Robin, Boy Virgin: Original Series

On Thursday, Cora and I were in Music Composition. I had stolen the big practice room and was entrenched in the new software.

"This is awesome. Listen to this, Cora," I said enthusiastically. Cora was sitting on the carpet, carelessly skimming through the small bookcase under the window: the shelves were full of old records. John Denver, Peter Paul & Mary type crap.

"Are you listening?" I demanded.

"Yes I'm listening," Cora assured me impatiently. I played the melancholy electronic track that I'd masterminded. It started off very quietly and built up and built up and built up until it was this cacophony of sound.

When the song was over, I smiled, relatively pleased. I mean, the song had a pretty limited, distinct techno sound and it wasn't the acoustic, avant-garde stuff that I usually strive for. But it had been fun to create anyway.

"What do you think?" I asked, turning my head to the side a little.

"Mmmm," Cora hesitated. I turned around in my chair.

"What?" I demanded, slightly offended. Cora looked up from the (ha!) John Denver album she had in her hand. Her legs were bent out to one side at loose, ninety degree angles and she was propping her upper body up with her arm. I hate her and her freaking sexiness.

"Mmm, well," Cora hesitated again, scrunching up her face. I raised my eyebrows and waited.

"Oh nothing," She decided suddenly, looking back down at the album. "I guess it's just not really my taste in music," She went on. Something in her voice implied that she thought she had great taste and I had shitty taste. That offended me even more.

"Alright little miss one-note-on-the-piano, show me what's good, then," I challenged. Cora looked up at me from under her eyelids. Her hard blue eyes shone as we looked at each other and that made sweat a little bit.

"Ok," Cora said with a shrug. She stood up and slid onto the bench in front of the electric keyboard. She turned it on and fiddled through the options and then played one note on the piano. I knew it was just to test the sound option she'd picked out, but I still laughed like an asshole.

"Oh yeah that was a masterpiece," I mocked. She glared at me.

"Can it, BW, and listen to this," Cora said. It's possible that I hate her calling me BW even more than I hate Boy Wonder-

Then Cora began playing these gorgeous diminished seventh chords with her left hand in the bass clef while playing her trademark single notes with her right hand in the higher parts of the treble clef.

I hate her: beautiful, clever, confident, AND crazy talented. How is that even remotely fair?

But her song was missing something. I looked around the practice room and saw an extra guitar sitting in the corner. I leaned over and picked up the guitar. I sat down next to Cora on the piano bench, facing away from the piano. All I did, really, was give more harmony with a chord here and there and add little accents to the single notes she played in the melody. The guitar was a tad out of tune, but the slight sourness gave the piece a cool, rustic sound.

We went on playing for a long time. Ten minutes breezed by while Cora extended her song, playing it in rounds and variations, and I kept picking away harmonies for her.

Eventually Cora played a final sounding chord and I echoed the chord on the guitar. She took a deep breath, reflecting on the music. I looked at Cora, waiting for her to say something. I wasn't going to start being full of myself and praise our brilliant work. She was going first.

Cora looked at me, her hard blue eyes curious and searching. This look from her wasn't familiar but something about it made me know it anyway. We were having one of those silent but understanding moments and I think that we both realized something. We literally make beautiful music together. Hmmmmhm.

I cleared my throat quietly and looked away at the body of the guitar. Going eye to eye with Cora wasn't easy once you pulled yourself back out of her eyes and realized what you were doing. I could still feel Cora looking at me, though.

"Hm," She finally said. I plucked at one of the guitar strings a little, trying to distract myself. But... what did that 'Hm' mean??

"... so, are you ever going to teach me my song?" Cora finally broke the silence. She was teasing me. I glanced at her and then just handed her the guitar. She spun around on the bench so she and I were facing the same way. She settled the guitar on her lap and strummed the open strings. It sounded pretty foggy.

"Oh right," I said and took the guitar back. I accidentally touched Cora's hand that was on the neck of the guitar when I took the guitar from her. My stupid skin tingled and my brain went "hey remember when Cora cornered you in the practice room?! And, and she leaned her legs on your legs?! REMEMBER THAT?!"

Cora just put her hands in her lap and waited for me to tune the guitar. Her brain was probably going "I think I'll write another song at home, send it in to John Mayer and have him fall in love with me and the song. Meh, or I'll drink some whiskey and dance around in a black lace bra,"

I tuned the guitar and then handed it back to her.

"K, so first play a C major chord," I told her. Cora strummed the open strings.

"Ceeeee," She sang. Ah ha! Gorgeous, witty, cool, talented, but couldn't sing worth a damn! That makes me feel a little better.

"Have you never played the guitar before??" I asked, shocked. That's when I remembered that she probably wasn't actually related to John Cougar Mellencamp. I'm frickin' retarded.

"Nope. My dad played the keyboard only," Cora answered lightly. I sighed and super quick went over the frets and the individual string notes that I'd tuned. Just the standard E, A, D, G, B, E.

"K so fret 3, string A; then fret 2, string D; and then fret 1, string B," I said. I watched her struggle a little.

"No, string B... you skip one... no," I said. I didn't have a choice. I had to cover her hand with my hand and shape her fingers into the correct position for her. Her fingers were long and slender, pianist fingers. It's in moments like that, with direct skin to skin contact, do you notice the small differences between boys and girls. Like, her hand was smaller than mine and my fingers were stronger than hers so she had to follow the shape I made for her.

"If you try to hold my hand, I'll slug you," Cora spoke up, quoting Sally from a Peanuts cartoon. I grinned automatically and took my hand away from hers. I felt embarrassment creep up my neck when I realized that I'd spent too long of a time touching Cora's hand.

I really shouldn't do things like that. It just fucks with my head. But Cora needed me to do it, ok? Like, she couldn't figure three of the four chords, so I HAD to touch her hand and move her fingers under my hand.

Shut up.