Category: The Junior Journals.

It’s been weird coming to the West Wing rooms for practice ever since Aaron left Waverly. I remember most of my freshman year practically living in these rooms; practicing for his band and then rehearsing for school performances with the choir. We spent hours chatting and spending time with each other in these rooms, so needless to say being in one for the first time this year was… a lot.

A knock is heard on the door, assuming that it was Milo looking to practice for Mr. Kamalani’s quartet’s next period. I opened the door and to my surprise, it’s Weston.

“My fault,” Weston quickly said. “The secretary must’ve gave me the wrong room number to practice.”

“Ms. Janice is always giving out the wrong rooms,” I commented. “You’re here to practice for vocal?”

“Yeah, I figured to stop by here and skip lunch to get this song memorized,” he said, holding up his music binder. I opened the door wide for him to enter.

“Well you’re in luck; I’m also rehearsing for the shitshow Mr. Kamalani puts us through,” I joked as I welcomed him into the room. He smiled as he walked in, placing his things on the chair next to mine.

“Is it really that bad?” Weston asked.

“For me, no; other people in the class say otherwise.”

“So what you’re saying is that quartets aren’t as scary as everyone make it out to be?”

“I didn’t say that, I’m just good at what I do.” I smiled, only half joking with that statement. “What song is tripping you up the most?”

“Qui Tollis is driving me mad,” he answered, flipping through his music binder. He wasn’t kidding; his sheet music for that song has notes written all over it. “It’s like I can’t hear this baritone line for nothing when the first sopranos are screaming at the top of their lungs–“

“Hey, hey; there shall be no slander towards first sopranos,” I interrupted, smiling. “You’re talking to one right now–“

“You actually sing,” Weston emphasized. I feel my face getting warm, a little taken back. How would he know who’s singing the correct note? “You’re the only one that actually sings the note.”

“How would you know if it’s me or not?”

“Because if my note on the bass clef is a C, the first sopranos are singing the same note on the treble clef, just in the appropriate octave.”

“So you know your shit,” I commented, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll be fine then for Mr. Kamalani’s quartets.” It was nice talking to someone that actually knew what they were talking about in vocal; even more so, someone that was easy to talk to. I sat down in the chair next to Weston. “Did you study vocal back in San Francisco?” He shook his head.

“My mom put me and my brother in theatre as kids, but I was the one that stayed with it,” Weston answered, seeming to get comfortable in his seat. “I sang in an all boys choir in catholic school.”

“You were a catholic school kid? Dude.” I couldn’t help but laugh; he didn’t look like the kind of guy that grew up in a catholic school.

“I know,” Weston protested, raising his hands up. “Would not recommend it. Thankfully when I went into 9th grade, my family had to move and my brother and I were able to experience real school.

“How’d you handle it?”

“My brother, Mason, was able to adjust pretty quickly. He was always the popular one,” Weston explained. “I liked to be in my own space.”

“I get it,” I said, now getting comfortable in my own seat. “I’m the youngest of three in my family, but the age gap is so far apart that I spent a lot of my time either by myself, or hanging out with my best friend.”

“But something tells me you’re not so introverted,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re very outspoken in vocal class.”

“That’s because I’ve been singing with these people since freshman year.”

“If you were introverted, you wouldn’t have invited me into your rehearsal space.” I looked at Weston, now being the one raising an eyebrow, leaning back in my seat.

“I like you,” I said out loud. “You’re pretty cool, is what I mean–“

“You too,” Weston replied, smiling at me.

…

“Alright class,” Mr. Kamalani said, quieting the class down. I sat down in my seat, turning around to see Weston. He looks at me and smiles; I return one back. “I am going to start calling up random people in each section and test your knowledge on the pieces for the showcase.” Everyone sucked their teeth, not amused by today’s class lesson plan. “When I call your name, please come up to the front of the room without your sheet music.” The room went silent, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at my classmates. I looked over at Milo who, strangely enough, was texting someone on his phone underneath his desk. The last thing I wanted was for Mr. Kamalani to catch him, especially since we had plans after school to hang out.

“Milo,” I called out in a whisper. “Milo–“

“Ms. Castro,” Mr. Kamalani said. “Seems like you have better things to do than to listen to instructions.”

“I know my music,” I confidently said.

“Wow, talk about modesty,” Laurie added.

