Category: The Junior Journals.

The following week at school was a weird one. The last thing I wanted was to be around the people that snuck behind my back and made a stupid, secret band. Since then, I’ve ignored almost every text and call from both Milo and Ronnie; I didn’t want nothing to do with them until I felt ready to deal with them.

After their performance, I immediately left the venue, slamming the front doors open. Weston quickly followed me, calling my name to catch up with me. I don’t know how he managed to calm me down that night, but he did. In a sense, Weston has been the only person that’s been able to actually talk to me without walking on eggshells around me.

It was no surprise that I was left sitting in Mr. Kamalani’s room by myself during the lunch period. I didn’t expect Milo to join me; we’ve haven’t been on speaking terms since the little stunt he pulled with our friends and my best friend. Mr. Kamalani didn’t question me being here without Milo; I appreciated that since it was the last thing I wanted to speak about.

It wasn’t long after that someone knocks on the front door of Mr. Kamalani’s classroom. I turned my head towards the door and to my surprise, it was Weston.

“S-sorry, Mr. Kamalani,” he said shyly, looking over at me.

“Mr. Ashmore,” Mr. Kamalani replied, closing the spiral notebook in front of him. “How can I help you?” Weston looked even more petrified than he already did.

“Hey, Wes,” I smiled as I said. He instantly looked over at me and smiled back. Mr. Kamalani opened his book again, leaving us be. Sometimes, he can be a cool dude.

Weston walked over to me, sitting in the seat next to mine. “I tried finding you in the West Wing, but—”

“Only the band kids hang in there,” I quickly corrected him. He swallowed hard before putting his bag down on the ground.

“You and… you know who still aren’t talking?” He looked at Mr. Kamalani, whispering to me. “You and Milo?”

“No, because he’s a hypocrite,” I spat out, rolling my eyes. “He was so against me joining my ex’s band two years ago and then he goes and recruits all of our friends and create this band without telling me.”

“Would you have joined if he asked—”

“No,” I quickly answered. “I’m not about to band-hop and get that reputation. He’s only doing it because he’s—”

“Mollie,” Weston interrupted me. “Are you mad at him because he created the band, or because he didn’t tell you about the band?”

“What’s the difference? He still chose to do this behind my back, and with Veronica too.”

Weston raised an eyebrow. “Veronica?”

“Yeah; her. Or Vero.” I sarcastically said.

“So you’re also mad at Ronnie because she decided to join Milo’s band?” Weston questions again. I hate when Weston constantly questioned me; it felt like I was in some sort of interrogation room.

“Ver—Ronnie has been my friend since middle school,” I began to explain, fidgeting with my fingers. “She was friends with me; not Milo, not Milo and me, but me. I felt like I could go to her for anything.” I sighed before continuing, trying to get past the hardest part. “She was my best friend when Milo and I stopped talking for nearly two years. She was always on my side, and for her to do this and not tell me isn’t like her.” Weston nodded his head, making sure he understood where I was coming from. He didn’t immediately say anything, which I figured out the hard way meant he was carefully choosing his words before he spoke. I totally didn’t realize people actually thought before they spoke.

“I think Ronnie’s conflicted,” Weston finally said, looking at me. “I think she’s stuck in a place where she values you as her best friend while also juggling some feelings she may have for Milo.”

“What?” I said out loud, also getting Mr. Kamalani’s attention.

“Chill,” Weston demanded, pulling me back down to my seat. “I’m not saying it’s true, but if there wasn’t anything else there, I believe Ronnie would’ve said no to Milo’s offer.”

“That makes no sense. Ronnie always made it known she really didn’t like him even as a person,” I scoffed, trying to fathom this scenario. “Like, she was actually mad at me when Milo and I decided to be friends again.”

“Maybe something changed, who knows—but you owe it to both Ronnie and Milo to at least hear them out.” Weston swallowed hard before he continued. “Hard truth?”

I hesitated to answer. In the months Weston and I have been friends, we promised to always be honest with each other and speak our minds when we felt the need to do so. It was hard to lie to a guy like Weston anyway; it was like he knew every weird tick the body makes when they’re lying. It was easier to just be honest with him than have him call me out on my bluff, something no one really hasn’t ever done.

I can’t lie, I was nervous to hear what he had to say. It’s been awhile since Weston was the one to begin an hard truth session.

I let out a deep sigh. “Hard truth.”

“You’re holding onto your past and not allowing yourself to live for the present,” Weston immediately said to me.

I immediately get defensive. “I’m not holding onto my past—”

“Don’t lie to me, Mollie,” Weston interrupted me. “You’re holding onto your past and allowing it to mold your life now.” I immediately get up from the seat I was sitting in, getting ready to leave the classroom.

“You think you know everything about me? You don’t know anything, Weston. You only know the things I tell you.”

“I know you’re still hurt from your last relationship. I know that it probably took you by surprise and you’re still trying to process everything that happened. I know that you try to appear strong for your friends because you’re scared of being vulnerable in front of them, because you never allowed them to see that. I know you’re mad at the circumstances and not at your friends.” Weston crossed his arms, solidifying his answer.

“You’re wrong—” I began to get up from my seat until Weston grabbed my hand, stopping me. I can see Mr. Kamalani look up from his desk, observing the situation.

“Wes—”

“Ms. Castro? Mr. Ashmore?” Mr. Kamalani stood up from his seat, cutting the conversation short. Weston let go of my hand and looked the other way. I walked away from him, sitting in my assigned seat for class.

The bell rang, and the rest of my classmates began to come into the classroom. I took out my music binder, flipping the pages to get to the pieces were practicing.

“Did you get to see Aaron’s band play at the VMA’s last night?” One girl asked another girl in the seats in the first row. “I did not know he could sing like that.”

“He was a dual major; he just started to sing though,” the other girl said. I watched the other girl side eye me before whispering to her friend. If that wasn’t enough, I instantly remembered that Milo’s assigned seat was next to mine.

I could see Milo coming into the second row, sitting next to me. I tried to pay no mind to him.

“Mol—”

“Don’t talk to me,” I quickly spat out.

“I tried to find you at lunch today,” Milo continued to speak. “You can be mad at me all you want, but don’t be mad at Vero.”

“Why do you care? You’re fucking her or something?” I spat out. Milo scrunched his brows at me.

“No, Mol; are you fucking Weston?” Milo spat back.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” I immediately asked him. Saved by Mr. Kamalani beginning to class. I turned my body back to the front, completely over Milo at this point. What the hell is he talking about? Did Weston tell him something? I looked over to where Weston was sitting; his attention was directed towards his music binder.

“Seriously Mol, this is the exact reason why I didn’t tell you; you’re always making things about yourself,” Milo responded.

“You made it about me when you decided to make my best friend lie for you,” I spat back, turning my head toward him.

“Mr. Kamalani, Ms. Castro; do we have a problem listening to my directions?” Mr. Kamalani said. Milo rolled his eyes and went back to his music; I did the same. As Mr. Kamalani continued to lecture the class, I couldn’t help but look at Weston. Why was this kid so fucking mysterious? Do I really know the kind of person he is?

Shortly after, Weston looked up, noticing me looking at him. He smiled and I smiled back, unable to read him anymore.

It was finally the night that the band would make its debut; a showcase of up and coming Waverly bands and artists go and perform.

I looked at toward the stage in the back, seeing the flashing lights and audience cheering them on after every set. 

