Believers Never Die Pt. 1

The record had never done quite as well as I had hoped that it would. I couldn't complain; I was doing what I wanted to do. I was writing my own songs. I was free to do whatever I wanted. I had completely reinvented myself. The black hair, make-up, and piercings threw the public off. Nobody really recognized me.

While excited by the freedom, I was frustrated by the lack of success. I couldn't help but be angry. It was becoming harder and harder to write songs. I had no motivation, and I had nothing to write about. I had to write another record, however. I just couldn't write a decent song. The inspiration just wasn't there anymore. How could I write a teen pop, punk, alternative, whatever-you-want-to-call-it son, when I wasn't a normal teenager? I had never had a "first love" or a "summer fling." I didn't go to school; I was tutored at home. All I had were a couple of Grammy awards and a three-year stint in rehab.

At this point, I would try anything and everything I could to pump out a song. It was also around this time that I started going on walks. I heard that various artists liked to go out and walk as they wrote, that the physical activity stimulated their creativity. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so I would go on walks whenever I could. I had fallen in love with exploring and wandering around the city. It seemed that every morning, there was something new waiting for me around the corner. Sometimes, It was a new coffee shop. Others, there were unemployed musicians playing on Hollywood Boulevard, hoping a producer would hear their songs. One particular day, it was Ryan Burke.

It wasn't any different than any other day. I woke up, had some fruit and yogurt for breakfast, and I sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. Oddly, it was on Telemundo. I had never been one for Spanish soap operas, but I was intrigued. Within the second I had turned on the TV set, one girl was smacking the other. It was long before it turned into a full-out brawl. They were clawing at each other, pulling each other's hair, and at one point, one of the girls was pushed down the stairs. I had never been one for violence. This particular scene put an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I turned it off just as I finished my breakfast. I was about to the leave the house, when I noticed the color of the sky.

It was gray. The sky was blanketed with thick, gray clouds. The overcast of rain nearly made me change my mind about leaving the house. I almost didn't go on my walk that day, but I didn't want to sit around the house all day. I hated to feel lazy. I would find out later it was a by-product of my own disturbed mind. My restlessness was not a personality trait. It was more of a symptom.

With little to no thought at all, I bounded out of my apartment, heading for Griffith Park. The clouds were no bother to me. I didn't care that it would rain. In the back of my mind, I hoped that it wouldn't. I couldn't drive yet, and I would have hated to be stuck in that rain. However, it was not of my concern at the time. I was walking along, looking for something to inspire me. I needed something beautiful.

In the distance, I heard music. It was the strumming of an acoustic guitar, and a soft, smooth voice traveled out along with it. The melody was soothing. When it hit my brain, I nearly swooned, and my legs immediately wandered in the direction of the music, despite the fact that I had no idea where it was coming from. Within minutes, I found myself standing at the edge of a park bench, next to an older-looking guy with a guitar in his lap. He was gorgeous. He had smooth, shiny brown hair that had a natural swoop of his forehead. All of his hair tended to flip up on one side. He looked up at me, and I caught a glimpse of some of the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my life, and his smile? It was enough to nearly make me faint. I nearly melted on the spot.

I quietly applauded him, smiling. "Thanks," he said, looking up at me with that charming smile of his. I saw him tuck his guitar pick into the pocket of his skinny jeans. I smiled shyly, put my hands in my pockets, and shrugged.

"Don't thank me. You clearly deserve it," I told him, glancing up at him briefly. "You're very talented. I just... um... your song, it's... it's beautiful."

Ryan smiled, chuckling quietly, and shook his head. "I'm not nearly as talented as you are."

"You recognize me?" I was a little bit shocked. After dying my hair black and learning how to apply make-up, I didn't look quite like I did when I was younger and still famous.

He nodded. "Yeah, you've grown up a lot since I last saw you... you know, on TV."

"Oh," I said, furrowing my eyebrows a bit. I wasn't sure how to take the comment. The clouds had grown considerably thicker since I had arrived, and a wind chill swept through. Goosebumps had risen on my arms.

Without missing a beat, Ryan quickly sputtered, "No, it's a compliment. The new style... it works for you."

I blushed, giggling under my breath and looking to my feet. I could feel a tickling sensation in my stomach. What was this? Why was I feeling this? Ryan was... well, he was a guy... but he was gorgeous. "You're so sweet," I told him. "But who are you?"

"Ryan," he introduced himself, extending his hand. I shook it. "Ryan Burke." Just the touch of his hand sent my head reeling. I forced myself to let go and tucked my hand back in my pocket. He flashed me that bright, charming smile again. "You're cute," he told me, smiling with closed lips. I just blushed even more, and he grinned. "You wanna hang out?"

"I'm only thirteen," I told him, disheartened. Why would somebody so beautiful want to hang out with a stupid kid like me?

Ryan just smiled nonchalantly and shrugged. "Age is but a number, Max."

Before I could answer him, it started pouring rain. I saw dark spots quickly appear on the concrete as Ryan rushed to put his guitar in it's case. He slung it on his back and turned to me. "Come on," he said, motioning for me to follow him. "I'll give you a ride home."