Lingering Melody

No piano today, so Guitar Beginning is an hour earlier. I’ve already caught up to the class- and passed. “But the thing is,” Strummer admits to me, “there isn’t another Guitar class. So I’ll teach you alone what you should be learning, and let the rest of the kids take their own paces. That good with you?”

I give a small nod. “It’s good,” I tell him and he starts me on learning to transfer the notes from piano to guitar and such, like translating languages, really.

Sports were still going, meaning the school was still crowded. I scurried to collect all I needed from my locker. Opening it, a huge pile of post-its fell out. I stood in a moment, my emotions all stirring. Curiosity and annoyance. Seeing the rest of the insults, I felt embarrassed, ashamed, angry, scared and sad. I choked back the tears as I picked them up. Laughter down in the halls. I quickly grab my things and run out, my hair in my face to hide my red eyes.

I jog the whole way home and collapse against the door in defeat. I sniff, and that got the tears started. They stream down in floods and I just sit there, my face in my hands. Just when I rise, I fall again, lower than before. Why do they do this to me? Am I really that awful?

Then, I’ve cried all the tears I can and I’m just left there in a fog. I never wish I would die, but like now, I wish I were never born. It would help so much, and everyone would be happier. I sniff again, my chin on my knees. Then, to my shock, there’s a knock on the door.

I look through the peephole. Webster. “You’re early,” I mumble, opening the door just a little.

He shrugs. “Only ten minutes, Shy.”

That catches me in surprise. But I grab enough sense that before he sees my face, I give a nod and race to the bathroom to clean up. I spend five minutes washing my face and fixing my hair. It goes straight and I put in some little braids. I walk out to change, glancing in to see Webster fixing something.

It takes me a while to decide. Finally, it’s long business pants in black with heels, because they’re a little long. I wear a red tank and a white sophisticated top over it. I wander through my jewelry, trying to decide. No flaunting anything today… a simple gold chain is all I choose, along with small red hoops of hardly any notice.

“How about this?” I ask him, coming out.

His eyes scan it. “Perfect. I just made some mac and cheese. How about it?”

I look at it. “Isn’t it… baby food?” I ask. He frowns, so I smile to show I’m joking. “Fine. Not too much, okay? I feel like I ate a horse today,” I mumble.

He snorts and gives me a bowl of it with a…spoon. Hm. But I eat it, and while it doesn’t taste that bad, I’ve had much better. “Okay… so it’s going to be at a hospital, all right?” He asks me. “They’re fixing up the conference room for the event, and then you’ll be going to the cancer- leukemia ward, to see the kids.”

I nod hesitantly. I’ve never liked hospitals. I don’t know why, but I always smell death and it scares me to death. Probably due to my grandparent’s death- we were all in the car… Airie and me were fine. Our grandparents… weren’t. “All right.” I confirm.

My heart keeps beating loudly as we reach the place. I’m wearing sunglasses cause the sun is still out, and I’m carrying a small shoulder bag so I can have my hands free if I wish. I flash a nod and smile to the paparazzi who are waiting for me.

Questions, so many questions are then buzzing in my ears as they shout to me. I pause, when they say the boys’ band name. I look for who said it, to see what they want to say. But Webster gives me a nudge and I remember suddenly. No talking to the media on the street, that’s when it’s taken out of context. I give another nod and hurry in, Web right behind.

We find the room and there are fewer cameras. One young man asks if he can ask me a few questions about the event. Webster says it’s okay and the young man starts. “So, why did you choose Make-A-Wish Foundation?” He asks awkwardly, obviously still new to this.

I give a kind small smile, to make him more comfortable as we find some chairs. “I like to- no, love giving to charities,” I explain. “I find word about one now and then and donate to them. They can always use more money and with all that I have, I really don’t need it. I usually give half to charities every month. Make-A-Wish sprung out at me a few weeks ago, while I was on the Internet and I just thought it was… so beautiful. A miracle, these people willing to help these young children who…” I hesitate. “You know. They deserve every happiness. By donating money, they have a better chance to it.”

It continues forever, it feels. Then, he mentions how I never donate for AIDS or such. Webster starts to say something but I stop him and turn to look the man in the face. “I don’t believe in giving into… such, before marriage. They wouldn’t have it otherwise, usually. If they made the right choice in the beginning, they wouldn’t be like they are now. However, I am giving to those who suffer for it through blood transfusions.” I give a sweet smile. “I think the meeting’s about to begin. You better go find your chair.”

The next few hours go amazing. A few children and others are brought, those who have gotten or received their wishes. It makes me cry and Web has tissues for me. When it ends, I have to go and talk to a few people as courtesy.

But then it’s nearing eight and I have to go meet the children before they say I can’t. We go up the next floor and the next hour was… life changing. I spent it with ten children. Mackenzie, Zack, Jared, Mary, David, Greg, Johnny, Jewel, Wendy and Ashley. All under ten years old and aren’t expected to reach fifteen. It’s so sad, but those kids were so bright and cheerful. I gave them autographs when they asked. We talked and hugged. They told me their stories and wishes and asked me questions.

Webster allowed three photographers, but they had to be careful and stay back. After, I talked with two others from some press for a few minutes, and then it was time to leave. By the time Web got me to my place, it was nearing ten. “Straight to bed,” he instructs as I climb out.

I shake my head. “Homework,” I tell him.

He frowns and thinks a minute. “No school tomorrow,” he decides. “I’ll call in that you’re sick, kay?” He instructs. “I’ll get that homework for you, and you can do both days work at home. Maybe stay at the Records studio longer, too.” He gives me a look when I’m about to rebel. “And no arguing. It’s about time you skipped again, all right?”

I roll my eyes and shrug. “Fine. Night.” I hurry to my room and kick off my heels. I shrug into my pajamas and wrap myself in my comforter, still sitting on my bed.

I sit there for a minute, doing nothing. I look down at my hands, my knuckles. I was wearing gloves with fingertips cut open, to cover the wrappings. No one had noticed, of course. They don’t if I don’t want them to. I sigh, wondering if I want someone to notice.

Leaning over, I push the on button for my radio. It’s Green Day. “Sometimes, I wish someone might find me,” comes the voice and I snort. Of course the songs will match my mood. I stare at it hard, glaring.

“Come alive,” I tell it in a disembodied voice, waving my fingers. Of course it doesn’t and I keep glaring at it. After a minute I turn it off. Stupid song. I climb out and collect my schoolwork and start on my math.