“Hey,” I hear a girl’s voice say, turning around to see it was Vero. She smiled as she stood next to me, watching the stage. “Tonight’s the night. You’re nervous?”

“It’s our debut show; of course I’m nervous,” I mentioned looking at the crowd. I start noticing familiar faces sitting within the crowd. I see Mollie sitting with Weston; interesting. I see the other bandmates and vocalists from our classes, including Allen and Sophie with their group of friends. My stomach instantly churned.

I don’t say anything right away while Vero was standing there. It was awkward, seeing your past in the same vicinity as your current. 

Vero and I pulled away from our second kiss, seeming to enjoy it way more than either of us expected. 

“Well, this is awkward,” she finally said. 

“Awkward?”

“Having songs written about your ex after… this just happening,” Vero further explained, then sighed. “We shouldn’t have done this—“

“Vero,” I began to say before she interrupted me again.

“This is how bands break up; things get super weird between two people and the vibe is instantly off.”

“Vero, the vibe is a band of four people who happened to be friends,” I began to explain. “One of them is just down for the music, Davy wants to pick up girls saying he’s a musician in a band, and the other two?” I looked down at Vero, taking in her softness for a moment. She was beautiful when she showed that side. The side that she just so happened wanted me to see.

“Yeah?” Vero said, feeling impatient. 

“The other two just so happened to… like each other,” I finally said. 

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that my thoughts were occupied with Vero whenever she wasn’t around. It was like all I wanted to hang out with was her, and when I didn’t, I felt a bit sad. Vero was the type of girl I didn’t think would excite me the way that Vero does. She was the complete opposite of Sophie.

“I tolerate you,” Vero corrected, smiling as she did. I couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss; something I found myself desiring the more I looked at her.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said to her lips before pressing mine against hers.

“Milo?” Vero snapped me out of my train of thought. My vision was focusing itself, and I noticed just where I was. I looked down at her, now focused on her. “We’re gonna rock the fuck out this show.” I appreciate her enthusiasm at this moment.

The band and I are fully dressed and ready to perform our set. We all held hands and said a little good luck prayer to get us through our debut show.

“We’re gonna do great out there,” I started the talk off, looking at everyone with their heads down. “We have great music, and we are a great band. This wouldn’t have even been a thing if I didn’t have you guys experiencing this with me.” I looked over, and Vero was the first person to lift her head and look up at me. 

I stared at her back. “Let’s fucking do this.” The host is now quieting the audience down, introducing us as the next performance. I stood at the microphone stand, then turned my head toward Vero. She returned the look, then held out her pinky finger towards me, solidifying all of my thoughts and worries will be alright. We interlocked our pinkies like we were little kids swearing to a promise. 

The curtain open and the band is finally revealed to the audience. A few people reacted, possibly not realizing the four of us would do something like make a band together. I took a deep breath, finally stepping over to the microphone.

“What’s up, Waverly!” I shouted to the audience. The audience clapped and cheered loudly as their response. “I’m Milo, this is our bassist, Davy; our drummer, Jonah, and our lead guitarist, Vero!” Vero shredded a chord for her introduction, which made the crowd cheer. She’s waited so long for Vero to come out on stage. “And we are Surgical Logic!” The rest of the band free-styled an intro sound effect.

“We got a couple of songs we’d like to play tonight for you, but let’s start off by introducing our sound with, ‘There’s the Door, Baby’.” The audience clapped as we got in position, waiting for our queue to start. Before I can fully prepare myself for the song, it starts and I instantly get into music mode.

The lights make it hard for me to see the rest of the audience besides one corner of the venue. It just so happened it was where Sophie and her friends were sitting.

I looked directly at her, singing the bridge as the key of the song changed.

“I know we’ve been a part for some time, and you’re now with someone new // I hope you found your Mr. Right was worth breaking my heart in two.”

I looked over at Vero, shredding the guitar solo after the chorus. Davy screamed his part of the song, adding a heavy mental angst in the song. Vero’s fingers quickly strummed the strings, looking insanely cool while doing it. Her hair swung as she threw it back away from her face. The audience roared in excitement. The audience loved Vero.

I started to sing the final chorus of the song, giving it my all. I felt like some rockstar on stage; I had no idea I even had this persona in me.

I grabbed my mic stand and leaned it toward Vero, looking straight into her eyes. “Please stay, won’t you come inside, baby? // Please stay; never leave my side, baby // Please stay and promise you’ll be mine.” Vero’s eyes never leave mine.

The audience began cheering loudly, clapping their hands as the song ended. I turned back to the audience, and took my first bow. When I got back up, my eyes interlocked with Sophie’s.

She was the only person that wasn’t clapping her hands.

…

The door to the dressing room slammed open, and scared the shit out of me. To my surprise, it was Mollie.

“So,” Mollie began to say. Weston ran up next to her as if he was running after her. “You guys come up with a top secret band and don’t tell me?” I looked over at Vero whose face turned pale.

“Mollie,” Vero began to say.

“Especially you, Ronnie; or should I call you Vero?.” She spat back. “You’re supposed to be my best friend—”

“I asked her to join my band,” I jumped in. Vero looked at me confused. “I told her to not say anything to you.”

Mollie’s eyes pierced me. “You told them to not tell me? After everything we’ve been through, everything I’ve been through because of a band… you weren’t going to tell me?”

“Any mention of a band sets you off,” I spat back to defend myself. “You would’ve went crazy—”

“Don’t make this about me!” Mollie shouted at me. “You should’ve been man enough to tell me. Let me get mad! Let me shout and scream! But at least I can’t say you don’t value our friendship to at least tell me.”

“Mollie,” Weston said, stepping in front of her to break her eye contact. “Hey? Hey.” Mollie finally looked at Weston, still fuming. “Breathe.” It felt like this was something I wasn’t suppose to see. He calmed her down in a way no one has ever done before. What was going on between these two?

Mollie took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she exhaled. She directly looked at me once she opened her eyes.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend.” Mollie walked out the room, slamming the door open. Weston went after her as soon as she walked away.

It’s finally 8th period and for the first time since Freshman year, I’m actually early for vocal.

I opened the classroom door and saw my dad sitting at his desk, shuffling through papers. He looked up and seemed surprised that I was there.

“Milo,” he said as he placed the papers in a folder. “You’re not on time, but early for class today.”

“We had a sub for trig last period,” I began to say, putting my bookbag on the floor to take out my binder. My dad got up from his desk and walked in front of the piano in the middle of the room. He folded his arms as he leaned on it.

“So, no running the hallways with Mollie today?” he teased, smiling as he spoke. I rolled my eyes, flipping through the pages of my lyric book.

“Mol is actually trying to pass her classes this year; you know this is the year colleges look at.”

“Wow, where did I hear that from?” my dad continuously teased.

“Some old, corny teacher,” I said back with a smile. My dad finally turned around and began to write today’s lesson on the chalkboard. To my surprise, someone else walks into the vocal classroom; it was Weston. He tightly smiled at both my dad and I and went to his assigned seat.

“So, any update on that new project you and Veronica are working on?” my dad asked. I quivered hearing Vero’s full name; it sound so foreign when people refer to her as Veronica.

“I’m meeting with her today; our first show is in like, two weeks,” I said, circling the date of the performance in my notebook for the umpteenth time.

