Band Camp

Chapter Three

Forty polished tables and a squeaky clean floor is what stares back at me as I glance around the room to see if I've missed a spot or made a mistake.

I gather up the cleaning supplies and start walking towards the supply closet down the hall to my right. I walk cautiously in fear that I might embarrass myself from slipping and falling.

The supply closet is pitch black and I can't look past a broom positioned next to me. When I step in, products stumble out and fall near my feet. I curse under my breath as I chuck the musky mop and damp rag into the closet. I throw the bucket in last, letting it clunk against some shelving I can now make out. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and check the time to see if I still have some time left before I need to go; It's twelve o'clock sharp, so I still have an hour and a half until I need to be present for rehearsal. My phone is still blasting some Queen song that I frequently listen to as I shove it back in my pocket. I step out of the cluttered closet cautiously and turn on my heel to move forward. I walk face first into a structure that's engulfed in a rough fabric. My heart races as I realize that the structure I'm resting upon is a person, a living breathing person who is standing in front of me. Their hands grasp my shoulders and push my back the slightest so I can look up to see an unfamiliar face. His face is structured with firm lines and curves, a structured look a Greek statue might inhabit. His brown hair is tousled and his face is contoured by stubble that isn't quite long yet. But one thing stands out the most; his emerald green eyes. The color of the moss that you would find in an abandoned street stump in the middle of the forest. A grin is plastered on his face as he stares at me, a soft twinkle in his eye. I want to melt into a puddle at his feet right now; he's so handsome handsome and makes my heart flutter.

"Who are you and why were you standing behind me while I was in a closet?"

His smile grows bigger and dimples appear in the apples of his cheek, "No hello?"

I furrow my eyebrows and poke my finger into his chest, "No, now answer my question."

He lifts his hands of my shoulders and folds them across his chest, letting out a deep sigh. "I'm Gregory. I thought I heard someone so I was checking around and found you. You must be one of the nerdy band kids who's go cleanup duty today?"

I shoot him a disgraceful look and he chuckles, "I'm just messing with you because you don't look nerdy at all; you're actually kinda cute."

"Are you trying to flirt with me?"

"I might be," he pipes, "So tell me, what's your name?"

I put my hands up to my face to feel the burning sensation that's heating up my cheeks.
"My name's Annabelle."

He smiles and winks in my direction, "Cute name."

I look down at my feet and kick a small ball of fuzz that's sitting on the hardwood floor around then mumble, "Thanks."

He bites his lip but looks down at me slightly, "We should hang out some time, Annabelle. Anybody who's a fan of Queen is an exceptional person that I'd love to be friends with. What's your number?"

I move my hands towards my bag and dig around to find a piece of paper and a pen, but I can't find either.
"I don't have any paper or a pen," I admit.
He scrunches up his nose and pulls a pen out from his pocket and hands me it.

"I still don't have paper," I mumble loud enough that he can hear me. But he has another idea. He rolls up his sleeve to reveal a blank canvas of skin on his forearm. But there's an exception to what I thought was a blank canvas; the end of a black tattoo peaks out from his rolled flannel sleeve. I squint as I try to figure out what that tattoo may be; a gang tattoo, a tribal tattoo, a satanic loyalty symbol? But my thoughts are subsided when I hear him clear his throat. I uncap the ballpoint pen and start to write my number on his forearm. Once I scribble my number onto his forearm, I cap the hand and hold it out for him. He snatches it and pushes it back into his pocket.