“Fuck off, Whore-ie,” I spat back as the class reacted.

“Enough,” Mr. Kamalani demanded. “Ms. Castro, first soprano–“

“What–“

“Ms. Humphries, alto–“

“Mr. Kamalani, really?” I stood up, from my seat.

“Ms. Castro, did I not say I’m calling random people up for quartets?” he asked, looking in my direction. When I didn’t answer, he turned his head towards the tenors and of course, Milo is still underneath his desk texting someone. “Mr. Kamalani, tenor–“

“What?” Milo finally looked up from his desk.

“Perhaps if you were paying attention, you’d know what we were doing today.” Mr. Kamalani said. I slowly walk to the front of the room with Milo.

“Dude, what are you even doing?” I whispered to Milo. “You know that’s fuel for your dad–“

“And Mr. Ashmore, baritone.” I watched Weston nervously get up from his seat, and finding a place at the end of the line. The four of us stood up at the front of the room, waiting for Mr. Kamalani to pick the song to test us in.

“Alleluja”, Mr. Kamalani said. Fuck this fuck-ass song. I looked at Milo, looking down to the ground as the thoughts ran through his head. “One, two, three; one, two, three,” Mr. Kamalani counted us in for the song and we began singing. This song in particular has no singular part where all of us are singing in the same measure. so it was crucial that we knew our music perfectly.

We started singing the song; some nervous notes between the four of us definitely were made and heard. I kept looking over at Milo, barely singing any of his notes to the song. I could see Weston trying hard to hear Milo’s notes, as both the tenors and bass lines have similarities in this piece. Before we could even salvage the song, Mr. Kamalani abruptly stopped us.

“Stop, stop,” he said, sighing as he gets up from his seat. “What’s going on? We don’t know our music?” Before I could say anything, Weston is the first one to speak up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kamalani,” he began to say. “I was having a hard time finding the note and threw everyone else off.” I turned my head in his direction, not understanding why he’s taking the blame. Dude, it was Milo fucking us up. Mr. Kamalani stood in front of us, thinking before he spoke.

“I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Ashmore; for future reference, please make sure that your notes are all together, as one wrong note can throw the rest of the ensemble up.” Weston nodded his head nervously.

…

I decided that today was going to be a West Wing type of day, as I needed to get some work done for my classes. Of course, I was now expecting company during these type of days, and a knock is heard on the rehearsal door. I get up from my seat and opened it as Weston stood there smiling.

“Hey,” he greeted me before coming into the rehearsal room. “Ready for that U.S History exam tomorrow?”

“Wait, that’s tomorrow?” I asked.

“Mollie,” Weston said before snickering. “You need to be paying more attention in class.”

“I pay attention to the things that matter.”

“An exam is an important thing that matters, Mols,” Weston emphasized. I looked at him, not realizing just how long it’s been since someone called me Mols. Mols.

“My ex used to call me that,” I openly confessed without any repercussion. “Sorry; I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you or anything–“

“It’s okay,” Weston responded. “Is there a particular nickname you like to go by?”

“Technically, Mollie is the nickname,” I began to explain. “My full first name is Mollie Sue… hence why my ex called me Mols.”

“Mollie is good enough,” he said with a smile. Why was it so easy talking to this boy? What was it about him? “I don’t mind if you call me Wes, though. Sometimes it’s just easier to shorten it then say the entire thing.”

“Is that a nickname you would like to go by?”

“The thing is no one calls me that.”

“Then why offer it?” I laughed. Thankfully, he also laughed along.

“Maybe I’m trying to make it catch on!”

“Okay, Wes,” I teased. Weston shook his head as he smiled, flipping through the pages of his textbook. “By the way,” I began to say. “Why did you take the blame?”

“Take the blame?” He asked. He genuinely seemed confused.

“For the quartet. Why’d you take the blame?”

“I genuinely messed up–“

“You didn’t.” I simply stated. I stared at him as he stared at me. We both know you didn’t fuck up that quartet.

“I know it was Milo,” Weston confessed. “He started the note on the wrong measure. I didn’t want his dad to call him out on it in front of the class.”

“You know Milo?” I asked. “How do you know him?”

“He sat at my lunch table one day,” he began to explain. “He seems pretty cool.”

“Milo’s my best friend,” I stated. “His dad and my oldest sister are married.” It was something I normally didn’t share with people, but there was something about Weston that I was able to trust. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

He nodded before sighing. “I figured I’d take the blame since I’m fairly new, y’know?”