“Two weeks? That’s awfully soon for a new band to be ready for a show,” my dad commented. He always had something to comment on.

“We’ve been practicing,” I said, scribbling in the notebook. “Once we get everything together, we’ll be ready–“

“Is Mollie singing lead for your band?” my dad asked, still seeming to tease me.

“She has 5,000 other things to do–“

“She’s a great singer though,” a third person chimed in. I turned my head, looking at Weston. “If you’re looking for a lead singer, I think she’d definitely kill it.” I looked at Weston, a bit confused and surprised to even hear him talking, yet alone about Mollie. I know he and Mollie have been hanging out a lot more, but the way he just spoke about her without her even being in the room was telling. She wouldn’t, and if she is, she better friendzone the shit out of him.

Before I can even answer, the first bell rings and more of my classmates begin to walk into the vocal room. I quickly placed my lyric book in my bookbag before Mollie came in, sitting next to me.

“Ms. Simon is out to get me,” Mollie said, slumping in her chair.

“Doesn’t Ms. Simon teach 9th grade algebra?” I asked.

“Don’t even,” she warned me as she looked at me. I couldn’t help but laugh; these were the moments that I missed during our sophomore year. It’s the first time in a while since it felt like I had my best friend for good.

…

Vero insisted that we meet up at this taco truck in downtown Brooklyn for our next band meeting. I didn’t immediately question her choice of hang out spot; maybe she was really craving some tacos after school that day.

I looked up from my phone and navigate where this random taco truck is parked at. Thankfully, Vero’s voice can pierce through crowds of people.

“Yo, Milo!” I looked forward and see Vero wave her hand down the block. I let out a sigh of relief, not having to look for the one person in a crowd full of people standing around.

I finally got up to where Vero was, standing right outside of the taco truck. I gave her a fist pound; something that we came up with just recently as our “handshake”.

“Hey,” I greeted back, looking around. “Had a craving for tacos or something?” Vero rolled her eyes at me as she grabbed my hand, guiding me toward the side of the taco truck. There stands a Hispanic man wearing an apron around his waist.

“This is my dad’s taco truck,” Vero finally said, pointing to the inside of the truck. she climbs in, then looks back down at me, still on the street.

“Wait, what?” I let out, completely confused at what’s happening. The man turns around and smiles at Vero, then looks at me.

“Papa, this is my friend, Milo; the one starting the band?” Vero said, introducing me. “Milo, this is my dad.”

He reached out for my hand to shake, then quickly patted my fist.

“Nice to put a face to the name,” he commented. Vero talks about me to her family?

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rodrigo,” I finally said, trying my best to not call him Mr. Ron-drigo.

“Here,” he said as he turned around, placing two tacos in a takeout container. “As a free sample of what we have to offer.”

Vero sighed, holding her head with her hand on her forehead. “Papa…”

“No quiero oírlo, Verónica,” her dad said in Spanish. Whatever he said made Vero roll her eyes and stay quiet. Mr. Rodrigo then placed his attention back on me. “You’re always welcomed here, hijo.” Vero took the container and hopped off the truck, once again grabbing me by the hand dragging me in her direction.

We ended up sitting at one of the picnic tables in the courtyard where all of the other food trucks are stationed. For living in Brooklyn all of my life, I never came across this little setting before.

“So, does your dad give all your friends free tacos?” I slightly teased, anticipating her reaction. One thing I liked about Vero and I’s hangouts is witnessing her reactions to certain things. She never reacted just with her words; it was a whole body experience.

“Only the ones I feel sorry for,” she teased back, taking a bite of her taco.

I playfully grabbed my chest in shock. “Ouch.” Vero laughed, putting her taco down before wiping her mouth. Even doing mundane things like eating tacos from a taco truck was fun to do with Vero.

I finished my taco pretty quick, noting just how tasty it was. I wouldn’t have suspected Vero being the daughter of a taco truck owner. All I knew about Vero was that her mom used to play in a band as a young adult. She gets her musical talent from her mom, and her love for food from her dad.

After we had our free tacos, Vero took me toward a grassy park-like area. It was located just outside the circle of food trucks and it had benches to sit on for those who want to take their food on the go.

“So, I finally finished ‘There’s the Door, Baby’,” I began to say, flipping the pages of my lyric book. “I think this one just started off being punk rock so I decided to write some chords.” I saw my book to Vero, picking up my guitar from the case. She started playing the notes, fixing any mistakes she made with her hand placement or tone.

“Meet a girl; just turned fourteen / thought she meant the world to me / vowed to give her everything / just to find out she was a cheat.” Vero attempted to sing along to the chords she played on her guitar. She looked up at me before she spoke. “Oh.”

“Oh?” I repeated. “Oh what?”

“You didn’t hold back, huh?” Vero asked as she looked at me. “Just straight for the jugular?”

“You said to write from my heart—”

“Yeah; what I didn’t realize was how emo it was,” Vero commented, handing my back my book. “People are gonna know it’s about Sophie.”

“Isn’t art meant to be up to interpretation?” I slyly commented, raising an eyebrow.

“Not when everyone knows that you and Sophie are not together anymore. You’re never with her.” I didn’t realize that not once did I spend the day with Sophie alone since we broke up over the summer. To think we’re entering October and the last time I spoke to Sophie was over the summer was truly mind-boggling—

“She will always be your muse, huh?” Vero commented. I was confused at her statement.

“Whatcha mean?”

“Sophie,” Vero simply said. “Even after all this time she remains your biggest muse, just not in the way I expected it to be. Even after all you’ve been through, she remains the reason why she have songs for the band—”

“I don’t mean it for it to be that way,” I quickly defended myself, as if I was trying to convince her otherwise.

“I mean that in the nicest way possible,” she said, laughing it off. She leans forward toward the table and smiles. “I once wrote a song called ‘Braindead’; it was about how my ex made me believe that I wasn’t smart enough to see the signs of him cheating on me.” Hearing Vero open up like this surprised me. She was such an introvert extrovert and always hid her emotions. I knew her for having one mood, her “Ronnie” mood. the mood where she was tough-as-nails with a IDGAF-type attitude in life. I never thought Vero’s true self was much more vulnerable than that.

“It was his loss,” I began to say. I leaned in toward the table now, mimicking her body posture. “He didnt get the chance to see just how much of an amazing, bad ass person you are.” Vero smiled, shaking her head and scoffing. I went ahead and put one hand on top of hers. “I mean that.”

Then, something overcame me. I found myself leaning in towards the table, just inches away from Vero’s face. I looked down at her lips, trying to regulate my breathing. Vero hasn’t moved away from me yet.

“I, uh,” I began to say to Vero’s lips, almost tasting the vanilla chapstick on them. Something was magnetically pulling me towards her. Vero: once a girl who I couldn’t really stand, now the girl that gets me.

I slowly leaned my jaw turns hers, and gently kissed Vero on the lips. I thought I was going to be pushed away. Thrown outside of the courtyard to never return. I thought I was going to lose having the coolest girl I could think of for our band.

I opened my eyes and looked at her; reality settling in now. She smiled as she took my glasses off my face, putting it on herself.

“WWMD; what will Milo do?” Vero commented, bringing the bridge of my glasses lower on her nose. “I think he’d want to kiss again to see if perhaps we’ve been on the same page.”

This time, Vero grabbed me by the jaw and kissed me back. I felt her slip in her tongue, playfully biting the bottom of my lip. How could a girl be so hot?

