Odd One Out

"Good things come to those who wait."
How much longer do I have to wait?

Iris is different. She wants more. She wants to be free.
She wants love.
But no one understands her. Her only escape is through music.
She's the Odd One Out.
And then, she meets Blake...


8. The Start Of My Future

Dear Love,

We live to die.

In the end, that's what it all leads to.


Life is a train,

It's on a long journey,

But we all get off at some point.

I wonder where I stop at?

Life is scary when you live it alone Love,

So please, find me someone to live it with,


Iris x


I've written a new song for Saturday. It's about everyone else around you being in love, and then you realise that you haven't ever fallen in love before. I know, I make no sense. Hey, I never said I was a songwriter. My phone buzzes in my pocket, which is weird, because I practically never get texts. Just the odd one from mum saying I Love You and crap. But I know it's not mum because she should be working now, and she never ever texts on the job. So I pull my phone out my school blazer pocket, praying to god Miss Lorrington doesn't catch me.


It says hello. I don't even know whose number it is. I press my lips together in thought. Do I reply? I hide my phone under the table, and tap a quick reply into the old Samsung.

Who is this?

I press send, and slip my phone back into my pocket. Wrong number, I assume. Someone's just texted the wrong number. But only seconds later, my phone buzzes again. I sigh, retrieving it from my blazer, and a message flicks onto it's scratched screen.

Does it matter?

My eyebrows furrow. Well, yes, it does matter. I don't really fancy talking to a complete stranger.

"Iris, put your phone away," Miss Lorrington snaps, eyeing me from her desk. I could be smart. I could be cheeky. But I don't want to upset Mr Orwick any further.


And so I put my phone back, thinking deeply about the strange texter.


"That's a beautiful song. When did you write it?"

"Yesterday. Last night."

"Mm. Well, I think it's a must to record that one. Have you got any others?"


Mrs Muller dips a biscuit into her tea, tentatively biting the soggy end off.

"I didn't know you had this much talent. You're a funny one, you are Iris."

I sort of smile. "I get that a lot."

"Yeah?" She chuckles to herself. Mrs Muller looks as if she's in her early thirties. Her hair is always scooped into a neat hazel bun, and her skin is peachy white. Her velvet blue eyes look straight into me. "Well, there's not many like you." She takes another bite into her biscuit. She's layed one out for me, but I don't touch it. There's not many like me? What's that supposed to mean.

"So," I say, "this recording thing..is it like, big? Like..." I sigh, not being able to say the words I want to. "Is like, the start of my future?"

Mrs Muller's eyes are distant. "Do you want it to be?"

I think about it.

Do I?

Do I want to do music for the rest of my life?

Do I want to write songs every day forever?

Is that really what I want to do?

"Yes." I hear the word slip out my lips. Mrs Muller's lips curve into a smile.

"Then yes, it is the start of your future. Practice some more, Iris, three days till recording time, I think you'll do great."

The school bell rings, telling us lunch is over.

"Thanks Mrs Muller."

"Charlotte. Call me Charlotte."


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