“I get it, but don’t let him slide,” I spat back, raising an eyebrow. “He knows better than that. You want me to yell at him?”

“No, no,” Weston said as he laughed. “But I appreciate the support.” I smiled at Weston before he looked back down to his binder, flipping through the pages in it. Weston was mysterious in an open way, if that makes sense. He feels familiar, like I’ve known him in some past time, yet he feels refreshing; something I haven’t felt in a really long time.

“Mollie.”

“Huh?” I snapped out of thought.

“Let’s study for that U.S. History exam you were so excited about that you forgot ’bout it,” Weston teased. I rolled my eyes and smiled, taking my binder out from my bag.

I passionately grab the nape of Sophie’s neck and kiss her, hearing her moan as I bite down on her lip. My hands travel down her spine, unhooking her bra from the back. She’s tugging at the belt buckle of my pants eagerly.

“Soph,” I say in between kisses. “Slow down a bit.” She continued kissing me, tugging at every piece of clothing on my body. She was more aggressive than what I was used to, and the longer she demanded me to undress, the more turned off I was getting.

I slightly push her away from me, looking at her in the eyes. “Sophie.”

“What?”

“For fuck’s sake, you’re acting like an animal today,” I lightly joked, trying to read the expression on her face. “What’s up with you today?”

“Is it a crime to want to be intimate with your boyfriend?” She asked back. I scoffed, not really believing what she was saying.

“Not at all, but damn; you walked into the door less than 5 minutes ago and we’re both halfway naked.” Sophie looked at me as her face began turning red. She seemed uncomfortable. “My family is out for the entire day, so it’s not like we have to rush to be out of–“

Sophie’s cellphone rings, and she turns her head toward it. I couldn’t help but look at the screen, noticing Allen’s name across it.

“Hey, Ali.” Ali. He gave him a nickname. “Yeah, I’ll meet you at Grand Army Plaza in about 20 minutes, then we can go to Juilliard for class.” She smiles as she speaks to him, something that immediately angered me. “Text me when you get there.” She hung up the phone and looked at me; that smile quickly fades.

“That explains a lot,” I said, getting up from my bed, grabbing the t-shirt that Sophie flung across the room.

“Juilliard has taken up so much of my free time that I figured I’d do both,” Sophie admitted, sitting at the edge of my bed.

“So, you figured you could come here, have a quickie, and then run out to your class?” I stated out loud more than questioned. I knew that was what she was thinking of doing, considering the fact that this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this.

“Well when you put it like that, it makes it sound horrible,” Sophie said, grabbing her shirt from the floor and quickly puts it on. “I wanted to see you before class today. I had a lot going on with the program and wanted just a moment to decompress with you.” She seemed sad, and I hate that she felt ashamed that she couldn’t just tell me how she was feeling.

“Scout,” I sighed. I walked towards my bed, sitting next to her and placed my hand on her thigh. “You know you could just talk to me… let me know what’s going on–“

“We don’t ever get the chance to see each other these days because of me,” she admitted, looking down at her fidgeting hands. “I feel like whenever you’re free, I have class at Juilliard and whenever I’m free, you have dual major rehearsals.”

“I know we’ve been super busy lately, but I don’t want our time together to just be us making out or having sex. What we have is worth more than just that–”

And there it goes: the alarm on Sophie’s phone rings, and on the screen the alarm is labeled, “Juilliard”.

…

I saw Sophie sitting next to Allen and a couple of his friends at lunch today.

Mollie wasn’t in school, and I was too late getting the exact room I wanted in the West Wing to practice. The rest of the gang are on a field trip for I walked into the lunchroom, not really knowing where I wanted to sit. I used to sit with Sophie at her table last year. It felt like it was the first day of freshman year all over again, trying to find some vacant spot to sit without accidentally sitting in someone’s spot. Eventually, I opted to sit at the table closest to the exit; aka the table everyone tends to avoid. Yet, there’s one person already sitting there.

