Keith loved playing the drums; it's his passion. He told his mother, Krolia, that he wanted to study abroad in New York for six months to understand a possible future. By doing so, he comes across a celebrity known as Lance, who resides in the same...
New York is still a bit unfamiliar to me, but I'm enjoying it immensely. The nighttime ambiance is especially inviting to someone like me, who's not accustomed to traveling much. That was always my brother's aspiration—to explore the world far and wide. Sadly, he didn't get the chance to fulfill his dream; he passed away just two years after my graduation.
But I can still vividly recall him recounting his adventures as if it were just yesterday—he and I were seated at the family table, our hands dipped in sauce as we indulged in breadsticks with marinara sauce. It's one of the fondest memories I have of him. He would share anecdotes about nearly missing his flights because he was too preoccupied with ensuring I made it to school on time. Other times, he'd regale me with tales of backpacking across the southern part of Europe, where he encountered a diverse array of people and experiences.
I cherished every moment spent with my brother, even though we occasionally bickered over trivial matters like who had control of the TV for the first two hours of our mother's allotted screen time or who got the top bunk of the bed. Shiro, my brother, was adopted when I turned four because my mother couldn't conceive any more children after having me. I'm grateful to my mother every day for bringing Shiro into our lives and allowing me to know him.
A rude encounter with a passerby on the street abruptly shattered my reverie of memories with my brother. Reacting impulsively, I flipped him off and stuck out my tongue before realizing I was holding onto Lance tightly. It dawned on me then that my vision was blurry, and my senses felt dulled— I had consumed more alcohol than I could handle.
"Shit," I muttered, using one hand to rub my eyes vigorously with the back of my hand as we came to a sudden halt. Blinking against the streetlight's glare above, I winced as the harsh light momentarily blinded me, eliciting a quiet hiss of discomfort under my breath.
"I can't carry you all the way, Keith," Lance grunted, struggling to support my weight. "Don't make this any harder than it needs to be. We still have like six blocks to go." As I tried to readjust myself against him, my feet tangled, causing me to lose my balance and faceplant onto the concrete sidewalk with a thud.
Lance chuckled softly before crouching down beside me. With care, he looped one of my arms around his neck and slid the other around my back, lifting me gently. His hand pressed against my side to steady me, ensuring I wouldn't stumble again. I turned my gaze toward him, but his features blurred in my vision, the alcohol-induced haze making it challenging to focus.
"Why are you blurry?" I slurred, my words slightly dizzy from the effects of the alcohol. With a shaky hand, I reached out and lightly slapped Lance's cheek before leaving my hand there, attempting to pinch his cheeks and widen my eyes to focus. However, despite my best efforts, the blurriness persisted, refusing to clear.
Lance let out a soft chuckle, his voice tinged with amusement despite the situation. "That's just the alcohol messing with your vision, Keith," he replied, his tone lighthearted. "Don't worry, it'll pass. Just focus on walking, one foot in front of the other," Lance reassured me, his voice steady and encouraging. With his support, I made a concerted effort to put one foot in front of the other, trusting in his guidance to lead us safely home.
As I stumbled along the sidewalk with Lance's help, the melody of a familiar song bubbled up from deep within me. "Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number..." I sang, the words slipping out almost instinctively. It was a tune my mother used to play incessantly at home whenever my dad returned from work. At first, I had grown weary of hearing it on repeat, but over time, I found myself knowing all the lyrics by heart—and to my surprise, I began to enjoy it.
I chuckled as I glanced over at Lance, who had picked up the song right where I left. "So call me, maybe," he sang with a playful smile, his eyes meeting mine briefly before turning back to focus on navigating the sidewalk.
As Lance continued singing the song, the events of the rest of the evening blurred together in my memory. The next thing I knew, I woke up at noon, feeling dizzy and disoriented, with a pounding headache. I realized I was late for class, and with regret, I hurriedly got ready, hoping to make up for lost time.
Despite missing my first two classes, I was determined not to forget the last one. I hurried downstairs, where Mr. Holt pulled fresh bagels from the oven. Without hesitation, I grabbed one, juggling it briefly to cool it down before taking a hurried bite. With my jacket half on, I rushed out the door, eager to make it to class on time.
"Mr. Kogane, you're late," the professor's stern voice broke through the classroom chatter. All eyes turned toward me, including Pidge's, who gave a brief wave in my direction. Embarrassed, I nodded sheepishly before quickly returning to my seat beside Pidge.
"Like I was saying before, Mr. Kogane brutally interrupted my teaching," the professor continued, her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer. "You will write an essay about your experience with cleaning the streets and why it is essential to protect our environment. You'll be assigned a street cleaner along your journey."
When I first signed up for this class, it was a choice between this and theater class, and the thought of spending four hours a week with a bunch of snotty, prepubescent teens didn't appeal to me at all. And the fact that Pidge would be in this class was definitely a plus.
"Keith, you'll be assigned Coran. Here's his schedule," the professor announced, interrupting my conversation with Pidge. She handed me a piece of paper with Coran's information on it, her smile tinged with irritation. I nodded and accepted the paper from the professor.
"Great," I remarked as I scanned over the paper. Pidge glanced back at me, and I couldn't help but express my annoyance. "His schedule sucks!"
"Dude, just suck it up and do it," Pidge advised with a smile as I met their gaze. "Just because you don't want to do it doesn't mean you don't have to."
"But at six in the morning on weekends? Seriously? I might as well sign my death warrant," I grumbled, folding the paper and stuffing it into my jacket pocket. Leaning forward on my desk, I ran my hands through my hair in frustration.
"I hear you, man. But hey, the early bird catches the worm, right?" Pidge chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. I shot Pidge a disdainful glance before sitting up straight.
As the class went on, I found myself lost in thought, staring out the window as I tried to reconstruct the previous night's events. I remembered going to a rock concert with Lance at a club, but beyond that, the memories were murky. How did I end up back in my room? Was I carried there? And how did I manage to change into my pajamas? The uncertainty gnawed at me, intensifying the lingering headache since I woke up. Did Lance do something while I was drunk? The questions swirled in my mind, leaving me feeling uneasy.
It seemed like the only way to get answers was to ask Lance directly. Given that he probably didn't drink as much as I did, he might have more explicit memories of the last night. And if I wanted to confront him, I'd have to head down to the movie set near Pidge's house. It was a tough decision: wait for his arrival or take matters into my own hands and seek answers myself.
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