Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles) by Mia Castile Page A
Authors: Mia Castile
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posing as delivery men. I finally cracked open the door, my cellphone in hand in case it was a crazy abducting creep. The smile that greeted me was obnoxious. It wasn’t a crazy abducting creep, but a creep nonetheless—of a lesser species.
“ What?” I squared my shoulders and put my hand on my hip.
“ We have work to do.” Chase pushed the door open and passed me as he entered. “Nice digs,” he said, as he popped his head into the living room and dining room. I followed him to the kitchen. Wait, how did he know where I lived?
“ I thought vampires had to be invited in,” I mumbled.
“ Right,” he said, as he opened the refrigerator and helped himself to one of my dad’s bottled coffees. He leaned against the counter and surveyed me in a way that made me a bit anxious. Finally, he asked, “Where does the magic happen?”
“ Excuse me?” I felt my cheeks burn. “Nothing is going to happen between us. I don’t like you, especially like that!” I crossed my arms defiantly.
“ Don’t get your—ehem—panties in a bunch.” My eyes widened as he continued, “By ‘magic’ I’m referring to your computer magic. There’s plenty of time for that later.” He smiled wickedly as he approached me.
“ I hate you. You know that, right?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“ I’m aware.” He gave me a tight smile, and my heart quickened. I pushed myself off the counter and almost ran into him. He swept his hand to the side as if to say “Lead the way.” So I did. We went up to my room; I went in as he leaned against the door frame.
“ This is the room you have to be invited into?” I asked, astonished.
“ I am a gentleman.” He nodded.
“ Come in. What do you want to talk about? I haven’t started the website, so we can pretty much start from scratch.” I looked over my printed notes as I spoke. He slid into the seat next to me and set the flash drive on the desk. I paused and looked at it.
“ I think we should mix the music together. Moving the guitars around is not mixing, and in doing so, you made my vocals sound awful!”
“ Your vocals?” I asked sharply, watching my image of the steamy lead singer shatter like broken glass and fall away.
“ Yes. My vocals.” He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Why?”
“ What did I do so wrong?” I asked, avoiding the question and fighting the blush that was creeping over my cheeks.
“ Well, for one, you made it all off balance; I had to scratch everything you did. We aren’t professionals, but we should be able to add depth and clarity.” He took over my mouse and began mixing the song. It looked like he was doing the same thing I had the day before, but when he played it, he was right. It sounded a hundred times better.
“ We’re going to sell this on iTunes,” he proclaimed. “It has to be perfect.” He leaned into the computer, and I found myself leaning in too. I watched what he did; he didn’t just adjust the beginning of the song, but all the way through. It made a difference. We worked for the rest of the afternoon. He’d mix as I listened, and vice versa. He’d pace as I moved the dials with my mouse. If I said a word, he’d shush me. That was a bit annoying. When my parents got home, they met Chase, and, of course, we worked with the bedroom door open. My parents were cool, but I think coming home to their daughter in her closed-off bedroom with a boy would have given my dad a stroke and my mom her first grey hair.
“ Where did you record this? It sounds so good to begin with,” I asked, as I played with the same hook over and over trying to get it just right.
“ My house, basement has good acoustics,” he said as he put his hand over mine and moved the mouse to just the right spot. He hit play but left his hand there as we both listened to the entire song. “That is perfection.” We were finally finished with the first song.
“
“ What?” I squared my shoulders and put my hand on my hip.
“ We have work to do.” Chase pushed the door open and passed me as he entered. “Nice digs,” he said, as he popped his head into the living room and dining room. I followed him to the kitchen. Wait, how did he know where I lived?
“ I thought vampires had to be invited in,” I mumbled.
“ Right,” he said, as he opened the refrigerator and helped himself to one of my dad’s bottled coffees. He leaned against the counter and surveyed me in a way that made me a bit anxious. Finally, he asked, “Where does the magic happen?”
“ Excuse me?” I felt my cheeks burn. “Nothing is going to happen between us. I don’t like you, especially like that!” I crossed my arms defiantly.
“ Don’t get your—ehem—panties in a bunch.” My eyes widened as he continued, “By ‘magic’ I’m referring to your computer magic. There’s plenty of time for that later.” He smiled wickedly as he approached me.
“ I hate you. You know that, right?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“ I’m aware.” He gave me a tight smile, and my heart quickened. I pushed myself off the counter and almost ran into him. He swept his hand to the side as if to say “Lead the way.” So I did. We went up to my room; I went in as he leaned against the door frame.
“ This is the room you have to be invited into?” I asked, astonished.
“ I am a gentleman.” He nodded.
“ Come in. What do you want to talk about? I haven’t started the website, so we can pretty much start from scratch.” I looked over my printed notes as I spoke. He slid into the seat next to me and set the flash drive on the desk. I paused and looked at it.
“ I think we should mix the music together. Moving the guitars around is not mixing, and in doing so, you made my vocals sound awful!”
“ Your vocals?” I asked sharply, watching my image of the steamy lead singer shatter like broken glass and fall away.
“ Yes. My vocals.” He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Why?”
“ What did I do so wrong?” I asked, avoiding the question and fighting the blush that was creeping over my cheeks.
“ Well, for one, you made it all off balance; I had to scratch everything you did. We aren’t professionals, but we should be able to add depth and clarity.” He took over my mouse and began mixing the song. It looked like he was doing the same thing I had the day before, but when he played it, he was right. It sounded a hundred times better.
“ We’re going to sell this on iTunes,” he proclaimed. “It has to be perfect.” He leaned into the computer, and I found myself leaning in too. I watched what he did; he didn’t just adjust the beginning of the song, but all the way through. It made a difference. We worked for the rest of the afternoon. He’d mix as I listened, and vice versa. He’d pace as I moved the dials with my mouse. If I said a word, he’d shush me. That was a bit annoying. When my parents got home, they met Chase, and, of course, we worked with the bedroom door open. My parents were cool, but I think coming home to their daughter in her closed-off bedroom with a boy would have given my dad a stroke and my mom her first grey hair.
“ Where did you record this? It sounds so good to begin with,” I asked, as I played with the same hook over and over trying to get it just right.
“ My house, basement has good acoustics,” he said as he put his hand over mine and moved the mouse to just the right spot. He hit play but left his hand there as we both listened to the entire song. “That is perfection.” We were finally finished with the first song.
“
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