She pulled back, still holding my jaw as she looked at me. We both knew it from there; same page, and following.

“A studio?” Weston questioned as we both stood outside of the building. I looked at him and smiled, then looked back at the building.

“Not just any studio,” I began to say, unlocking the front door of the building. Weston followed behind me, clearly still confused with what’s going on. We entered the building and stand in the middle of the room; all four walls are covered in mirrors. “A dance studio.”

I dropped my bag in the middle of the floor, walking towards the back of the studio. Weston still looks around, taking in the scene around him.

I turned around and looked at Weston. “This is where I dance.”

“Dance?” Weston repeated as he raised his eyebrow. I immediately get into pointe position without any struggle. Weston’s eyes widened as he watched.

“Dance,” I confirmed.

…

Weston and I sat in the middle of the studio with our books spread out and music on the floor. We did more talking than practice these songs for vocal, but neither of us cared.

“So, this is your sister’s studio?” Weston asked. I nodded my head as Weston seemed genuinely surprised.

“I’ve been dancing here since I was 10,” I began to explain as I organized my sheet music. “My oldest sister is also a dancer, so I spent a lot of my time hanging around here with Milo as a kid and the rest is history.”

“Does Milo also dance?”

“Oh god no,” I reacted. “He still has to put up his thumbs and index fingers to indicate what’s his left and his right.” Weston held his mouth as he let out a loud laugh. He got himself together before he spoke.

“So just you?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“So tell me why you’re not a dual major?” he finally asked. I gave him a look, scrunching my eyebrows as I leaned back on my hands on the floor.

“Who said anything about that?” I spat back. Weston smirked, knowing just how to press the right buttons.

“Logically if you’re a pro at two majors, you’d be classified as a ‘dual major’,” he began to explain. “But you’re not. Why do one and not the other?”

“What are you, a detective?” I playfully said.

“Nope; just an observer. I take everything in and come to conclusions based on factual evidence–“

“Just like a detective.” I crossed my arms along my chest as Weston paused to look at me. I didn’t realize just how dark blue his eyes get when out of the sunlight. “But to answer your question, Detective Ashmore, I didn’t want to dance for Waverly.”

“But dance is clearly your passion; not vocal,” Weston fought back. One thing I’ve learned about Weston is that he will break things down that were never said out loud. It was like he was having a conversation with my inner dialogue; the one that is so desperately trying to not come out for another person.

But even that desperate need to hide felt silly when it came to Weston, which was something that didn’t happen often.

“Milo doesn’t even know this, but I was supposed to be dual major,” I confessed. “But my mom couldn’t afford the expenses of being one, especially for dance.”

“So you’re just going through high school doing something you have no passion behind?”

“I still love to sing, but–“

“If you had to pick one or the other, you’d pick dance,” Weston concluded. I nodded my head, sighing as my answer.

“Plus, the reputation Waverly dancers have would make me rip my hair out. They are all bratty and bitchy and–“

“Rich kids,” Weston concluded again. I hate how good he’s gotten with this. I looked at Weston, trying desperately to get underneath the surface of his skin the way he’s done with me. Weston tightly smiles before continuing his thought. “I get it.”

“Do you really?” I questioned, not convinced that a guy that lived across the country understood where I was coming from.

“We all have dreams that need to be altered due to lack of privilege.”

“Are you also saying you have some hidden talent that you wish you were doing instead?” I sarcastically asked, slightly scoffing.

“Not necessarily a hidden talent,” Weston smiled, looking away. “But I very much do like other things other than vocal.”

“Maybe one day you can show me something that’s important to you,” I said, not realizing just how forward that seemed. “You know, something that you care about—”

“Just a little important piece,” Weston answered back, seeming to play along. I smiled at him, feeling intrigued to get to know him. He felt like someone I should have known longer, yet every new thing I do learn about him is refreshing. Exciting. And the way that he looked at me made me feel… good. Nice. Seen.

My mind instantly came back to the present when I hear the lock of the studio door open. I immediately turned towards the door, forgetting that Weston and I are both alone in this studio without any supervision. Fuck.

My sister, Jennifer, walked into the studio, surprised to see us sitting in the middle of her studio.

“Mollie?” She said, confused. I shot up from the ground, trying to remain as composed as possible.

“Hi, Peppie!” I said enthusiastically, followed with a nervous laugh. Jennifer just kept looking at me, not knowing what to make of this situation.

I cleared my throat. “This is my friend, Weston.” Weston stood up from the ground, tightly smiling as he looked at my sister. “Wes, this is my oldest sister, Jennifer—”

“And the owner of this place,” Jennifer added in a cheeky way.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Weston shyly said. I could practically hear him swallowing hard.

“You too,” Jennifer said back, then automatically looked at me. “So, what brings you here on a day that there’s no practice, class, showcase, and without an adult?” She knew exactly how to make something even more awkward than it already was.

“We were just rehearsing our music,” I finally spoke, trying to ease the obvious tension happening.

“Oh,” she simply replied. “Without Milo?”

“He wasn’t available.” I lied. I didn’t even ask Milo if he was available. Jennifer nodded as she walked further into the studio. I watched as she walked into the back office, thinking I was completely off the hook.

“Mol, can I talk to you for a second?” Jennifer asked. So I thought. I looked at Weston before doing the walk of shame to Jennifer’s office. This might be even worse than getting scolded by mom.

I closed the office door behind me, anticipating Jennifer not being cool about this.

“Peppie—”

“I was a teenager once, but I never brought guys to mom’s job.” Jennifer smirked as she finally looked at me. “Who is he?”

“He really is just a friend,” I said, trying more to convince Jennifer even if it was the truth. “He’s in Mr. Kamalani’s class with me and we were just going over the music for the open house showcase.”

“So why bring him here if you already knew the studio was closed today?” She crossed her arms as she asked. “Where are the rest of your vocal friends?” My silence was proving her point.

“It’s just me and him.”

“Mol,” Jennifer finally sighed, about to get in her older sister mode with me. “Mom would have a fit if she found out you were here with a boy by yourselves.”

“It’s not even like that—”

“You sure?” Jennifer questioned, finally looking at me. Jennifer was the sister that always dug deeper. It was like we shared the same mind, which was probably why she would always ask the questions.

I scrunched my eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “I’m not Milo; I don’t sneak around to do stupid things.”

“I never said you did,” Jennifer pointed out. “I’m just asking if you’re sure that it isn’t like that because it very much does look like that.” Jennifer concluded. I literally couldn’t say anything to change her mind. I literally couldn’t say anything to even convince myself.

Jennifer’s face softened as she looked at me. “I don’t want to see you get your heart broken again because you didn’t allow yourself to get over Aaron.”

“I am over Aaron. You don’t know how I’m feeling—”

“I’m just saying, Mol. Don’t get yourself into something you’re not ready for. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to him.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” I spat out, feeling defensive.

“Nothing—”

“No, say it! Say to me, woman to woman!”

“You want me to tell you like a woman? You’re gonna fuck around and find yourself getting feelings for a guy just because you miss the attention you got from Aaron.” I looked at Jennifer, trying to process what was just said. I didn’t know whether or not to be boiling mad at my sister. I guess a part of me knew that maybe there was some truth behind that.

Jennifer walked to the office door, opening it for me. All I could do is look at her.