“Hey,” I said to the guy sitting at the table. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Nah bro, you’re good,” the guy said, moving his things closer to his side. I sat down with my lunch tray, eating with a complete stranger during the period I should be hanging out with my friends. “Is this normally where you sit? I could–“

“Nah, I don’t; I’m usually not in the lunchroom during lunch,” I began to explain. “Just needed to find a spot for today.” I look behind the guy toward the other tables, noticing Sophie and Allen sitting next to each other rather closely. I could feel my face getting hot and my temper short-circuited. I looked away quickly, back at the guy sitting across from me. He’s reading some sort of book as he eats his lunch.

“You got a quiz on that book for English class?” I asked, trying to create some sort of small talk. The guy looked up, folding the book forward to reveal the cover. It reads The Likeness by Tana French.

“Oh no, this is a book I’m reading in my spare time,” he answered, placing an index card to mark the page he was on. “I had read the first book over the summer and got the rest of the series to read.”

“Oh…cool…” I said, not really interested in discussing book plots. “Do you always read during lunch period?”

“Nah, the people I usually hang out with are absent,” he mentioned, putting the book away in his bag. “Just thought about killing some time before vocal class next period.”

“You’re a vocal major?” I asked, genuinely surprised. “Freshman?”

“Junior,” he corrected me. “I just started here at Waverly.”

“Wait, that means you’re also in my vocal class,” I said out loud, beginning to put two-and-two together.

“You do look familiar,” the guy said, looking at me now. “No offense, but you look like Mr. Kamalani.”

“That’s because he’s my dad,” I said, not even phased by the observation. His eyes widened, shocked over the newfound information.

“Dude, I’m sorry,” he scoffed. I laughed, shaking my head as I always do when I give that information out to people. “I know you probably are sick of people pointing it out.”

“In the beginning; yeah, but this far down the line I’m just like whatever about it,” I said, eating my lunch. “He actually failed me for a marking period last year.”

“That had to be hella awkward.” Hella. Where is this dude from?

“It was more awkward having my step mom come up for parent teacher conference because of that,” I said, remembering the sheer panic on my dad’s face seeing Jennifer walk into his classroom. “I’m Milo, by the way.”

“Weston,” the guy said, smiling as he greeted me. Before I can say anything else, I hear a loud noise from across the lunchroom. In true, Laurie fashion, she’s terrorizing Sophie, just having knocked over her things on the table. Coincidentally, Allen was not with her at the moment.

“It was nice meeting you,” I quickly said, grabbing my things quickly. I rushed to where Sophie was sitting. The group of girls laugh as Sophie kneels down to get her things from the floor.

“Grow the fuck up already, Laurie,” I said, kneeling in front of Sophie. She looks up, not saying anything to me.

“Wow; didn’t expect you to be the one sticking up for her.” What does that even mean? “Where’s your little boy toy, Allen?”

“Shut up!” Sophie gets up from the ground and pushes Laurie. The other girls begin to throw punches at her. I immediately jumped in front of her, trying to keep all the girls away from Sophie.

“Get the fuck out of here!” I said, pushing the other girls away. When a lunch aide finally comes to stop things from getting too serious, Laurie quickly picks up Sophie’s bow for her violin up, snapping it in half.

“Bitch,” she says as one of the school security guards blocks her vision. Before I could turn to Sophie, she’s already running out of the lunchroom, and into the West Wing. My body immediately runs after her.

“Sophie!” I called out in the hallway. “Sophie, wait–“

“What were you even trying to do?!” Sophie scolded.

I was confused. “I was trying to save you from getting beat on my four girls–“

“I don’t need your help!”

“She broke your bow, for fuck’s sake!” I angrily said. “We have a rehearsal for the showcase 8th period and you’re now out of a bow for your violin.” Mr. Harrison made it very clear during freshman year that reeds, mouthpieces, and bows were always required for rehearsals, and if we didn’t have one during a rehearsal, we would be forced to sit on the side while everyone practiced. Sophie knew this, and it seems like she was freaking out more about the fact that it was me that stood up to Laurie and those girls; not Allen.

“That has nothing to do with you.” She swallowed hard, walking away from me. I stood there, watching her body leave through the exit doors of the West Wing, as if that wasn’t the same body I used to hug, kiss, and caress just a couple of months ago. How the hell did we go from being lovers to complete strangers?

Even more so: when did we go from being lovers to enemies?

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.

The last thing I expected on a Friday night was to come across this huge box of paper I saved from the past three years.

I sat on the ground of my room, looking through each piece of paper that poured out of that box. I couldn’t help but remember everything about the context of these papers. I kept them all.

