Normal Norman: Treble Clef Chapter 1

>Day 7.
>Be Normal Norman.
>You've been at this school for a week, and you've been harassed, kicked in the balls, and got beef stewed in one day.
>In other words, usual day is usual.
>Currently you are in a trash can, struggling to get out.
"HELP ME! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD, HELP ME!"
>Your pleas remain unanswered by all but the trash can, which responds by falling.
>The bell rings. Well, you're fucked.
>You silently cry to yourself, wondering what you did to deserve this.
"God, if you're there, I get it, I deserve to be fucked with. Can we please call it good and let the good times happen again? I'd appreciate it."
>No response. Well then, maybe you should turn to Satan. Or maybe Odin.
>You take in a breath to recite a satanic chant, but you feel something pulling your legs.
>Oh god yes, freedom!
>Thank you, holy trinity!
>You finally taste fresh air instead of Lil Wayne's music(because it's trash xdddddd), and are greeted by the sight of a grey girl in a tuxedo.
"Well good morning, sunshine."
>"Hello to you, too."
>Come on, that worked on everyone back in Philadelphia!

>The walk to class is a tad talkative.
>Her name is Octavia Philharmonica. She goes to Math class at this time, like you do.
>She plays a cello, and now that she mentions it, you remember hearing a few of her performances.
>They were fantastic, to say the least.
>"By some chance, Norman, do you play any instruments?"
"No, but I always wanted to."
>"Well, I could perhaps find you some lessons, if you'd like to join."
>Something productive that doesn't involve getting a high score in Mercenaries Reunion? Hot dog!
"I'd appreciate that. Thanks, Octavia!"
>She nods, and for a second, you think you catch a faint smile..

>One eternity later, you find yourself in the cafeteria.
>Thankfully you had gym, so you had an opportunity to shower, so you don't smell like Dane Cook's idea of comedy.
>i.e. Trash.
>I'M SO LE FUNNY AND EDGY!11 XDDDDDDDDDD
>Okay enough me trying and failing at comedy. I digress.
>You look around for your bro, when you're approached by someone who is not-bro-tier-but-still-good-tier.
>"Hello again, Norman."
"Hey, Octavia."
>"Would you like to join my friends for lunch?"
>As much as you like Brad(no homo), you kinda get sick of him styling on you.
"Sure, thanks."
>You follow her to a table, and sit across from her, next to a purple skinned, blue haired guy.
>"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Norman."
>"My name is Frederic Horseshoepin. It's a pleasure, Norman," says a tan skinned, white haired guy.
>"I'm Brass Breeze! Nice to meet you!" says a brown haired, teal skinned girl.
>"And I'm Golden Strings," says the aforementioned purple guy.
>Three handshakes later, you decide to cut the conversation sort and chow down.
>"So how did you meet Octavia?"
>Brass gets right to the point.
"It involved a trash can. Can I leave it at that?"
>"No way! Not when stuff like that's involved! Seriously, Octy, I thought you were the clean one?"
>Octavia raises an eyebrow.
>"Care to go on, Norman?"
>You sigh, seeing you have no choice.
"I got shoved in a trash can for supposedly being racist and Octavia got me out, which I never thanked her for. So thanks and stuf."
>"But of course."
>Octavia gives you another slight smile, this time you notice it.
>"Oh, I remember the rumors! You have my condolences, Norman."
"It's okay, Frederic. You're saying it like my dog died."
>"Well, having dirt on you, truthful or false, is almost as bad, from my point of view..."
"Almost?"
>He smirks.
>"Well, here I was thinking no one agreed. I think we're going to be great friends, Norman."

>The lunch bell rings.
>"I suppose we should get to class."
"Yup. See you all later."
>They give their farewells as you grab what's left of your lunch and throw it out, placing the tray on the closest stack.
>The rest of the day is uneventful so we're skipping to after school.