“Be wise,” she demanded. “Anything that isn’t going to improve your craft is just a distraction.” I began to walk out of her office, not turning my head toward her. I stopped when I heard her speak one last time. “I’m not going to tell mom I found yourself in here with him.”

I took a quick glance at Jennifer before walking out the door.

I looked at Weston, sitting on the ground until he looked up and notice me. He stood up, brushing the wrinkles off of his clothes.

“Hey.” Weston looked at me with a tight smile. My face couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Everything okay?”

I looked up at him and gently nodded. “Just a warning.”

“Sorry if I got you in trouble—”

“No, no you’re fine.” I looked deep into his eyes, completely getting lost in them. My body begins to feel warm and cozy, like being covered in a blanket near a fireplace on a rainy day. My mind was racing, thinking about everything Jennifer had said to me.

I couldn’t help myself. I gently tilt my head until I’m near his lips, inches away from his face. He doesn’t move. He looks down as he leans forward until both of our lips touch, sharing a kiss.

We slowly pull away, looking at each other as if we were both questioning what just happened.

“Uhm, I should—”

“Yeah—”

“Before it gets late—”

“Ye—” Before I can even finish my sentence, Weston cups his hands on my jaw, pushing my lips against his; deepening this kiss.

Maybe Jennifer was right. But it was already too late.

I was glad that Mr. Harrison was absent today since I needed all of the time to finish writing these songs before our band practice after school today. The once-secret band that Vero and I had was now publicly known; and by that, I mean Davy opened his huge mouth to Mollie and now she knows about it.

“A fucking band?” Mollie spat out, cornering me in her bedroom. On this particular day, my family had spent the day at Mollie’s place, and she didn’t give me any time before she pulled me into her room, slamming the door shut behind us.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to play it off.

“Don’t give me that shit Milo, you know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Mol, I—”

“Davy told me that you, him, Jonah, and Ronnie are starting this band together. I understand the guys, but Ronnie? Why the fuck is Ronnie joining your band?” I swallowed hard, trying to come up with some excuse to not blow my cover.

“Sheesh Mol, relax! It’s a stupid project for our band class,” I said, straightening the collar of my shirt. Mollie’s expression softens, seeming to believe my response.

“So, this isn’t some random band you decided to put together for the hell of it? Because seriously, that would be so lame of you,” Mollie expressed. I faintly laugh at her, trying to play it cool.

“It’s extra credit for the class, and I don’t know I thought it would be something fun to do for a grade, I guess.”

“You? Extra credit? You’re a dual major.”

“Davy was so excited to tell you because the credit is actually for his grade.” I hated to lie to Mollie, considering we just got on good terms with each other not too long ago. She looked at me, trying to see if I would break or something. She shrugged her shoulders before saying anything.

“Not surprising,” Mollie concluded.

The substitute teacher pretty much told us we were able to do whatever we wanted to do as long as we didn’t break anything, which was reasonable. It gave me time to finish writing what was left of this one song.

“Dude,” Davy said as he passed by my seat. “It’s a free period; why are you still doing work?”

“This ‘work’ is for the band,” I emphasized, closing my lyric book. “I’m trying to finish that last song we were practicing the other day.”

“The chords of that are sick,” Davy commented. “It’s so angsty and emo.” Leave it to Davy to call anything punk “angsty” and “emo.” “Ronnie’s guitar part is… whew.”

“She’s so good at the electric guitar–“

“What’s up with you and her anyway?” I looked at Davy, clearly confused at his question.

“What?”

“Like, I see you hanging out with her more than Mollie these days. You’re hanging out with her the way you used to with–” Before Davy could finish the sentence, another classmate passes us by; it was clear that it was Allen.

“Dude, seriously?” I said out loud, feeling annoyed.

“Sorry that you are in the way of my seat,” Allen spat back.

“It’s a free period–” Before I could even finish my sentence, Allen sits with a group of his friends at the corner of the band room. I rolled my eyes and looked back toward Davy. “Such an asshole.”

“You just don’t like him because he spends all of his time with–“

“Excuse me,” a girl’s voice said out loud. I turned around and see Sophie standing there. It was the closest she had been to me since we were together. Davy moves out of the way, letting Sophie walk through.

“Hi, Soph,” Davy greeted her. Sophie smiled and waved, completely ignoring me as she walked by. Davy looked back at me, waiting for my response.

“Not today, Davy,” I warned him.

“Dude, the tension is thick,” Davy commented. “You would think you guys broke up on bad terms.”

“We did break up on bad terms,” I corrected, looking at Sophie sit with Allen and his friends. She smiled as she greeted them; it bothered me how comfortable she had become with him and his friends. “She is the sole reason why I vow to not date any more Waverly girls while in high school.” Davy scoffed, leaning back in his seat.

“Don’t let her get to you. You guys dated, you broke up; that’s it. It doesn’t need to be this whole dramatic thing between you two.” I couldn’t stop looking in Sophie’s direction. What did she see in Allen that she didn’t see in me? Are these people even her real friends? Is Allen treating Sophie better than I ever did?

I got up from my seat, grabbing my belongings. Davy looked up at me, clearly confused.

“Where are you going?”

“To the West Wing to write,” I answered. “Don’t forget our next practice is this weekend at Ronnie’s.” I walked out of the band room, letting out a deep breath. Sophie and I have been more than willing to be in the same class, but it was knowing that what used to be between us is now potentially happening with another guy… it nearly kills me seeing her be so happy with someone else other than me.

So I did what I do best in these situations. I sat in one of the rooms in the West Wing, scribbling anything and everything I was feeling in this moment.

That’s because Sophie was your muse. I can hear Vero’s voice in my head. Vero. If she wasn’t absent today, it wouldn’t have been as bad as it was today. In some strange sort of way, band class has been surprisingly easier to manage since getting close with Vero. Her energy was a lot like Mollie’s, just not as obnoxious. It was refreshing to have someone around that shared the same passion in the way that I did.

“What are you even thinking about, Milo?” Vero said to me, sitting across from the study room table.

“How right you’ve been about my feelings for Sophie,” I answered honestly. Vero raised her eyebrow up, waiting for me to continue my train of thought. “The more I avoid writing about it, the worse my writer’s block becomes.”

“You gotta let that shit go.” I looked up at Vero, trying to read her body language. “The fear of letting yourself feel what you’re compressing. Not only are you hindering your writing, but you’re also holding onto built up resentment.”

“How do I not do that? Sophie was—”

“Your first love,” Vero finished my sentence. It must’ve been that obvious if someone else can see it too. “Take those feelings and just write. Don‘t overthink it or make it poetic. Just write the raw, unfiltered things.”

…

The first bell rings, and I immediately pack my things up to run back to the band room for attendance. Before I could even exit the room, someone is already opening the door. I stopped in my track, not expecting to bump into Sophie again.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly apologized, trying to get out of the way. Sophie seemed pretty flustered herself, not really knowing which direction to go. We both stopped trying to escape each other, taking a moment to let out a deep breath.

“No, no; it’s my fault,” Sophie shyly said. “I had booked the room during lunch and didn’t think anyone was in here.” I shook my head, immediately getting out of her way.

“Here you go,” I said, walking away from the front door.

“Thanks,” Sophie said. Before I can even process what was happening, I hear Allen’s voice call out for Sophie. I turned around, walking him sprint towards Sophie and me. I walked away before he got closer to us, not wanting to be around for any interactions between the two.

