Melody of a Forgotten Story – A Glimpse into Beiton Arbiters: The Unwritten Movement

This school year schedule irritated Ivy more than she cared to admit. The third period bell had just rung as she clicked her lock shut in the girls’ locker room, fresh from swimming practice, bracing herself for the daily half-mile hike to her next class.  

From the gym to the musical hall, two disciplines, two buildings, reside at the two opposite corners of Michaelson Academy campus. By now, every other student was already in their classes. The only small benefit was walking through the beautiful sunlight across campus in the quiet of the morning.

Ms. Williams, Ivy’s third period teacher, lead violin coach, and academic adviser, sympathized with her inefficient schedule -- forcing a girl to finish second-period swim and then blitz across campus for music training. She had given Ivy a gracious ten-minute leeway so she wouldn’t arrive in dripping sweat and a heart rate pounding like a snare drum.

The sheet music in Ivy’s hand was another matter entirely. Ms. Williams had handed it to her the evening before. She could usually handle her assignments on this breezy walk, but this time they felt like a puzzle to solve. The melody was nonsensical—notes scattered like broken glass, rhythms stumbling out of place, ignoring the classical structures she knew, and, quite frankly, unpleasant.

And yet… something in it pulled at her, as if daring her to solve it. Was there a missing note? A wrong key signature? Her mind raced through ten different possibilities in seconds.

Then she stopped mid-stride. Or wait, did the notes just change? She swept the page again, slower this time. The chaos resolved into something… deliberate. A strange sense of melancholy rose within her.  She couldn’t explain the revelation. The sheet of music seems to be telling a more elaborate story now, a fairytale about a scholar from a faraway land, once important, cast out by the king, falling gravely ill while his wife stood helpless at his side. At his death bed, an old friend visited him. At last stride, the old friend taught the wife a healing magic that restored his health, with one sacrifice...

And then, the notes fell back to random scribbles again.

Ivy blinked. Hallucination? The sun glare? Too little sleep? Too much caffeine? She looked again -- yup, still gibberish nonsense. And only then did she realize she was still at the gym entryway this entire time.

“Sh---!” Cursing under her breath, she broke into a jog. Model student or not, half-mile or not, Ms. Williams would not be happy about her tardy this time.