Bea & the Broken Record

Chapter 1: Broken Record

HEADS UP: This is told in the point of view of Asher!

I stood in front of my shelf loaded to the brim with old vinyl records that were calling my name. It was a Saturday afternoon and I had nothing to do; band practice was over and now I had an empty schedule. Usually we would practice a little more, but we don't have a show until next week.

My fingers hovered over the records, still deciding on which one to pick. I finally landed on one by The Beatles, my favorite one. I pulled the record out of its cover and placed on my old record player. It began to play softly and I immediately felt relaxed. There was nothing like music and relaxation to calm the nerves.

Well, it was peaceful. My door suddenly burst open, Grayson presenting himself in an annoying manner. He was wearing a speedo and knee-high socks, which made me raise my eyebrows in surprise as I sat up in bed.

"What are you -" Grayson held a hand up with a flat look on his face.

"It was a dare. Don't ask," he told me as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. He stood there with his hands on his hips, looking annoyed at the world.

"What do you want?" I asked him, wanting my relaxation time back.

"I -" He started to say before he was cut off by the sound of screaming. He turned around just in time to see Ben, bassist for our band, jump on top of him and tackle him to the ground. There was a loud thump as Grayson fought Ben. I let out a sigh as I stood over them, watching them wrestle each other.

There were five of us living in this old barn. Yes, it used to be a barn. When we formed out band three years ago, we all went scouting for a place to chill. Now that we're all eighteen and older, we live here. On the outside, the barn looks just as it would if a farmer owned it. It had chipped red paint, a tin roof, and big wooden doors. The only difference was the inside.

Downstairs was the lounge; we had a flat screen TV that Grayson's mom gave us, an old couch that was more comfortable than a new one, bean bag chairs, and whatever else you could think of. Our recording studio was also downstairs. Up in the loft was where all our bedrooms were.

Grayson and Ben's were across from each other, Quentin and Brody's next to theirs and mine was last. Somehow I managed to grab the biggest one. Although Brody, my twenty-year-old brother and the drummer for Ablaze, was the oldest, I beat him to it.

We may not always get along, but the five of us are a family. We live together and go to school together, well, most of us. Grayson and Ben somehow always end up getting on each other's last nerve. A good example would be right now.

I crossed my arms over my chest, watching the boys tumble back and forth.

Quentin suddenly made an appearance up the steps, glaring at the two boys and then at me. I just shrugged my shoulders.

"What are they doing? I'm trying to study." Quentin complained. Quentin was our nerd of the group. He has black hair and thick-rimmed glasses and always has a book in his face when he's not playing the keyboard for the band.

"Don't ask me," I scoffed. My band mates were so immature sometimes. Okay, all the time.

"Guys," Quentin said, his eyes darting between them. "Guys!" He yelled a little louder. That's when I took control. I reached down and grabbed Ben by his shirt and yanked him back with all the strength I had. I tossed him back so far that he landed against my bed, making it shake. It raddled a little and before I realized what was happening, I heard a crack noise and turned quickly.

Ben was on his hands and knees, holding pieces of a black record. My record. My Beatles record somehow flipped out of my record player. How did that happen? Only God himself could tell me that.