That night, I wrote in my room for hours. I sat at my desk, wired headphones in my ear, tapping out the musical measures as I wrote in my lyric book. Things were rewritten, circled, underlined, and rewritten the longer I focused.

The last time I was able to write and finish this quickly was when Sophie and I were still dating, and we had took our relationship to a whole other level. Maybe Vero always knew what she was talking about.

I couldn’t help but notice the new photos that were released from the VMA’s, hosted at the Barclays Center this year. Specifically, I couldn’t help but see the performances that the “Artist to Watch” nominees put on throughout the show.

Aaron and his band are on a tiny stage, but the crowd was full of screaming girls and their glow stick necklaces. Aaron had grown out his hair; he looked completely different since the last time I saw him. I would remember since it was the day we officially broke up.

I let out a deep breath, looking down at my phone at the message Aaron had sent me earlier that day. The text simply read, ‘Meet me at the promenade around 8:30; I’ll be out of work then.’ Once I got to the promenade, I see Aaron sitting on top of one of the benches, looking out towards the water. My heart fluttered, happy to see him after not getting to for the past week.

“Babe,” I greeted him. He didn’t greet me back away; he simply smiled. “Everything’s okay?”

“They are now,” Aaron calmly said, kissing the top of my head. We sat on the bench together, looking out at the dark water reflecting the lights from the city skyline. Nothing was said after that, which began to make me feel nervous.

“How was work today?” I asked, trying to start the conversation.

“It was alright,” Aaron began to say. “It was cool to see one of my manager’s other artists record their debut album in the studio.”

“One day, that’ll be us,” I added, leaning my head on his arm. He felt cold like stone. I quickly looked back up at him, feeling extremely uneasy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Aaron,” I said again, crossing my arms. “What’s going on?”

“My god Mollie, you just got here and you’re already stressing me out,” he said. His tone bothered me; it wasn’t like him to be so snippy with me. He sighed before he said anything else. “Sorry. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”

“I can tell,” I added. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever and whenever I do, you just seem like you’re not fully here.”

“I’m trying my best–“

“Then talk to me,” I spat out. “Tell me what’s going on–“

“It’s not that easy to just explain–“

“For fuck’s sake, all you have to do is talk to me!” I yelled out. I was pleading for him to just say it. It was like I could feel it coming and I just wanted him to get it over with. “Please.”

Aaron just looked at me, unable to speak. He sighed, as if he was heaving the words to come out.

“I’m leaving Waverly,” he confessed.

“Leaving?” I repeated. “Leaving, as in transferring out?”

“Leaving, as in…leaving.”

“I mean, that sucks but we’ll still–“

“Mollie,” Aaron sighed as he said my name. “The band got a record deal.”

My eyes widen, suddenly feeling excited. “What?! Aaron, that’s amazing!” I hugged him, but noticed he wasn’t hugging me back. “Aaron?”

“The record label is looking for an all boys band. My manager pitched the band as an all-boys band.”

“Oh.” It was all I could say. What more could I say? It was becoming clear as in what was happening now.

“But it’s normal for bands to go through these changes for the sake of its future–“

“So what you’re saying is that you’re okay with moving forward without me in it?” I spat out.

“I have no say in executive decisions like that–“

“You have a say when it was your fucking band in the first place!” I stood up, clearly hurt. “So, not only are you leaving Waverly, but you and your band got a record deal and just kicked me out of it?”

“I didn’t kick you out–“

“It fucking feels like it!” I couldn’t keep my voice down, no matter how many people on the promenade looked in our direction.

“Lower your voice,” Aaron scolded me. “Let me clear up a couple of things. It becomes less of my band when I decided for us to get a manager. He was the one that supported us and got us this record deal in the first place. I can’t just turn down the opportunity because the label is looking for a boy band.”

“Forget the band,” I said, feeling the knot form in my throat. “What about us?”

“Us?”

“What happens to us now that you’re leaving Waverly? We’re just going to spend after school together now?” Aaron doesn’t answer right away, which worries me. It was never like Aaron to be so tongue-tied like this, which made me realize the reality behind Aaron’s words. “You’re leaving New York, aren’t you?”

“Mols–“

“Oh my fucking god,” I reacted, walking away from the bench. Aaron grabs me by the arm, in which I immediately turned around and snatched away. “Don‘t!”

“What was I suppose to do, not take the deal?”

“How about talking to me first about it! Is our relationship just a convenience thing for you while you got your band up?” Aaron scrunched his brow, annoyed with me.

“You think I’d do that to you for two years? Just pretend to love you and care for you?” he asked. I know that wasn’t the case, but I couldn’t help but feel like it was. “Seriously Mollie, you’re making it seem like you’re the only one that this is feeling hurt–“

“You? Hurt? You’re getting a record label–“

“For the sake of losing you!” Aaron spat out. I was taken aback, not realizing how serious Aaron was being. “I have to lose you in order to follow my dreams; do you know how hard it us for me to have to make that decision?”

“No,” I simply said, losing all feeling in my body. “I would’ve chose to follow my dreams too.”

“Hey, Mollie,” I hear Weston’s voice call out. I looked up, immediately closing the Instagram app. I smiled as he sat in the booth across from me at the pizza parlor. “Sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“It’s cool,” I said, facing my phone on the table, watching Weston take out his notebook. Shoved in the back is music sheets, specifically his music for vocal. “You didn’t bring your music?”

“I have it memorized already,” I said, leaning in on the table.

“Sheesh,” Weston reacted. “We just got this new song like 3 days ago.”

“I learn fast,” I teased as Weston deadpanned.

“Well, Mr. Kamalani now has eyes on me like a hawk after messing up the quartet last time,” Weston flipped through the pages, getting to his music.

“All because you wanted to help Milo,” I shook my head, looking at him.

“It’s cool; it just gives me the excuse to hang out with you more,” Weston played along. My face got hot, surprised at his honesty. He wasn’t wrong though; we’ve spent more afternoons in Mr. Kamalani’s classroom than I’ve spent here at the pizza place. Eventually, I told Weston that on the days we went hanging out in Mr. Kamalani’s classroom, we should at least get some pizza while we worked, even though we talked more than worked on the weekends.

“Have you talked to Milo lately?” Weston asked.

“Not much,” I began to answer, gulping down my can of soda. “He’s been super busy with his dual major stuff; apparently he’s doing something for his band class or whatever; I wasn’t really paying attention when we last spoke.” Weston laughed as he shook his head, probably not surprised at me.

“Well, I told him that he owes me a slice after school one day,” Weston teased. Weston and Milo were an interesting pair of friends. They never hung out after school, yet they were friendly enough to get out of that acquaintance role. To be quite honest, they act like they’ve known each other forever, but maybe that just speaks to how easygoing Weston is as a person. “You want another slice? Soda?” He was also super nice to me.

“All good on pizza,” I began to say, patting my stomach. I looked outside, noticing the VMAs advertisement on the city bus. My thoughts immediately go back on Aaron. “But totally sick of sitting in here. Let’s go somewhere.”

“Sure,” Weston quickly began packing up. “Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s go to the park,” I suggested, needing to get some fresh air. Weston smiled, getting up from the booth and walked to the front door together.

I didn’t say much on the walk to the park. My mind was focused on the billboards of the award show, knowing that my ex-boyfriend was out there with his band, living his dream while I was back here, not living my dream.

