Screaming girls fill the entire arena; some hold up signs with vulgar sayings, others are wearing little to no clothing, dancing along to the band playing on stage. I make my way through the crowd of girls, getting lost in the middle of it all. As soon as I make it toward the front of the stage, I looked up at Aaron, playing his guitar and singing his number one hit single. I shout his name, but he doesn’t look down. He doesn’t hear me, no matter how loud I scream for him.
“Mollie!” I shot up from my bed in a panic, taking a deep breath before gathering myself. “It’s time to wake up for school!” I sighed, getting up from my bed and throwing my uniform on, followed by a zip-up hoodie. I looked in the mirror, noticing the beast that is my hair at its current state. It’s a ponytail type of day.
I walked down the stairs, seeing Milo sitting at the kitchen table.
“Thanks for the breakfast, Lydia,” Milo said to my mom. She smiles, putting a second plate on the table.
“You’re welcome; Mol, breakfast.” I sit in the seat across from Milo as my mom left the kitchen, taking a call on her phone.
“You’re never here for breakfast,” I mentioned to Milo, cutting up a blueberry waffle on my plate. Milo chews what’s last of his.
“Your mom made waffles; she offered,” he said as he swallowed the last piece. “I can’t say no to your mom’s waffles.” I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t wrong.
“You’re usually not here this early for my mom to offer you breakfast is my point,” I emphasized, looking up from my plate. “You’re excited to get to school or something?”
“Anything to avoid taking Micah to school,” Milo scoffed, finishing up the last waffle on his plate. “But, I did tell Ver–Ronnie that I would meet her before the bell rings.
“Ronnie?” I questioned. “Since when you and Ron are meeting up before school to hang out?”
“She’s teaching me electric guitar.”
“Electric guitar?”
“Are you just repeating every word I say?” Milo deadpanned. I rolled my eyes, taking his and my plate from the table, placing them into the sink. We both walked into the living room area, saying bye to my mom as we left the house.
“Not every word, just the ones that don’t make sense,” I said, walking down the block towards the train station. “I didn’t think you guys were friends like that.”
“She’s cool,” Milo casually said, swiping his MetroCard at the turnstile. I hopped over it, watching Milo shake his head. “Better to learn something from a friend rather than my dad.”
“Why are you even learning how to play electric guitar? Aren’t the million other instruments enough?” Milo smiled, feeling flattered. “Unless you suck at all of them.” The smile vanished.
“I’m thinking about putting a band together or something,” Milo said. I stopped in my tracks, suspiciously looking at Milo as he turned around, looking at me with a confused look on his face. “What?”
“What; you’re looking to become the next Aaron Serrano or something?” I spat out. Aaron and his band out scouted at some showcase; coincidentally the one I missed due to a time conflict with my dance showcase. I wasn’t going to miss dance, but something told me I was going to regret that decision that night. Now, Aaron Serrano is the epitome of making it big from Waverly, and anything that remotely sound like the word “band” irked my nerves.
“He didn’t invent the concept of having a band, Mol,” he corrected me, walking towards the Manhattan-bound train platform. “Besides, doing something outside of school would better my chances of getting into Juilliard.”
“We just started junior year–“
“But this is the year that they look at on college applications,” Milo said, holding onto the bar in the train. I looked around the crowded train cart; some people are going to the city for work, and others are students going to school. I noticed one guy sitting in one of the seats, the guy with the wavy, dirty blonde hair and the blue eyes. He was scrolling through his phone, listening to music with wired headphones. The new kid.
I quickly found out that the new kid is a vocal major, and Mr. Kamalani put him as a baritone, aka directly behind the first and second soprano section. He had an unique color in his voice; one to hit all of the sharp notes on the bass clef. He was able to keep up with the music, which threw me off considering he’s sitting in a choir class that’s been together for almost three years. It was something about him that was intriguing to me. I found myself staring for way too long, blocking anything external happening.
“Mol,” Milo called out. I turned my head, looking back at Milo.
“Huh?”
“Were you even listening to me?” He asked, annoyed now.
“Something about a band?” I turned my head back toward that kid. Fuck, what was his name? Hudson? Jackson? I know it ends in ‘son.”
“Do you remember that kid’s name, by the way?” I asked Milo. He looked in the direction I was facing, trying to find the guy.
“There’s like 80 people on this cart,” Milo answered, discouraged. “Which one?”
“Nevermind,” I said, turning my head, glancing at him.
…
“So,” I began to say to Ronnie as we walked down the hallway together. “Milo mentioned you’re teaching him guitar.”
“Electric guitar,” she corrected me. “He said his dad is forcing him to learn for college, or something like that.”
“I didn’t even know you knew how to play electric guitar,” I said, feeling slightly betrayed. “Why haven’t I ever seen you play but Milo has?”
“Milo hasn’t seen me play,” she corrected me once again. “He asked me if I knew more than just the saxophone. Why are you asking me all these questions about Milo?”
“I don’t know, possibly because my two best friends didn’t tell me that they were secretly hanging out.” I answered, crossing my arms along my chest.
“Dude, it’s just Milo.”
“Are you charging him for teaching you?”