Many of them were flirty and playful; a side of Sophie that no one got to see but me. The first time Sophie was openly flirtatious with me, documented on these papers that we would pass along to each other in band class. That was the one time Sophie and I got caught passing notes.

“Milo, Sophie; please stay in your class after class,” Mr. Harrison said as he crumbled the piece of paper in his hands and tossed it in the trash can next to his desk. “May I remind the class that we have a competition at the end of the week, and that any distractions during our rehearsals will not be tolerated.” I felt my ears get hot, and I can only imagine Sophie was internally freaking out. I looked over at her, and can confirm that she was.

I shuffled through the other pieces of paper, and came across another conversation exchange; this one not so cheerful as the first one. It was the conversation about the Julliard program she was in, and how little time we had spent together that specific week.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” Sophie’s note read. “This is an opportunity of a lifetime and you’re acting like since you’re not in the program that it’s useless.”

“Do you really believe that?” I wrote back. “You think I’m jealous of you being in the program and not me? That’s not even close to the truth and you know that, Soph.”

Soph. Not Scout; but Soph. I was angry at her that day. I shoved that note back in the box, not wanting to remember how the rest of that conversation went. I skimmed through the box one last time and came across a note entitled, “For the greatest boyfriend ever.” I don’t open it to read it; I know exactly what it read. It was one of the notes that I read back frequently when we were dating, just as a reminder how I was dating the greatest girlfriend ever.

My bedroom door opened, which startled me at first. I sighed when I realized it was Mollie.

“For fuck’s sake, Mol,” I said, shoving the box back in my closet. “You could’ve knocked first.” Mollie stood there, looking toward my closet. She knew exactly what I was doing. “I was cleaning out my closet–“

“You say that every time you go through that box,” Mollie said, entering my room to sit on my desk chair. “When are you going to get rid of it?”

“Huh?”

“The box,” Mollie emphasized. “When are you finally going to let go of your past?” I got up from the floor, and sat on the edge of my bed, facing Mollie.

“You know, for someone that had their heart ripped out their chest this summer, you sure are over your relationship with Aaron.”

“I grieve differently,” Mollie immediately answered. “But one thing that’s universal is that if you keep the shit that reminds you of that pain, you get stuck in that same cycle.” Mollie shifted in her seat, as if she wasn’t finish making her point. “Also, my relationship with Aaron wasn’t as… intense as yours was with Sophie.”

I was confused. “Intense?”

“You and Sophie were crazy into each other; Aaron was more into his band than he like to admit.” Mollie’s tough exterior began to crack, falling in the same trap I constantly put myself in when thinking about Sophie.

“Does it ever get easier?” I asked. Mollie tilted her head.

“You want the truth, or a lie?” she asked back. I smiled, nodding my head.

“Forget that I asked.”

…

Later that day, I opened my closet and saw the box on the ground, shoved behind various other things laying on the ground. Before I even had the chance to pick it up and skim through it again, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. My dad opens it as I looked in his direction.

“You have a friend waiting for you downstairs,” he said. “Ronnie.” Ronnie?

I closed the closet door and walked out of my room, heading towards the back door, towards the studio downstairs. Ronnie turned around when she heard the backdoor open.

“Jesus,” she said, holding her chest with her hand. “You scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know you lived in a fun house.”

I smiled. “Hey; nice to see you too.” Ronnie playfully rolled her eyes as she set down her guitar case on the ground. I completely forgot we agreed on guitar lessons today. I walked over to the closet, pulling out a chair and a music stand for Ronnie. She stood there as she watched.

“I didn’t realize your family had a studio installed in your house,” Ronnie commented. “You must live in here.”

“It’s my stepmom’s studio,” I began to explain. “She’s the owner of the academy Mollie dances for.”

“Your stepmom is Mollie’s oldest sister?” she asked seemingly surprised. I sighed as I came back with another chair and music stand, placing it next to Ronnie.

“It’s a long story,” I simply said, grabbing my guitar from the closet. Ronnie observes the instrument as I walk back toward her. Her eyes widen, staring at me now.

“An Ibanez?” she said out loud.

“It’s my dad’s,” I said, not thinking much of it.

“Can’t lie, I thought Mr. Kamalani was just an old and corny ass vocal teacher,” Ronnie said. I laughed out loud, totally agreeing with her assumption. “But for him to own a vintage Ibanez guitar is badass.” I look at Ronnie putting out her electric guitar, a cherry red Yamaha model.

