Woo! Chapter Two! I'm really sorry that it took this long to post it, I had some err...difficulties.
Thanks to the people who commented on the first chapter, and to my friend Abe who helped me by reading this story to begin with.
But anyways, that aside, here is the second chapter.
Please comment, and vote, and even fan if you want to.
Again, I'm sorry for the long wait.
Enjoy!
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Chapter Two
The little bell at the top of the door dinged as I walked inside the store.
Darvey’s Second-Hand Music Store.
I ran my fingers over the rows of old vinyl’s and records from decades past.
Breathing in deeply I smelled the familiar musty scent that the small building seemed to have.
My second home. I sighed lightly, feeling the tension in my shoulders relax significantly; picking up the Beatles record, signed by all of them that I had been saving to buy for months.
“Hey Al.” Darvey himself greeted me. His choppy black hair hung over his eyes. With that and what were the dark circles that outlined his fierce blue eyes, he gave off an ominous air to people who did not know him well enough.
But I know better than they do.
“Darvey” I returned the greeting, not taking my eyes off of Paul McCartney’s messy signature, only The P the M and a small heart were legible. I sighed. If only I was born in the fifties.
There was no need for formalities between Darvey and I.
He was a rebel who detested anything of the sort, and I didn’t really care either way.
“Did you get the essay done?” I shook my head guiltily. “With work and all, I must’ve forgotten.”
Darvey tutors me since I can't afford going to a regular school.
He shook his head at me, his tone turning serious, showing that he was my superior. “Ally, I’m serious. You can’t let yourself get this far behind, it’s not healthy.”
I shrugged slipping the record back into its place. “I’ll muddle through.”
He shook his head giving me another disapproving look. “I know you will, just don’t let it get too far ahead of you.”
He ruffled my hair with his hand, chuckling lightly he retreated into one of the back rooms.
I fixed my hair grumpily; I hate it when he does that.
Darvey is practically my older brother, even though he is Jenny’s, which is how I landed the job at the doughnut shop. I have connections.
Deciding that I was not needed in the storefront I headed into the back room where Darvey kept his piano.
It’s not a very fancy one; it’s quite old and worn with the many fingers who have scarred its keys with time.
But the sound that came from its ivory keys was like none other.
I sat down on the bench, feeling strangely out of touch from not having played in such a long time.
I placed my fingers on the keys starting out with a simple C chord; before I knew it I was playing again, just like before, no fences.