“What?” Ronnie laughed, shaking her head. “For a guy that’s like… your nephew, you sure are hard on him.” I looked at Ronnie as we walked, shocked that she knew that information. I never told her about Milo and I’s family relationship.
“Don’t ever say that out loud,” I scolded her, finally reaching to our lockers. Ronnie laughed it off as if it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing for anyone to know. “Did he tell you why he wanted you to teach him electric guitar besides Mr. Kamalani making him?”
Ronnie shrugged her shoulders. “He wanted to make a band.” A band.
“Oh, so he’s also brought up that ridiculous idea up to you too?” I scoffed, grabbing my books for my next class. I shut my locker closed, noticing the perplexed look on Ronnie’s face. “What?”
“I don’t think it’s that ridiculous,” she commented, looking at me. “I think it’s a dope idea.”
“I don’t know what is up with everyone thinking starting a band is going to make them this big star,” I vented, even more annoyed. “One dude from Waverly makes it big, and all of sudden they wanna do what he did–“
“‘One dude’?”
“One. Dude.” I sternly said. I refused to say his name for the second time today. “You should tell Milo to save his breath if he thinks starting a band is his answer to fame. Clearly, he won’t listen to me–“
“Maybe you should hear him out,” Ronnie said, stopping in front of her next class. “Instead of being so against the idea, maybe just listen to his idea for the band?” I squinted my eyes, feeling suspicious now. Ronnie walked into her class nonchalantly, as if she didn’t just side with the guy she hated sophomore year.
“Mollie,” I heard Ronnie’s voice outside of my bedroom door. “Your mom let me in. You can’t spend your entire summer cooped up in your room!” I turned around, letting go of my favorite plushie and wiping the tears from my face. “Mol!” I sighed, dragging my feet toward my bedroom door and unlocking it. I don’t greet Ronnie; I just let her walk in my room.
I plopped back down on my bed while she observed my room. “It fucking stinks in here.”
“So what,” I said in my pillow. I feel Ronnie grab me by my shirt, pulling me up from the bed. “Dude–“
“I understand you’re heartbroken–“
“You don’t,” I cut her off. “You didn’t spend the last two years with a guy you were in love with!”
“That’s because I refuse to let a boy make me feel like this,” she said, pointing at me. “But breaking up sucks, especially if it was someone you spent so much of your time with.”
“I can’t believe he chose his band over me,” I vent out loud. “The band that I sang lead for!”
“Your mom wouldn’t have let you drop out of school to sing in Aaron’s band,” Ronnie tried to reason with me. “Besides, would you have been happy on the road with a bunch of guys–“
“I would’ve been with my boyfriend, Ron!” I cried out loud, sobbing at this point. “I would’ve gone with him because I love him!”
“I know you do,” Ronnie said, coming over to me for a hug. “But would you had been happy? Living someone else’s dream just because you love them?” I pulled back from the hug, looking at Ronnie. I took a moment to reflect, thinking before answering her.
She pulled my curly locks away from my face, grabbing a tissue from my nightstand. “Think about it. Your dream isn’t to be a lead singer in your boyfriend’s band. Your dream is to dance professionally, make a name for yourself. Be a household name for dancing. Would you have given that up for love?”
I sighed, finally out of tears to cry out. I wiped my face with the tissue, catching my breath. I looked over at Ronnie feeling like I could breathe.
“I feel stupid for loving him,” I began to say. “I should’ve listened to Milo.”
“Milo?” Ronnie asked.
“He said Aaron was only using me for his own personal gain. I guess there’s some truth in that.” I scoffed.
“Milo’s an idiot,” Ronnie defended. “He said what he said because he didn’t like Aaron, and because he was too busy with his girlfriend. Aaron loved you, Mol.”
Before I turn away from Ronnie’s class, I bumped into someone, dropping nearly all of my books on the ground.
“I’m so sorry,” A guy’s voice said. I looked up, noticing the wavy, dirty blonde hair. He looks up at me, and there go the blue eyes.
“You’re fine,” I said, not realizing just how flirtatious that was. “I mean–you’re good.” He smiled at me, piercing me with his eyes.
“You’re in vocal, right?” the boy asked. “Sorry, that came out kind of creepy.”
“No no,” I laughed it off, waving my hand to dismiss it. “I mean, I am. You’re new here, right?”
“What gave it away?” he said, waving the school map in his hand. I laughed, enjoying this conversation.
“I would’ve known you if you weren’t,” I said in a slightly more flirtatious way. He smiled, revealing his face dimples. Gosh. “I’m Mollie.”
“Nice to formally meet you, Mollie,” the guy said. “I’m Weston–“
“Weston!” I said out loud, placing my palm on my forehead. “I knew it ended in some sort of -son!” Weston laughed, followed with a tight smile. “Sorry, that was weird. I couldn’t remember your name for the life of me.”
“You could’ve just asked me,” Weston mentioned. The final bell rings, in which Mr. Abrams stands outside the doorway of his classroom looking in our direction.
“Mr. Ashmore; Ms. Castro,” he said, crossing his arms. “Come on now, you’re late!” Weston was the first to begin walking as I watched him. Weston Ashmore. What a name.
Letters From Liz. 