Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

e l e v e n ;

Charli

"Random question," I said to Scarlett near the end of third period.  "I know you say you like all music, but what is your number one favorite?"  It actually wasn't a random question at all.  As I had told Dawson, Saturday was spent planning Scar's surprise party, and Mrs. Jensen put me in charge of the music.  I didn't want to disappoint.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, putting her hand to her forehead as if this was the hardest question in the word.  This girl really loved her music. "Nineties pop punk probably."

"Well, like what kind of bands?" I further questioned, leaning foreword to rest my chin on the palm of my hand.

"Good Charlotte, Green Day, Blink, etcetera. . .  You know, bands I used to listen to with my dad."  Who knew the mood could change so quickly?  In that single second, a storm seemed to overtake her blue eyes.

I shouldn't ask, I know I shouldn't, but I found myself wanting to know about it.  Maybe I can help.  "Does he - does he know?"

"He wouldn't care, even if I told him."

"That's not true," I said, though I had no clue.  You have no idea how hard it is for me to give people advice on bettering their relationships with their parents.  But I can pretend.  "He loves you, Scar."

"Then why did he change his phone number and not make an effort to contact me?" she said, looking up at me, knowing automatically that this was beyond my help.  "Three months ago."

I didn't know what to say.  I wanted to help her, I did, but I didn't know how.  She was such a daddy's girl when she was little, then he left.  I still remember her telling me that it could have been easier if he had died.  At least then, she said, the memories wouldn't be bitter

"I'm sorry," Scarlett said, looking down.  "I shouldn't have snapped at you.  You know what I'm going through better than anyone else."

And neither of us deserved it.

*        *        *        *        *        *

"And if the earth ends up crumbling down to its knees, baby; we just gotta get out; we just gotta get out."

The garage door was left open, allowing anyone who walked by to watch the show.  Unfortunately, the street was never a busy one.  I seemed to be the only one who took this shortcut.

I had been hearing this song for the past two blocks, trying my hardest to figure out what song it was, but I've never heard it before.  I loved it, nonetheless.  Scarlett would love it, too.

I was surprised when I walked up to Michael's house, though I should have expected it.  He's in a band, Charli. Yes, but I didn't know he was that good of a musician.

It was the lead vocalist - Luke, I think - that noticed me first.  He was the only one I've kind of met, but still he looked both surprised and confused when he saw me.  Had Michael not said I was coming over?

The oddly colored hair boy was rocking out with his back to me, as if he was preforming for a crowd of adoring fans.  Nope, just one.  Wait, I've only heard one song. . .

Now, the bassist has noticed me, looking even more confused than Luke.  I knew for sure that Michael didn't tell them.

When the song ended, the drummer noticed me as well, and now all of them were looking at me, confusion in their eyes.  Meanwhile, I stared at the oblivious Michael, praying he'd turn around and get them to stop staring at me.  Finally, he did, a bright smile on his face.  Wow, Michael has a nice smile.