“Mollie?” Weston said as we sat underneath our sweaters at the park. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah.” I quickly brushed off. “So, what song do you–“

“Mollie.” Weston had a way of saying my name in ways no one else could. Weston was already a guy that didn’t say much words, but always had a different way of saying them when he did. The way he said my name said it all: You’re not fooling anyone here, Mollie.

I sighed, clearly uncomfortable with the spotlight on me. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being… like this.” I hoped that was enough for Weston to brush it off; it wasn’t.

“If something’s bothering you, it’s okay,” Weston reassured. I looked at him, specifically in his ocean blue eyes. I didn’t know Weston that well to trust him with things that weren’t on the surface level. To him, I’m suppose to be this carefree, badass girl that knows her music just 3 days after first getting it. To him, I wasn’t this broken, vulnerable and chaotic person. I wasn’t tainted. But the look in his face was… comforting. It was like nothing could make him think differently of me, whatever that was to him.

I took a moment before I said anything, before I decided to trust Weston with the version of myself I was scared of exposing. “Award show season is coming up.”

Weston seemed confused. “Oh…kay?”

“Music award shows,” I added on, fidgeting with my fingers before giving up and sighing. “My ex-boyfriend is performing at the Barclays for the show, under their ‘Artists to Watch’ segment.’ This must sound so stupid to him. Weston’s eyes widen; of course this was something that doesn’t normally come out of a 16-year-old’s mouth on the daily.

“Oh,” Weston replied. “I see.”

“Yeah,” I said, sighing. “It’s hard to move past your ex when he’s literally on every campaign ad for the VMA’s.”

“I guess the break up wasn’t mutual?” Weston asked. I looked at him right before he looked at me. I shook my head. “I get it. And him being in the limelight doesn’t make it easier for you to move on.”

“I was the lead singer in his band, but his manager kissed a couple of executive asses and the band kicked me out.”

“And your ex allowed that to happen?”

“Well,” I began to explain, clearly not telling the entire story. “He told me the band got a record deal, but was looking for an all boy band. That was his way of telling me I was no longer in the band.” I hate having to remember that dreadful day during the summer, yet alone speak out loud about. “I didn’t want to break up with him, but doing a long distance relationship while your boyfriend is out living his dream really wasn’t appetizing.” Weston nodded his head, ultimately agreeing. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you or anything–“

“It’s not trauma dumping when I asked what was wrong,” Weston gave me a tight smile. He wasn’t wrong. “Anyway, I think he should’ve at least had a conversation with you before he made one with his band.”

“It just made me feel like I wasn’t important,” I vented out; more so to the universe than to Weston. “I know he loved me because I felt loved, but I couldn’t help but think maybe I loved him more than he loved me.”

“You can’t live with that what-if for the rest of your life though,” Weston responded back. Before I snapped back, he continued to speak. “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. You can’t get closure for yourself that way.”

“Who said I was seeking closure?”

“You’re allowing billboards of your ex affect your day,” Weston pointed out. Got me there, Ashmore.

“Maybe I’m mourning the loss of almost being a part of the success of this band,” I spat back, feeling defensive. Weston raised an eyebrow up, obviously not calling my bluff.

“You’re good at singing, but it’s not your passion,” Weston concluded.

“What? You hang out with me a couple of days out of the week and now you think you know me or something?” I was getting angry that Weston was reading me, like he got the key to all of the answers about me and I didn’t like that. I felt exposed from a person who’s only known me for a month and a half. Even more so, I felt exposed to a person that didn’t see me in the same light as I do myself. It’s like he doesn’t even care about the cracks that expose my vulnerability.

“I don’t think I know all of you,” Weston began to respond. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be learning so much about you every time we hang out.” I felt my face get hot; was Weston unintentionally intentionally flirting with me?

“Well enlighten me,” I played along. “What do you think you know about me?” Weston shifted in his seat, preparing his answer.

“I know that you like your pizza slice crispy but the cheese still gooey,” Weston said. “I know you have a background in music and use that to you advantage for vocal class. I know that when you get nervous, you get defensive right after to protect yourself. I know that you don’t trust many people, so opening up to new people is tough for you. I know you portray yourself as this ‘tough-as-nails’ type of girl until you fully start to allow yourself to show your true self, which is a lot softer…” Weston smiled at me. “Need I say more?”

“Entertain me,” I fibbed, crossing my arms along my chest.

“Your passion is something you keep sacred, and not many people know your true talent.”

“I sing–“

“You do something else,” Weston emphasized. “Something that you hold close to your heart and are too afraid of people to know about.” I don’t say anything back to him, I was actually quite shocked that he was able to catch on this quickly. Does he really listen to me carefully like that? Am I that transparent?

“I’m surprised you don’t know what that is,” I teased back.

“You hide it well,” Weston answered. “I haven’t reached that level of our friendship yet.” I smirked at Weston, unfolding my arms. Opening myself. Allowing myself to be seen.

“I want to show you something,” I said, beginning to get up from the booth. Weston looked at me, submitting.

“Lead the way, Mollie,” Weston said in a sing-song tone.

Nobody knows about the secret band Vero and I are creating.

For the past couple of weeks, Vero and I have been working the logistics of starting this band. Any free time I had between dual major rehearsals and school work was dedicated towards getting this band together. For Vero, she had basically starting to live this double life; she was Vero whenever we would meet up and talk about band stuff, and she was Ronnie when she was being Mollie’s girl best friend doing all of the girly things they do.

Thankfully, Mollie was away this weekend for a dance competition with Jennifer, which meant this was the perfect time to actually work on band stuff in the studio without any of Mollie’s family being around.

The doorbell rang, and I immediately ran out of my room to go downstairs and answer it. To my surprise, my dad is hanging out in the living room with my little sisters playing with their toys.

“Whoa there, speed racer,” my dad commented. “Who’s that?”

“It’s just Ronnie to do band stuff,” I said quickly. It wasn’t a lie per se, it just wasn’t the type of band stuff he thinks it is. I rushed down the stairs and opened the front door. Standing there was Vero, wearing her guitar case on her back. She smiled as I answered.

“Hey, Milo,” Vero greeted, walking into the house. I immediately opened the studio door for her, which she walks right into. Vero was no stranger to the studio space at my house, but it was a little weird to have her here without Mollie being the mutual friend between us. “So, what was so important that you had to call a band meeting on a Saturday?”

I walked over to the piano and grabbed my lyric book, holding it up. “I finished writing a song.”

“Word?” Vero responded. “It only took you 5 years to finish it.” I rolled my eyes at her, smiling. She has every right to call me out on that considering the piece I finished was something I was writing almost 2 years ago now.

“Dude, you’re a dual major at Waverly, and you still don’t have any songs written in your book?” Vero mentioned as she sat in the beanbag chair in my room. I paced back and forth with my book and pen in hand, trying to find the right words to write. I didn’t realize just how bad my writer’s block had become.

“It’s not easy to just write,” I sighed, giving up. “Literally I have all of these unfinished songs and I feel like I can’t even finish one of them.

“Are they all about Sophie?” Vero asked honestly. I looked up, slightly surprised at her aggression.

“Why would they be about her?”

“Why wouldn’t they be about her?” Vero asked.