“Yamaha is pretty good,” I mentioned. “A classic instrument brand.”

“Eh, it’s good for casual play,” Ronnie said, tuning the strings before plugging it in to the amplifier. “So, where you wanna start?”

“Oh, uhm–“

“Like what do I teach Waverly’s most talented dual major student that he doesn’t already know,” she casually commented. I began to feel my ears get hot. Her compliment took me off-guard there for a moment.

“Not necessarily how to play,” I said as I cleared my throat, plugging in my electric guitar into my amplifier. “I just–” Before I can continue, I play an awkward note, not used to the tuning process of an electric guitar.

“Fuck’s sake, dude,” Ronnie said, immediately coming to me to tune the strings. I watched her as she put my electric guitar on, playing random chords for tuning. Why does she look ten times cooler with my guitar? I picked up her guitar and put it around me, getting her attention now. “What are you doing?”

“You play mine, I’ll play yours,” I suggested. She didn’t say much about to swap. I figured she wanted to play the Ibanez. “It’s not necessarily playing that’s hard, it’s more about the finger placement and style that gets me.”

“It’s a lot like playing piano,” Ronnie said, standing next to me now. “The finger placement for each chord just requires you to make sure that you’re on the right string rather than on the right key. As for style,” Ronnie began to shred a bunch of chords together. Damn. “That comes with drive and passion.”

“Really? It’s just that simple?”

“Learning to play is the easy part; playing with meaning isn’t,” Ronnie said. “Do you really want to play electric guitar?” I looked at her, not really knowing how to answer her. To be quite honest: it wasn’t a thought until I saw her with her electric guitar. “Milo?”

“Huh?” I snapped out of thought.

“Something tells me you really don’t wanna learn, and I’m not going to waste my time if that’s the case,” she said, beginning to take the guitar off.

“Wait,” I quickly protested without really knowing what to tell her. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn.”

“Then what is it?” Ronnie bluntly asked, cutting through the bullshit.

She would be the first person I’d admit this to; not even Mollie knows this. I sighed, sitting on the chair now. “I haven’t been passionate about playing music for some time now.”

“What does that even mean? You play music every day for school.”

“That’s… different. That’s just reading notes on sheet music and playing what’s on it,” I began to explain. I looked up at Ronnie as she stood there. “I haven’t had the passion the way I did before.” Ronnie raised her eyebrows, pulling the other chair in front of me and sat across from me with my guitar still around her neck.

“What changed?” she genuinely asked. “Dual majors don’t just lose their passion. They embody it; it’s why they’re there in the first place.”

“You’d be surprised how many dual majors are in the program simply because they play good,” I mentioned, looking at Ronnie. She seemed like she didn’t know that tidbit about the prestigious program.

“I mean, I’ve been there for the showcases; you’re definitely not one of them.” I smirked as I looked down at Ronnie’s guitar on my lap.

“That’s uncharacteristically sweet of you to say.” I responded.

“You still haven’t told me what changed,” Ronnie reminded me. Her exterior is definitely a lot thicker than I’m used to in these situations.

“Sophie,” I finally admitted.

“Your ex-girlfriend?” I nodded. “What about Sophie?”

“She’s been my muse since the beginning,” I vented out, thinking about the box of notes upstairs in my closet. “We connected through music and… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

“I get it,” Ronnie said, nodding her head. “Music needs to have meaning; what’s the point when it doesn’t?”

“Exactly,” I agreed, now looking at Ronnie. I didn’t realize she was looking directly at me, and I didn’t realize just how much her face softened. It was like she felt compassion, and actively listened to the words I was saying. It was nice to feel heard.

“But,” she continued to say. “Take this time as inspiration. You can find inspiration in everything for music. Just because you guys aren’t together, doesn’t mean you stop playing music. That shit is always gonna be with you.” I smiled at Ronnie, taking in her words; hearing someone else for the words they are saying.

“Thanks, Ronnie. I really needed to hear that.” She smiled back at me.

“Call me Vero,” she simply said. “Ronnie’s cool but I imagine that when I make it big in some band that ‘Vero’ would sound epic.” I laughed, leaning back in my chair.

“Oh yeah? You’re looking for all the fanboys to hang your posters on your wall?” I teased. Vero scoffed, playing a random chord on the guitar.

