Sketch

37 - Sam

Another short one I'm afraid, but the next one makes up for it, promise :)  Dedicated to AlexEverdeen for your lovely comments :)

I stare into my bowl, watching the milk turn a slight yellow as the remaining Cheerio's begin to disintegrate into nothing.  My spoon lays forgotten on the breakfast bar as I reminisce about last night.  I hadn't been planning on apologising to Emmy.  It had sort of just happened.  One minute she'd been calling me complicated, out of my want for a single word to sum me up, and the next I'd been full on explaining my reasons for being a jerk to her.  Reasons, I realise, that make me seem like an even bigger jerk.

I can't stand people who are judgmental.  That woman's fat, she can't be a good singer.  That man's old, he can't rap.  It makes me sick to the core to think that I judged Emmy on Michelle's behaviour.  Michelle, for one, is a one off.  I've never met anyone who can make me want to break their leg one minute and snog them the next.  Emmy, however, is more like a best friend I never knew I had.  A very hot best friend, mind you.  It's the way she doesn't know she's hot that makes her even hotter. She's humble and hot, amongst all the other adjectives that had come tumbling out of my mouth last night with my apology.

I'd thought I'd pushed it too far, but I seem to remember her calling me cute somewhere in our conversation about wallys, so I don't feel too bad that I word vomited my thoughts at her.  And I thought she was supposed to be the one with foot in mouth syndrome.  Maybe it's contagious.

I'm glad though.  My impromptu apology seemed to clear the air.  It's like a new, fresh start where I don't have to pretend around her.  I like being friends with Emmy.  I make a mental note to say hello to her as soon as she surfaces from her room, remembering her comment about me accidently ignoring her.  It seems like I can do it without realising.

The sound of a door opening makes me look up from my cereal bowl.  It feels like my heart's sinking for some reason, when I spot that it's Vince's bedroom door opening instead of Emmy's.

"Morning," Ollie announces, walking to the kitchen with a bright smile on his face.  He reaches me and claps my shoulder.  "How are you?"

I eye him suspiciously.  "Good."

He nods and when he's poured himself a glass of orange juice he sits down on the stool beside mine.

Vince trudges out of his room with a lot less enthusiasm than Ollie.  His hair's stuck up all over the place and he isn't wearing a shirt.

"What time did you get to bed last night?"

I turn away from Vince to look at Ollie.  He's wearing an annoying smirk.

"Around twelve.  Why?  Did I disturb your beauty sleep?"

"Don't you mean 'we'?"

I roll my eyes and push back from the breakfast bar, putting my bowl in the sink.  "So what if Emmy and I were up talking?"

"You were up pretty late, that's all," he replies innocently.

I catch sight of Vince waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  "Getting to know each other, huh?"

I punch his shoulder as he passes me on his way to the fridge.  He rubs his skin and flips me the bird.

Ollie laughs.  "I'm glad you two found something to talk about."

"We were taking it in turn to ask questions," I say.  "Seeing as you said I haven't asked her anything since she got here."

He smiles.  "Good to know you're taking advice from your brother.  So what was it?  Twenty questions?"

"Sounded more like one hundred from my bed," Vince mumbles as he pops two slices of bread into the toaster with a yawn. 

"Did we keep you up?" I ask, no sympathy in my voice at all. 

Vince nods.  "Thank you very much."

I smile.  "So that's why you look so shitty today."

He leans in to hit me but I dodge his attempt.  "Actually," he says.  "I was up all night thinking of a new drum beat for Emmy's song."

My eyebrows peak in interest and Ollie stops collecting crumbs from the worktop with his fingers.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Vince replies. "I think I've come up with something worth mentioning anyway."

"Let's hear it then," Ollie says, pointing to Vince's drum kit.

"After I've eaten," Vince insists.  "I can't drum on an empty stomach."

Emmy's awake by the time Vince is ready to show us his new drum routine.  He still hasn't put on a shirt but Emmy seems unfazed.  I smile at the fact that she's not swooning over him like Jasmine and Holly do when they stay over and both emerge from his room the next morning looking dishevelled.  Vince is usually just in his boxers and whichever girl he has over is gushing about his body.  It's funny really, seeing as Vince stormed out of the gym when he last went, which was well over a year ago, because he couldn't pick up the weights he wanted to.   That's why I work out in my room so if I drop something on my foot I can cry and swear without people watching.  Not that I work out every day.  It's more of a new year's resolution that I remember every now and again.

"Sam?"

Ollie pinches my arm and I frown at him.  "What?"

"You were zoning out."

"I'm not starting till you listen," Vince says, pointing a drum stick at me.

I hold up both hands.  "Sorry.  I'm listening."

Satisfied, Vince begins drumming out a fast paced rhythm that makes something in my head click.  Chords start playing and guitar solos start forming.  I feel myself zoning out again.

"Hey," Emmy whispers. 

I look down to see her hand on my arm.  She's dressed in a pair of jeans and a strapless red top. 

I smile at her.  "I'm listening."

"You were thinking of something."

I tilt an eyebrow at her.  "Yeah?"

She nods.  "Yeah.  Your mouth was in a line and you were staring into space."

I shrug.  "Making music in my mind."

"Sounds poetic," she replies, just as Vince finishes.

Ollie claps him on the back and Emmy gives him a polite round of applause.

"Excellent," she comments.  "I like it."

Vince looks chuffed with himself.  "Thanks, Sweetheart.  Gotta do your song justice."

It's when Vince has headed off to shower and Ollie's watching TV that Emmy speaks again.

"Can I help you?"

I stop washing up.  "With what?  I mean, you can dry the dishes if you want."

She smiles and picks up the dishcloth.  "I meant with writing the music for our song."

I like that she's called it our song.  I helps cement that she's in the band for the right reasons.  "Sure.  I mean, it usually takes me ages to get started."

"That's why you need my help."

I laugh.  "Okay.  Fine.  When we're finished here we can start."