Music Girl

The first week of Aravic’s stay passed tensely. He kept his distance from Sam, but still followed her as much as possible. Sam got in a short fight with a senior after school who had apparently been harassing Cynthia. It was short because Sam knocked him cold in two minutes. She continued to amaze Aravic more and more each day. On that day for instance, he witnessed her round-house kick a six foot man in the face.

Track also started up that week. Aravic made in onto Junior Varsity this time, and training began. Every day as he went off to practice he saw Sam catch the bus home. He wondered what she did home alone. Probably something rebellious.

Friday caught Denver in pouring rain. The meeting with Antonio was moved to Monday night, and track was moving inside for a short half-hour practice. Since it was short, Aravic was left with no ride home, so he secured his bag to himself and began to run in the rain. It was about ten blocks to the light rail, and by the time he got to the station and purchased his ticket, he was shaking from cold, soaked to his underwear, and his bag wasn’t in any better shape. Grumbling, he got on the train and squished to a seat.

If at all possible, it was raining even harder fifteen minutes later when he got off the train. A three block sprint and he was at the front door of the Thyroid house. Safe inside, he pulled off his water-logged shoes and walked in his soaking socks to the elevator. “Floor two,” Aravic instructed. Thunder boomed directly overhead. Aravic prayed the electricity wouldn’t go out. In the bathroom, he stripped his sopping cloths and was into a hot jet shower.

When he got out, refreshed and relaxed, Aravic noticed loud noise coming from upstairs. Aravic strained his ears. He made out guitar noises, then a voice singing. His eyes went wide as he zipped up his pants, pulled a button up shirt over his shoulders, and sprinted down the hall to the elevator.

-

Friday was the day I had been praying for since I left Boston in August. I got off the bus after school and ran through the pelting rain and into the elevator, tracking watery footprints all down the hallway. I skidded through the library and fumbled with the key to get into my room. I threw open the door, was off with my jacket and bag, which landed on the wooden floor as I crossed my room to my bed. I laid down on my stomach to pull my guitar and amp out from under my bed. I blew the dust off my amp and plugged it into the wall. Then I pulled my guitar out of its’ case, plugged it in, and strummed all the stings at once. I closed my eyes and took in the full sound of my guitar.

Eyes still closed, my fingers plunked away a melody, almost on their own. After a few minutes, I smiled. I turned the volume knob all the way up to ten with the toe of my shoe. Then I slammed a chord and began to play Master of Puppets.

For the next half hour, I burned through solos, jumping, kicking, and head banging all over my room. I blasted my stereo to have a beat to play to as the rain poured down on the roof. “’Cause she’s the last of the American girls!” I sang, finishing the Green Day song with the ending notes. I panted slightly and wiped sweat off my brow as I picked up my iPod to look for another song to play.

“Well done Sam.”

I froze, heart racing, eyes wide. ‘No, not him! How the hell did he get in here?’ My iPod slipped out of my hands as I revolved on the spot to his voice. Aravic was leaning against the door frame, smirking widely. I started shaking with rage and fear as thoughts ran through my head. He would blackmail me, or tell my dad. I would get kicked out, or sent to military school. Aravic walked slowly across the room, closing my door as he went. Lightning lit up the sky and thunder followed almost immediately as he stopped a few feet in front of me.

“You really should lock your door if you’re going to break the law,” he said tauntingly, raising his eyebrows. “Although I will say you are quite a good player.” I wanted to kill him, right then and there. I flexed my fingers, imagining them closing in a fist and connecting with his face. But I couldn’t. Not if I didn’t want to go to jail, that is. So I clenched my teeth and pulled off and unplugged my guitar. I slowly packed everything away, feeling Aravic’s eyes on me the entire time.

When it was all packed away, I turned back and faced him. He was a bit taller than me, but I stared him down anyways. “What do you want?”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut about you,” he said slowly, still smirking, “if you’re pleasant with me. Actually talk to me, and none of this snapping.” I shook with rage.

“Fine,” I finally struggled out, falling over on my bed. I pressed a pillow over my face and screamed. How could I get caught? I had been doing this since I was twelve, and I had never been caught once until now. Stupid freaking stalker.

“So, how long have you been playing?” Aravic asked.

“Going on four years,” I mumbled.

“Hmm, so you go veg-head and started playing guitar…was that also by chance when you started wearing black?” If anything, he wasn’t that dumb. He could put two and two together, at any rate. “Does it have to do with Rachel?” he asked in a somewhat softer voice.

I rolled over away from him and faced the window. The rain was still pouring down. You couldn’t see ten feet out the window.

“It doesn’t concern you. And why should I tell you? I barely know you,” I finally said, glaring out the window.

“Because I want to know.”

I snorted, “Sure.”

After a while, I sat up and stretched. “Well, I have a shower to take, homework to do, and dinner to cook, so if you’ll excuse me…” With that, I walked out of my room and into the bathroom.