“More like begging me to sign their girlfriend’s boobs,” she teased back. I laughed, thinking about that scenario in my head. I looked at Vero, deep in thought. Her facial expression changed. “What?”

“You wanna make a band?” I asked with a smile on my face.

“A what?”

“A band. Let’s make up a band together.”

It got harder to write good music these days. I had a lot of things I needed to release, but it felt like they just didn’t want to reveal themselves to the world. The garbage can at the corner of the rehearsal room was now a hoop for the paper I crumbled up into a ball after every bad idea was written down.

I sighed, playing different chords on the guitar trying to get something down. I don’t know how my dad did this for years with his band growing up. What was his muse?

Before I could get any deeper in thought, I hear a knock on the rehearsal door. I sighed.

“It’s taken,” I shouted, continuing to play random chords. Someone still knocked on the door, which began to bother me. I got up from my seat, walking toward the door to open it.

“It’s taken–” I said before noticing Ronnie. She looked just as surprised to see me in this room. “Sorry, Ronnie. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“It’s cool; I thought Mollie was with you today,” she said. Before she could completely turn around, I cleared my throat to speak.

“You can still hang out if you want,” I suggested, opening the rehearsal door. Ronnie looked at me before looking inside the rehearsal room.

“Sure,” Ronnie began to say. “I don’t have anywhere else to be during lunch…” I closed the rehearsal room as Ronnie placed her things down on a seat. I walked back to where I was, picking up my guitar and playing random chords.

“Mr. Harrison has you already prepping stuff for the year?” she asked, opening her bookbag on her lap.

“No, no; I’m just playing random shit,” I said, putting the guitar down to face Ronnie. “My dad suggested that I pick up a new hobby this year. He said it’s important to have extracurricular activities on my college applications.”

“More activities? Isn’t being a dual major already enough to check that bullet point off?”

“You would think,” I scoffed, closing my notebook full of scribbled lyrics. “But if I’m planning to go to Juilliard or somewhere with a good music program, they want more than just what I do in school.”

“That’s stupid.” I couldn’t help but laugh at Ronnie’s straightforward answer. Ronnie had picked up a ton of Mollie’s lingo over the years, considering how much time they’ve spent together. In some way, Ronnie had become Mollie’s best friend in the time that she and I were not. If anything, I’m glad Mollie had Ronnie to lean on during that time.

“My dad suggested creating a band,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“A band? That’s original.”

“He had a band when he was my age; him and his friends did it so I guess he thinks it’ll work for me.”

“Who would you even include in this band? You’d need a drummer, a bassist, lead guitarist, main vocalist, a sound engineer–“

“Whoa there, Ron,” I stopped her, feeling anxious about the thought. “I’m not committing to this idea. I don’t even know what type of music to play for this theoretical band.” I looked at Ronnie’s stuff as I spoke, noticing her instrument case. Ronnie played in the brass section; saxophone to be exact. “Do you play other instruments besides the sax?”

Ronnie looked confused. “Huh?”

“I mean, I know you play the sax for band, but do you play anything else outside of school?” Ronnie folded her arms across her chest, squinting her eyes at me suspiciously.

“If this is your way of interviewing me for your band; I’m not interested.”

“Can’t a guy get to know his best friend’s girl best friend?” I teased. Ronnie rolled her eyes as she smirked, sighing before she answered.

“I do; electric guitar,” she answered. Whoa.

“Shut up; really?” I said, shocked. “My dad has been trying to teach me to play for the longest time, but with vocal and band I just don’t have the time.”

“My mom taught me when I was a kid. She was the guitarist in her friend’s band, so I grew up around music; no shock.”

“That sounds epic,” I responded, genuinely intrigued with this new information about Ronnie. “So why not try not for the contemporary band program?”

“I practically grew up with a sax in my hand,” Ronnie joked. “I knew how to play sax long before I was good at guitar.” Ronnie squinted her eyes once more, seeming suspicious of me. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you all of a sudden interested in what I play?” I could feel my face getting hot, not realizing just how forward Ronnie was. She was a different type of girl than the ones I knew; much different than Sophie. But, I couldn’t help but feel intrigued in getting to know Ronnie better, especially after basically hanging out with her and the rest of the gang over the summer.

