Everyone has a song that captures who they are. No one but Leila Gonzalez can hear them.
Melodies and tunes fill her head everywhere she goes, and all she wants is to replicate them in her songwriting. There's just one problem: she sucks at songwrit...
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LEILAWALKEDBACKHOME as if in a trance. Not even the busy streets of Hillbourne could jar her back into reality, nor the pounding bass of a few people's song that played in her head. Her mind was too consumed by the previous guitar lesson with none other than Neil Ferrer.
She stormed through the sidewalks, staying close to the buildings on her right side. The ingrained route back home helped her as she turned a right corner to where her apartment building resided, squished together to other businesses and offices. She walked to the end of the sidewalk where a soft jazz song lulled her as she waited for the light to allow her passing.
"Little Leila!" She turned to Mr. Johnson, who held a wet rag as he faced the front door and window panes of his bakery. "Coming back from class?"
Leila nodded, burying her free hand into her grown out bangs and brushing them back.
"Then what's got you frowning, little one?"
The light switched to give her passing, but she sulked and walked back to Mr. Johnson. He was the only one in that town that could listen to her without an ounce of judgement. She wished others could listen like he did.
"Oh, honey, let's get back inside, huh?"
She tightened her fingers around her guitar case and stumbled inside the bakery with Mr. Johnson in tow. The cool air was a shock to her previous hot temperature, and she shifted around to get used to the abrupt change in her body. She also needed to get used to the sweetness of the sugary treats that almost felt like she gulped in a breath of cake with every inhale.
It had been a while since her last visit, but the bakery stood just like she remembered. Shiny black and white checkered tiles covered the floors. White walls surrounded them all with painted bubblegum pink swirls and an array of different colored sprinkles. Mr. Johnson always pointed out that it was his wife's decision to decorate that way, but after her passing years ago, he never changed it. Maple-colored booths lined the right side of the bakery. A few customers sat while enjoying their chosen desserts.
Mr. Johnson walked behind the long counter as a tall woman walked in with her child. Leila took that as her sign to find a seat. She spied all the sweets displayed behind glass beside the cash register. Her eye caught the lone red velvet cupcake, and her stomach growled in agreement.
"Alright!" Leila jumped to find Mr. Johnson walking up to her. The mother that came in was already sitting down with a cupcake for her son and a slice of carrot cake for herself. "Take a seat, little one."
She collapsed onto the farthest booth, leaning her guitar case beside her. Mr. Johnson sighed on the other end of the table. "So what's going on, little Leila."
She brushed a rebel piece of hair behind her ear. "My old guitar teacher quit unexpectedly, and now I have to deal with this new temporary teacher who doesn't seem that qualified to teach me."
Mr. Johnson hummed in thought. "You take class at Soul & Strings, right?" Leila nodded. "Ferrer is a nice fellow. Why don't you let him know of these fears of yours. He'll understand."
Leila shook her head. "No, I can't. Mr. Harlow ran out from the shop last time, and it doesn't seem like Mr. Ferrer is doing that well. When he introduced me to my temporary teacher, he looked desperate. I don't want to add anymore pressure on him."
A silence passed between them interrupted by his jazz song that somewhat calmed her down. Leila thought back to Neil and his annoying confidence in teaching her better than Mr. Harlow. Sure, he was a great guitarist. Anyone with eyes and ears knew that. But he was only seventeen, not a good age to give lessons out. To make matters worse, he was known to have quite the temper, and Leila was not about to be at the brunt of it.
"Ah, kid, you can always stop going to classes, but I know you're too stubborn for that," Mr. Johnson commented with a laugh. Leila sheepishly grinned. "You say it's temporary, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then maybe there's no harm in trying it out until you get a better teacher. Ferrer's going to be looking for someone if he said it was temporary. Give it a good go. You might be surprised."
Leila leaned back against the booth and sighed. Everything and everyone told her to allow Neil Ferrer to give her guitar lessons. If Mr. Johnson, the wisest man in town, told her to stick with it, then that was probably her best option. But it still didn't stop it from being annoying.
"I don't like him," she whined. Mr. Johnson laughed, and his skin crinkled at the edge of his eyes. "I just want to learn guitar in peace."
"Sometimes life throws you into a storm for a reason, little one," he replied. The front door bell jingled, and he sat up. "Want a bag for the rest of the family on me?"
Leila's eyes widened in wonder, and that was enough confirmation for him before he chuckled and went back behind the counter. He had other employees, but he always hurried to take the register. Always protective of his business and a lover of people. His infectious smile and jazzy song could make anyone's day a little brighter.
She got up from the booth, making sure everything about her was intact before walking by the counter. Mr. Johnson prepared a large bag with her family's favorite desserts: Mom's slice of coffee cake, Dad's slice of lemon cake, Elisa's chocolate cupcake, Ismael's slice of raspberry cheesecake, and her own humongous red velvet cupcake. He sealed it and handed it to her.
"Hope you enjoy, Little Leila," he said with his bright smile. She thanked him for everything and walked out of the bakery into the summer heat of Hillbourne with a renewed sense of hope with a sprinkle of anxiety.
Neil better teach her well, or else she would raise hell for his silent soul.