>Another eternity later, you run out, grab your stuff, run outside, and kiss the ground.
>Oh lord, sweet relief.
>"Norman? What are you doing?"
>You look up to see a confused Octavia, then look back down, caressing the concrete.
"No one understands our love, ground."
>"Well, when you're finished being dramatic, would you like to walk home with me?"
>You're dumped, concrete.
"Sure!"
>She doesn't smile too much.
>Cue town theme.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8sw96AHqCco
>On the way home, you two shoot the breeze, learning how the band's violinist left for another school due to their family, and how they need a new one.
>"You seem to have the talent, you know."
>Wait. You? Have talent? At something besides Mercenaries Reunion?
"...Y-you too..."
>She looks confused and amused at your spaghetti.
"I mean, uh, you really think so?"
>"I honestly do. You do know the basics, right?"
>You remember making dubstep once by turning up everything and using as many hi-hats and bass drops as possible.
"...No, I really don't."
>"Oh. Well, this will be...interesting. I suppose I could teach you. Is tomorrow fine for you?"
"How about today?"
>"That works, too."
>"You reach her house soon afterwards.
>"Here we are."
>You follow her inside, and take off your shoes, remembering basic human decency.
"So where will we do this?"
>Heh, you said do.
>"The living room. Allow me to retrieve some books on Music Theory first..."
"I can wait."
>You sit down on a chair as she leaves and you wait for her to return.
>You examine the room while you wait.
>There are a few cellos. Not as many as you'd think.
>There's also some pictures of what you presume is her and her family.
>...Speaking of which, where are they?

>Your question is answered when you hear a car pull up.
>You see a rather elegant woman exit the Ferrari.
>She enters the house, and jumps when she sees you.
>"Who are you?!'
>"He's my friend, mother."
>Octavia returns at last.
"What, did you get lost and end up in the ninth circle of hell?"
>"Yes. I forgot to bring you a souvenir, I apologize."
>She's good. BUT YOU'RE BETTER.
>You stand up, walking to Octavia's mother.
"Hi, I'm Norman."
>"Melody Philharmonica, Secretary of FashionCraft. The pleasure is all mine."
>Oh yeah, that trending clothes brand.
>"Here's my card."
>She hands you a business card, with her name and contact information.
>"Mother, he's a guest, not a customer."
>"He could use a better look, in my book. Pardon the rhyme."
>Well, that was an ice burn.
>"So, may I ask what you're doing here?"
"Octavia was going to give me a lesson in Music Theory."
>"Ah, Octavia, still clinging to music?"
>Oh god this won't end well.
>"Mother, not now..."
>"You know you'll have to move on from your childish dreams to face the real world, you know."
>#SHOTSFIRED
>"Courage is the magic that turns dreams into reality."
>"Yes, so be courageous and do what's possible."
>Way to twist a fantastic quote!
>"Can we discuss this later, mother? We have a guest."
>"Fair enough. I suppose you can preach about your music."
>That's just going from "realist" to "cunt."
>She leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone.
>"My apologies for that, Norman. She doesn't exactly approve of my life decisions."
"I wouldn't have guessed."
>"Shall we begin the lesson, try to not let her drag us down?"
"It's what I came for, so yes."

>One lesson later, you feel like you made no progress.
>After a not-at-all brief lesson on the origins of music, you tried your hand at a violin so she could see what she had to work with.
>You made yourself almost cry from the pain of your violin skills.
>"That will do, Norman."
>She takes the violin, and places it back in her case.
>"I suppose that the first step in becoming good at something is to make mistakes."
"We don't make mistakes. We just have happy accidents."
>"Thank you, Mr. Ross."
>Why does she barely smile when she does it?
"So is that it for the day?"
>"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow, Norman."
>To the point. Oof.
>One thing, though...
"Could I get your number so we can keep in contact?"
>She looks surprised, blushing slightly.
>"Um, sure."
>She whips out her phone, and clears her throat.
>"555-3247."
>You punch it in.
"555-0932 is mine."
>She dials it swiftly.
>"Alright, I'll talk to you later."
"Later, Octavia."
>You turn to leave, and wave as you exit.
>Today was an alright day.

END CHAPTER 1