…

“Well gang, it’s been good but I have to get going before my uncle rips me a new one,” Davy said, walking to the corner of the street. Jonah, Mollie, Ronnie, and I stood at the corner behind him.

“I should get going too,” Jonah said, turning around to face Mollie. “Plus, Aunt Lydia told me to make sure you get back home before curfew.” Mollie rolled her eyes at him.

“Dude, what did you do this time?” I jokingly said. Mollie nudged my shoulder, sucking her teeth.

“I’m pretty much grounded for the entire summer after–” Mollie began to say before Ronnie intervened.

“So, you and Jonah are going back toward Brooklyn?” Ronnie asked. I looked over at her, fidgeting with her fingers.

“I can walk with you if you want,” I suggested. Ronnie looked at me, scrunching her eyebrows.

“Why would I want that?” Ronnie fought back.

“Because it’s late and Jonah is taking Mollie home.”

“And?”

“Dude, just let him walk you home,” Mollie spat out at Ronnie. She turned around and shouted back at Mollie; typical for two girl friends with strong personalities. Before things got too heated, Jonah stepped in between the two girls.

“Relax! Mol, start walking; Ronnie, go with Milo!” The two girls rolled their eyes and listened knowing it took Jonah a lot for him to take control of situations like this.

Ronnie and I didn’t talk for most of the bus ride back home. It felt weird to only be around Ronnie, considering she was Mollie’s best friend these days. Maybe she felt weird that I’m back in the picture? Maybe she’s just being a really good friend and protecting Mollie from getting even more hurt.

I looked over at Ronnie as she looked out the bus window.

“Ron–“

“Just because you and Mollie are cool again doesn’t mean I have to be cool with you,” she bluntly said. She finally turned her head and looked at me. “Especially after everything she’s been through.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. Ronnie looked at me in an uneasy type of way. “Is there more to that?”

“Nope. I’m just looking out for my friend.” She turned her head around, back toward the window. I sighed, knowing I had to make this right; not for me, but for Mollie’s sake.

“We’re just both looking out for our friend–“

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Ronnie spun around and said to me. “You think just because you guys made up and the past is the past doesn’t mean that what was done and said didn’t happen. You didn’t have to hear and console Mollie at her lowest this summer. You got her when she was in a better place, a place that her friends helped her get in.”

“I’m not fighting that,” I began to explain. “I can’t imagine what Mollie went through with her ex earlier this summer, and I’m glad that she had a solid friend group for support. I’m just trying to be Mol’s friend again after all of this nonsense that got in our way–“

“She told me.” I looked at Ronnie, confused by what she meant. She looked at me, her eyes soft now. “About you and Sophie.” Of course she would tell Ronnie. “I’m sorry that things didn’t work out for you guys.”

“It’s fine,” I said, letting out a deep breath. “The past is the past.” Ronnie looked at me, but didn’t say anything after that.

…

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” I answered back. Ronnie cocks an eyebrow up, looking down at the notebook in my hand. “What?”

“It’s giving unsolicited therapist,” Ronnie joked. I couldn’t help but laugh, which made her laugh out loud as well.

“That’s a good one, Ron-drigo.”

“Did you just combined my first and last name into a pet name?”

“Oh please! Like you haven’t called me ‘Kamaloser’ before!” Ronnie threw her head back and laughed. She had a loud laugh; one that filled an empty room. It was comforting. The bell rang, which meant our lunch period was over. Both Ronnie and I gathered our stuff, about to go our separate ways for the rest of the day. Before I turned around the corner, I heard Ronnie call me by that exact nickname.

“Kamaloser!” Stupidly, I responded back to it. “If you’re still looking to learn electric guitar, I can help you out with that.” I looked at Ronnie and nodded.

“You know where to find me, Rondrigo.” I turned back around, my head in deep thought during the hallway passing. It was nice for Ronnie to offer lessons; it was much better than having my dad stop me after every chord, shouting how wrong the note would sound. Plus, Ron’s sorta cool.

Before I can look up and turn the corner, I bumped into a person coming from the other direction. I dropped my lyrics notebook on the ground; pages are spread along the ground.

“Sorry–” I hear a girl’s voice say. I immediately looked up, seeing her for the first time in a really long time. We locked eyes for a slight second before another guy’s voice breaks us out of it.

“Soph?” I turned around and see Allen call out for her. Sophie quickly turned away and walked toward Allen, not even bothering to look back at me.