Hey guys!
This chapter is dedicated to Marystar1212 for her awesome comments and great feedback and support :D she was the first person ever to comment on my story 'I hate players like him' on quizilla (which I had to rename) and she deserves a dedication! So, thanks Mary for all your support!! You've been great :D And check out her stories guys, they're great too :D
Hope you like the chapter! And I'm really sorry it took so long, writer's block has been awful recently. That coupled with crappy internet connection doesn't make me happy. And it's short too....I'm sorry! Damn writers block :(
.:Story Start:.
I was back to school, and I was terrified of Sunday, the show. Of course tomorrow, the day we would be performing in class, was bad enough, but in front of the school was just terrifying...
Nicola was making things worse. She knew I'd be playing guitar in front of the class and the school, and she was constantly teasing me, telling me I was crap, and generally lowering my morale. Of course, I knew I wasn't brilliant, but I wouldn't go as far as to say I was crap.
It was Monday afternoon, and James, Tom, Kyle, Landon and I were seated in James's basement, going over some final bits for the song. Tom and James were huddled over the lyric sheet, making very fine adjustments, Landon was going over his drum beat to make sure it was in perfect timing with the lyrics, which I sang timidly, knowing I was nowhere near as good as James and Tom, and Kyle was practising a few chords which he kept stumbling on.
I thought we had made good progress in the last six weeks. Even when we didn't get on, we always managed to get something done, and we got even more done when we were getting on. It was a win-win situation, which was rare in my world.
I noticed James and Tom had finished and were both looking at me, while I was still singing. I nervously stammered to a standstill, not liking the close scrutiny they were both giving me, then swallowed hard, and said cautiously,
"What? Did I do something wrong?" they both looked at each other, then back at me, then said at exactly the same time,
"No!" I couldn't help it - I blushed.
"Um...OK..." I said, and then turned back to Landon, who was eyeing the whole scene with a raised eyebrow. We exchanged a look which clearly said 'OK what the hell is going on here', and then I nervously started singing again.
I was surprised to hear James and Tom start behind me, and I stopped as they continued, and I met Kyle's eyes and hurried to grab my guitar. We went the whole way through, and it sounded awesome. And I was still terrified of the show.
~*~*~
The next day, I walked into music class with my hand gripping my guitar case tightly. I wasn't sure why I was so terrified - I had done this by myself, why was it so much scarier with other people? Maybe because if I got it wrong it would be so much worse, because they'd probably hate me.
I sat down and waited for our group to be called up, fidgeting and worrying, my mind going haywire as to how to make absolute sure I do it right. Of course, it didn't help that I was still worrying about home as well.
After a few mind-frazzling groups, it was our turn.
James, Kyle, Landon and I all led the way to MU2, which was quicker than transporting the drum kit into the classroom. Landon sat at his drums, while the rest of us took out guitars and, in James's case, fiddled with the microphone.
I slung the guitar over my shoulder after plugging it into the amp, and then looked at Kyle, who nodded, and we started. A few bars in, James started singing, and I just let my fingers do all the work as I lost myself in music...
In the end, it wasn't so bad. Of course, Nicola and her cronies had something to say about my music skills, but most people were congratulating the boys and paying to attention to me. Better to be ignored than to be jeered at, I thought light heartedly.
~*~*~
I endured much taunting and teasing the next day, mostly by Nicola, of course. I couldn't deny it hurt - I wasn't that bad at music. Was I? Maybe I was. I voiced my thoughts to Alex at break time, and he disagreed strongly, telling me I was an amazing musician and that I shouldn't let her get to me.
But it was difficult. The more the taunted me, the gloomier I became. The teacher's weren't helping, either, they seemed oblivious to Nicola's many comments. And now I had only one more time round James's house with the guys because we only needed one more practise before the show on Friday. Needless to say, I was terrified.
Then at lunchtime came the comment that hurt me most.
I was walking towards my tree in a bad mood, which was completely understandable because of what I had experienced that day, when I was stopped once again. I didn't understand why they were so persistent with telling me I was bad at music; I only needed to be told a few times, even by their standard.
"Hey Johnson," sneered Nicola. I scowled.
"What do you want now?" I growled, exasperated.
"Who taught you to play music? Because whoever they are should be fired," she said. "After all, you are pretty crap,"
I clenched my fists and my teeth, furious with her. How could she say that? After what did happen to my music teacher, how could she be so casual and tell me she wasn't a good teacher? My mother was an excellent music teacher.
Then my mind went blank apart from memories of her teaching me, of the moments we shared, up to the last...
