I flinch at the final bell. The assistant principal is half-deaf, so every time the bell sounds over the intercom students cover their ears like their lives depend upon it. I grab my music binders from the depths of my locker and clang the door shut. My footsteps echo on the cheap laminated floor, because I am the only one still here. I don't mind staying here after school- I can get a lot of homework done. My little sister's play practice usually isn't over until six-ish, and I hate driving back and forth, so I just stay until it's over to take us home. Turning the corner into the auditorium to watch the dress-rehearsal. Ed, a low-grade-kid slams into me, his eyes wild and his voice chattering angrily and quickly on his little flip phone.
"Yes, mum, I made up the grades in detention...At least a C...I'm sorry...Be home in ten...okay." He glances up at me.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there. I'm sorry," He grabs a couple scattered papers and shuffles out the door. I watch the door swing after he leaves. My friends and I deem him a high school dropout, not worthy of my time, but he is so damn attractive.
At exactly 6:03, Lila waltzes out of the auditorium, her makeup and hair done quite interestingly.
"I'm starving. Can we get food? Like a burrito or something?" She begs me as we leave the school. I unlock the car and climb inside.
"Maybe. Call mom and see what's planned for dinner," I reply. She pouts and takes out her Blackberry.
"We're having meatloaf," she grumbles. I roll my eyes at her as we pull into our parking lot. We trudge up the flights of stairs into our sixth-floor flat. Mum greets us at the door.
"Hello lovies, how was school? Alice, can you please take the meatloaf out of the oven?" My mother has half her hair in curlers and a tube of lipstick in her hand. Lila asks where she and Dad are going while I retrieve the semi-burnt meat loaf. Delicious.
"Out to a business party. We'll be back by about 11," she says, grabbing a soda and retrieving back to her bathroom to finish her hair.
"Wanna make mac n cheese..?" I ask Lila, eying the meat loaf. She nods dramatically and tosses the meat in the freezer.
While boiling the water, my phone buzzes and I lean to see who it is. Unknown number.
Hello, This is Ed. I accidentally grabbed your music binder instead of mine. It has your number on it. Can you come over so we can exchange the two? My address is 570 Orchard Street. Eighth flat on the right, bottom floor. Thanks xx
"Lila, can you add the cheese and noodles? I have to run a quick school-errand." She glances at me from the telly and nods. Let's hope she doesn't burn the flat down.
Ed's flat is across town, but I don't care because 1. I need my piano music and songs and 2. He is quite attractive.
When I knock on the door, I hear a bunch of yelling and Ed doesn't invite me in. Instead, he comes outside.
"Mind if we go to the park instead?" He asks, gesturing at his boisterous flat. I shake my head and follow him across the street. We sit down on the grass. It's dry, thanks to the nice May weather we rarely get in England. He pulls out my binder and I take out his. They are nearly identical, except my number is on the back.
"I didn't know you play," he says, flipping through my sheets.
"I don't advertise it," I say back, flinching at every page he turns. Some of the pieces I wrote myself.
"These are good. Way better than some of my crap songs," he mutters.
"But most of them don't have words.." I say, reaching for my binder. He grabs my hand and moves it away, still intently looking.
"What if we put my words to your tunes?" He says, staring up at me through his mop of bright ginger hair. I look at my watch.
"You have ten minutes," I say. He smiles, like it's a challenge.
"So it would go like this-
Under the sky, under this tree
You and I, we're not meant to be
You'll go to Oxford, while I'm on the street
You won't remember me
not a chance, not a word." He has put it with one of my simplest tune.
"Did you just write that..?" I ask him, looking up into his deep blue eyes.
"Maybe." He grins, grabs my binder, and stares at me inquisitively.
"Will you work with me sometimes, with my music?" he asks. "I can get the words, but sometimes I feel like my melody doesn't fit, you know? And I could really use help in maths." His feet dangle a foot from my face. He straightens himself on the trembling tree branch.
"Um, okay, sure?" I raise an eyebrow and reach for my notebook. He hands it back to me, then jumps down from the pained little tree, smiles as he waves goodbye to me, and walks back to his house, his mind already swarming with ideas. The boy was constantly on the move, forever lost in his thoughts.
