realized it was futile as people preferred to jump to conclusions rather than try to understand him. So he'd stopped trying to communicate altogether.

He could see the seeds of that in Noelle, too.

Everyone around her misunderstood her—or, more appropriately, they never tried to understand her in the first place. They branded her a troublemaker simply because she didn't fit into a known mold and preferred to ostracize her than accept her as she was.

She had all the reasons tonotwant to interact if all interactions were a way for her to be chastised, reproached, and told all the ways in which she failed to be a good child.

Maybe because he'd had similar experiences he could understand that. Yet his mother didn't seem to. She continued on in her crusade to turn Noelle into the perfect girl.

"Well done, Noelle," Cisco spoke first, breaking the awkward silence.

Noelle raised her head to look at him, nodding with the hint of a smile. Yet before he could coax her from her quiet shell, her piano instructor was suddenly by their side.

"You went off the score, Noelle," she said in a stern voice, the reproach clear. "This was a collective recital not your private show. Your job was to follow the piece, note by note, not to add those pesky alterations."

Noelle didn't turn, nor did she deign to reply, simply staring up ahead.

"Your teacher is talking to you, Noelle," Elena intervened, taking a step closer to her. "It's the polite thing to answer her."

Still, nothing. Noelle ignored both women as she redirected her attention to the floor, studying her shoes.

"Noelle," Elena burst out, her hand on Noelle's arm. "Your teacher just told you what you did wrong."

Noelle blinked.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she stated in an even voice.

Both Elena and the instructor were shocked at her reply.

"What do you mean you didn't do anything wrong? I just told you what you did wrong, young lady," the instructor grit out.

Cisco observed the interaction from the sidelines, noting that the woman was getting incredibly worked up for what were only afewalterations. He was sure that no one in the audience even realized it. After all, this was a recital for parents and staff who were likely not very acquainted with the intricacies of classical music.

Noelle slowly turned her head towards the instructor. Blinking innocently, she smiled.

"You should ask the audience if they think I did anything wrong," she said in a sweet tone—toosweet for her. "Some even cried. And I don't think it was from mymistakes."

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