“Sophie and I aren’t together; there’s no reason for me to write about her–“

“Ugh, boys.” Vero got up from the beanbag chair and sat next to me on the bed. “Writing is one of the most sacred things that you do as a musician. You think all of these artists got their Grammys by being happy all the time? Some of their best work is done by heartbreak.”

“I’m not writing about my relationship with Sophie,” I said, getting up from the bed. “I don’t have anything to say about my relationship with her–“

“Just the fact that she was your muse,” Sophie scoffed as she crossed her arms. I looked over at Vero, trying to disguise my transparent reaction to hearing that. She sighs as she gets up from my bed. “Just try to finish writing something you started in your book. It doesn’t have to be diamond platinum bars, but try to just make something out of what is already written.” I looked at Vero as she flashed a reassuring smile at me.

“So, let’s hear what you got,” Vero said, leaning back in her chair. I suddenly start to feel nervous.

“Don’t laugh,” I said, pulling out my acoustic from the closet.

“Why would I laugh?”

“I don’t know,” I began to say before looking up at Vero. She didn’t seem to be joking, giving me a sense of feeling that maybe she’ll take this as serious as I did. I cleared my throat, strumming on a few strings to get myself ready.

“I wrote this as a love song a few years ago and shared it with Sophie. I meant to finish it for her, but I never had the time to actually do so.” I looked down at my guitar before looking up at Vero. She stares intently. I cleared my throat and began playing the chords of the song, softly singing the lyrics. The song starts off slow and sweet with words describing a young love that was once something they weren’t looking for and now something they can’t live without. I take a moment before I start singing the lyrics of the second half; the new stuff I wrote. I began to play the melody, singing about the idea of love being selfishly sacrificed for outside love, ultimately feeling lost in the moments once shared.

“I can’t promise I can love you the way the world does, but hope to become dangerously close // I’m dangerously close // to losing you to the world,” I finished singing. I let out a deep breath, playing one final chord to end the song. The studio was quiet, which made me feel even more exposed and vulnerable than before. Vero just sat there, nodding her head in deep thought. I was anticipating to hear Vero’s thoughts.

“Well?”

“It’s alright,” Vero said.

“Just alright?” I asked, seemingly very surprised at her reaction. “Sheesh, you’re a worst critic than my dad—”

“I’m not saying that it was bad,” Vero crossed her legs, focused on the debate now. “I just don’t think that acoustic does the lyrics justice.”

“It’s supposed to be a love song—”

“But it’s written as a pleading love song,” Vero responded. “It’s heartache and yearning for a love that is no more. It needs to have the same melodic feel to those words.” She got up from her seat, turning my music stand to face her. She looks in my lyric book, scanning the pages intently. She has only been the one other person to have ever look in my lyric book. She unzips her guitar case, untangling the wires for her electric guitar. She walks to the amplifier and plugs her wires in, seeming very comfortable in the space. I was now the one sitting down in my chair, watching her.

She starts playing the notes written in my book; fixing her chords throughout the song to get them right. Once she gets to the chorus part, she starts getting into it, playing the song like a punk-rock one. She looked so bad ass playing the song on the electric guitar. The song went from being sweet and melancholy to aggressive and angst. She was depicting the song the way it was written.

I held my hand out toward Vero. “Wait,” I immediately said. She stops playing and looks back up at me.

“What?”

“That’s it,” I said excitedly, standing up from my seat. “The band!”

“The band?” Vero asked, clearly confused.

“The band’s sound,” I began to explain. “This should be the band’s sound.”

“You wanna make a punk-rock band?” she asked, crossing her arms along her chest. “Why the change of direction?”

“I think once I figured out the sound of the band, writing the other songs would be easier for me.” I walked up to Vero, grabbing her hands into mine. She looks at me with a weird expression while I smiled at her. “Do you want to be the lead guitarist in the band?”

“Me?” she questioned. “I was just suppose to teach you and help you start your own band, I–“

“Please, Vero,” I pleaded, getting down on both knees with my palms against each other. “You’d be amazing playing the lead! Plus, you carry the aura of the band.”

“The aura?” she scoffed.

“The aura,” I stated, smiling at her. “Plus, somebody told me that Vero was the name you’d use if you ever did join a band.” Vero rolls her eyes, knowing exactly what I was referring to. She sighed, sitting back down in her seat. I got up from the ground and sat in mine.

“So, it’s this just gonna be a two-person band? We simply just can’t create an entire band with just us two.” Fuck. She totally had a point.

“Fuck,” I said, feeling defeated. “Where the hell are we gonna find people we vibe with wanting to join a random band?”

“I think I know a few people,” Vero smiled as she said.

…

“Jonah and Davy?!” I said out loud, watching these two goofballs walk into the pizza parlor. “These are the people you had in mind?!”

“Yo, hear me out!” Vero shouted, her Latina-nature coming through. Jonah and Davy finally get to our table, sliding into the seat next to me.

“Wassup, homies!” Davy greeted us. “Ronnie said you wanted us to join your band.”

“Wanted? Really?” I looked at Vero, who simply shrugged her shoulders.

“You said we needed to find people willing to join–“

“Yeah, not Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum!”

“I’m going to assume I’m Tweedle Dee while Davy is…” Jonah looks at Davy, clearly offended.

“Don’t hate me because I have uncontrollable rizz,” Davy mentioned. Vero clapped her hands in front of the guys’ faces, getting their attention.

“Now that I got you guys to focus,” Vero looked at me. “Hear me out. Jonah is in percussion with you, and could easily be the drummer of the band.”

“I also play drums.”

“The lead singer is never in the back playing drums at the same time–“

“Lead singer?” I repeated.

“Oh,” Vero started to laugh. “You thought we were getting a lead singer for the band? Nah fam, you’re the lead singer.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Dude, you’re a dual major!” Davy intervened. “You sing for grades, why not sing for something cool?”

I don’t pay any mind to Davy’s comments; my focus is completely on Vero. “What did you come up for the comedic relief of the band?” She smiled before she answered my question.

“Davy plays bass guitar,” Vero answered.

“You know how to play bass?” I asked Davy, surprised. He simply nodded his head. I turned back to Vero. “How do you know this?”

“Davy tried to serenade me freshman year,” she confessed. Davy gasped, visibly upset.

“Dude, why would you tell him that?!”

“Relax! Playing the bass guitar got you further than what you thought it would,” Vero rolled her eyes as she said.

“So, lemme get this straight,” I intervened, trying to get back on track. “The band consists the four of us: You as lead, Davy as bass, Jonah as drums, and me as the vocalist?” Vero nodded her head.

“Sounds like a pretty dope band if you asked me,” she added.

“Do you guys really want to do it, or did Ve-Ronnie forced you into this?” I raised an eyebrow toward Vero, teasing her a bit.

“I think it’ll be sick,” Jonah answered softly. Jonah didn’t say much but when he did, it actually meant something. “Sometimes just playing Mr. Harrison’s pieces for class can get repetitive, and I’m down for a challenge.”

“I agree,” Davy added on. “Plus, Ronnie mentioned that it’ll be a punk-rock band and suggested I can be the screamo person since I have the mouth big enough for it.” I looked at Vero, absolutely believing that she said that to Davy.

I sighed, looking at the potential other members of my band. Could this possibly work out in the end? Will this be enough to be considered for Juilliard in two years? Will this help me finally write again?

“So, we’re doing this?” I said more than asked.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Vero said with a devilish smile.

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.