singing, doing all of that alone. But right now, I couldn’t think of anything cooler than making it with people.
I gave them a small smile. “I’ll take you up on the jam offer, but I’m reserving my right to make sure you don’t suck before I answer the band offer,” I teased.
Sam pushed up rapidly off the chair, jostling me slightly as he stood. “Let’s get to it.” He was gone and at the drum set before I could even stand.
Wyatt winked and ambled over to a guitar case.
Noah gave me a warm smile that would have melted me had I not already been transfixed by another bad boy. “Welcome to the madhouse. Just a warning, once you’re in, you’ll never get rid of them.” He nodded to the boys. “Believe me, I’ve tried,” he joked, his eyes warm.
I smiled back, and before I knew it, they had me situated in front of a mic and we were singing. Each song melted into another as we seamlessly played together like it was natural, like we had for years.
Boom.
A band was born.
I had a sort of psychic power. Well, not psychic, exactly. I couldn’t read minds or move objects with the power of thought. I couldn’t tell the future either. I could see what songs people needed. I believed in the power of music. To inspire, to communicate, to elate, to bring down, and... to cure. A good song, a song that spoke to your soul, could sometimes help repair a broken soul. Or at least act to soften the sharp edges.
So that’s why I sang Cat Power’s “The Greatest” in the garage Mom had helped me convert into a practice space for our newly formed band.
It had been a whirlwind since the Wednesday our little band was born. It seemed I’d spent every spare second with boys who were quickly becoming my best friends along with bandmates. After school, study periods, and lunch breaks were dedicated to playing. I loved it.
I thought I’d discovered the power, the beauty of music. Playing on my own with my guitar was one thing, but playing as part of an entire whole, playing with people who had the same passion as me was amazing.
It was then I realized that was exactly what I wanted to do. For the rest of my life, I wanted to make music.
It was a helpful distraction from the fact I hadn’t seen nor heard from Killian since Tuesday.
Our school was small, the chances of me bumping into him should have been high, but considering he wasn’t in any of my classes and I spent all of my time practicing with the boys, I guessed it wasn’t implausible I hadn’t seen him. I had searched the cafeteria for his tall, leather-clad, and utterly delicious form without luck. I didn’t have much time to actually look for him, considering we only were in there long enough for the boys to scarf down food and then we went to the auditorium to practice.
Though we had needed a real practice space considering Mr. Hazelton had found us on Friday when we were playing on a study break. We all happened to have study breaks together. Well, apart from Sam, but he declared he would rather “listen to Justin Bieber on repeat for the rest of my life instead of going to History class.”
We had just finished a set that was fricking awesome, if I did say so myself, when Mr. Hazelton revealed himself, arms crossed and face pinched.
“Oh shit,” Sam muttered from beside me.
“What do you think you’re doing in here?” Mr. Hazelton snapped, addressing all of us.
“Um, hate to point out the obvious, Mr. Hazelton, but we’re playing music. Practicing for our band’s grand future,” Sam drawled, grinning slightly.
Mr. Hazelton was not impressed. “I can see what you’re doing, Mr. Kennedy,” he snapped.
“Well, why did he ask?” Sam muttered under his breath.
Mr. Hazelton narrowed his eyes. “I can see what you’re doing, but I’m lost as to the reason why you think it’s an appropriate use of school property and your time,” he continued sharply. “School is for bettering yourself, for making your future.” He ran his gaze
I gave them a small smile. “I’ll take you up on the jam offer, but I’m reserving my right to make sure you don’t suck before I answer the band offer,” I teased.
Sam pushed up rapidly off the chair, jostling me slightly as he stood. “Let’s get to it.” He was gone and at the drum set before I could even stand.
Wyatt winked and ambled over to a guitar case.
Noah gave me a warm smile that would have melted me had I not already been transfixed by another bad boy. “Welcome to the madhouse. Just a warning, once you’re in, you’ll never get rid of them.” He nodded to the boys. “Believe me, I’ve tried,” he joked, his eyes warm.
I smiled back, and before I knew it, they had me situated in front of a mic and we were singing. Each song melted into another as we seamlessly played together like it was natural, like we had for years.
Boom.
A band was born.
I had a sort of psychic power. Well, not psychic, exactly. I couldn’t read minds or move objects with the power of thought. I couldn’t tell the future either. I could see what songs people needed. I believed in the power of music. To inspire, to communicate, to elate, to bring down, and... to cure. A good song, a song that spoke to your soul, could sometimes help repair a broken soul. Or at least act to soften the sharp edges.
So that’s why I sang Cat Power’s “The Greatest” in the garage Mom had helped me convert into a practice space for our newly formed band.
It had been a whirlwind since the Wednesday our little band was born. It seemed I’d spent every spare second with boys who were quickly becoming my best friends along with bandmates. After school, study periods, and lunch breaks were dedicated to playing. I loved it.
I thought I’d discovered the power, the beauty of music. Playing on my own with my guitar was one thing, but playing as part of an entire whole, playing with people who had the same passion as me was amazing.
It was then I realized that was exactly what I wanted to do. For the rest of my life, I wanted to make music.
It was a helpful distraction from the fact I hadn’t seen nor heard from Killian since Tuesday.
Our school was small, the chances of me bumping into him should have been high, but considering he wasn’t in any of my classes and I spent all of my time practicing with the boys, I guessed it wasn’t implausible I hadn’t seen him. I had searched the cafeteria for his tall, leather-clad, and utterly delicious form without luck. I didn’t have much time to actually look for him, considering we only were in there long enough for the boys to scarf down food and then we went to the auditorium to practice.
Though we had needed a real practice space considering Mr. Hazelton had found us on Friday when we were playing on a study break. We all happened to have study breaks together. Well, apart from Sam, but he declared he would rather “listen to Justin Bieber on repeat for the rest of my life instead of going to History class.”
We had just finished a set that was fricking awesome, if I did say so myself, when Mr. Hazelton revealed himself, arms crossed and face pinched.
“Oh shit,” Sam muttered from beside me.
“What do you think you’re doing in here?” Mr. Hazelton snapped, addressing all of us.
“Um, hate to point out the obvious, Mr. Hazelton, but we’re playing music. Practicing for our band’s grand future,” Sam drawled, grinning slightly.
Mr. Hazelton was not impressed. “I can see what you’re doing, Mr. Kennedy,” he snapped.
“Well, why did he ask?” Sam muttered under his breath.
Mr. Hazelton narrowed his eyes. “I can see what you’re doing, but I’m lost as to the reason why you think it’s an appropriate use of school property and your time,” he continued sharply. “School is for bettering yourself, for making your future.” He ran his gaze
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