Violetta (Violet) Jackson has big dreams. None of which happen to include sitting in detention for a week straight for a lab disaster that wasn't even her fault. That's all thanks to Will Hawthorne, his friends (one of whom she unfortunately used to...
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Sometimes, the song came back to me in flashes, sharp and vivid but transient; here one moment, gone the next. Other times, it was more of a haze; mingling with the hot summer air, the occasional cool breeze on sweaty skin, laughter and the clanking of bike gears ringing in the open streets. It hung around my memories, sticking to them like a permanent layer of paint that I couldn't scratch off no matter how hard I tried.
We started writing the song together in the summer that we went on our first date. We biked to Hatfield Ponds, on the outskirts of Oak Point, before the rough edges of the small town gave way to the wilderness completely, wild grass roots tangling at our ankles as we made our way around the glistening ponds. In the late afternoon sunlight, half of the trees looked green and golden; the other half completely in shadow, encircling the calm, still waters. Not a single other soul was out there that day due to the dry heat, but that didn't stop us from doing several laps around the ponds, calling out to each other, laughing as we almost fell off the wayward, rocky paths. The weather was just right for tank tops and jean shorts, and my legs stuck to the seat of my bike in the heat.
Once the sun began to set, coloring the sky gold and clouds pink, we made our way back into town, locking up both our bikes outside a charming-looking cafe. The cooler, air-conditioned air welcomed us as we entered, the wood-and-glass door creaking slightly as it shut. He made a joke that I don't remember, but I do remember laughing along with him; everything felt as simple and easy as the summer rain and blue skies.
One of the waiters came back with our orders: two iced coffees. I copied him mostly because I didn't know what to get. Half of the menu was filled with French-sounding dishes that I didn't understand. We clinked our glasses together as two fine young people would do, him grinning at me across the table. I decided I liked his smile; it made his otherwise serious face lighten up in the best way, the corners of his mouth crinkling.
We talked for a while. How long, I don't know either. Time wasn't on either of our minds — it was summer vacation, and there were no responsibilities to take care of, no other matters to tend to. I told him about my ideas for starting a band, and that's when he told me I should join his.
"Yours?" I asked, taking another sip of my coffee, which had been left mostly neglected in front of me. "You have a band?"
"Yeah. Midnight Thunder. We just formed this past year, but we finally settled on a name we like. We're already working on a few songs. You should join, it'll be fun." He smirked as if he just remembered something. "One of my friends, Will, suggested that we should call ourselves The Pocket Rockets. He seemed very disappointed when we refused."
I stifled a laugh. "The Pocket Rockets? Why?"
He shrugged. "He's obsessed with space. We used to call him 'Space Cadet,' actually, during elementary school, because he'd always be daydreaming about being an astronaut or something."
"Good thing you have that connection with him now," I said in a serious tone. "If he succeeds in becoming an astronaut, Midnight Thunder could be the first band to play in space."