{I was five years old as I sat beside my mother on the piano stool as she showed me the first few notes of one of my favourite songs to play. We sat for hours, me learning, her patiently teaching, both laughing as we got distracted playing the chopsticks...}
{I was seven years old as I stuck my tongue out in concentration, my fingers hurting as they dug into the strings on the guitar as I played a few chords. My mother laughed at my expression and corrected my mistakes, her calm, patient demeanour rubbing off on me as I learnt how to play...}
{I was ten years old as my fingers slid smoothly over the piano as I played the first page of Beethoven's moonlight sonata (number 14) and my mother applauded me as I lifted my fingers off the final chord...}
{And I was eleven years old as I flicked though my mother's old classical pieces book, my fingers stopping as I found Fur Elise, the tears running down my face. I thought it was perfect for her, for my late mother, to learn to play that, as her name had been Elise...}
I cut my own thoughts off at that memory and took a deep, shuddering breath to stop myself crying on the spot, and I was horrified to see Nicola standing in front of me still with a 'you freak' expression on her face.
"What the hell, Johnson? Are you delusional? I just took the piss out of you and you were smiling? And talking to yourself? And now you look ready to cry? You have problems," she said matter-of-factly, then gave me a last sweeping look before sauntering off. I swore quietly, wondering what I had said aloud, and went to sit at my tree.
{~Nicola POV~}
I spotted Johnson walking to a tree, the tree she usually sat at by herself. Hah, I thought, smirking. Time to take the piss.
I strode across the grass and observed her face, gauging her mood. She looked in a pretty bad mood, and her glaring face just made her bruises stand out more. What was with the bruises? Rumour's been going round that someone's been beating her up regularly, but it all started like five years ago, and it was really weird. I didn't like it, so I started hating her for her mysteriousness - and I still do. She also took my best friend away from me.
Anyway, I came to a halt in front of her and she glared at me.
"Hey, Johnson," I sneered, and she glared harder. What a pathetic little tweed, glaring is so old school.
"What do you want now?" she said in a fed up manner. I was tempted to tell her not to take that tone with me, but I remembered the last time I had used a teacher phrase...
"Don't you speak to me like that, Johnson-"
"Now you sound like a teacher. God help the pupils," yeah, that was her first day. Well, I'll come up with some other awesome comeback, then.
"Who taught you to play music? Because whoever they are should be fired," I said, pretty pleased with what I had come up with. "After all, you are pretty crap," and it was true, she sounded very amateur compared to James...who I plan to 'do' some time soon. He was hot, and sexy. OK, keep with the conversation, Nicola...
I stood waiting for her response, but none came. All I got was, at first, a blank stare, then she started smiling. OK, what the hell? She's smiling? She has problems. It was sort of a faraway smile, as though she was remembering something, but a smile nevertheless.
And then she said something...I didn't quite catch what. Then she said something else, 'you were the best', or something like that, and then her smile turned into a frown and she looked about to cry. She took a deep, shaky breath, then her eyes seemed to come into focus, and I sort of looked at her with a 'oh my god you retard' expression on my face.
"What the hell, Johnson? Are you delusional? I just took the piss out of you and you were smiling? And talking to yourself? And now you look ready to cry? You have problems," I said, and it was damn well true - she must be mental. I decided she wasn't worth my time anymore and walked away, leaving her on her lonesome - not for the first time.
~*~*~
{~Liz POV~}
I couldn't believe that the week had flown by so quickly. It was Friday now and Sunday was the gig. I was terrified, terrified of getting something wrong, terrified of letting the band down...
I learned recently that the band's name was Black Necropolis, which was a bit dark, but I liked it. Landon had recently made a sticker for his drum kit which had the name and a morbid picture, and the electric guitars were already mostly black, so the instruments kind of fitted in with the name.
I was currently sitting in English, doodling a picture of a drum kit on the corner of my paper. I sucked big time at art so it was really crap, and it only put more pressure on myself because I knew Landon - and the others - were all so much better than me.
I sat there staring at the doodle, my mind already on what The Gig would be like. The other bands, everyone so much better than us, the crowd cheering their names because I had let the band down...
After school, I voiced these thoughts to Alex, who I could tell was getting tired of my pessimism, but remained patient and a loyal friend. I was really glad I had him in my life, always willing to put up with my whining, pointless or not.
"You are not a crap musician, Liz. You're a brilliant one, and you will do excellently tomorrow, I can tell. Don't believe what Nicola says, she's a bitch." I met his eyes.
"Thanks Alex," I said, and hoped he was right.