For a Song [#Wattys 2015]

Chapter 5

Hilly

Proof. That was the thing going through my mind all through the rest of my day at college. Without proof it was my word against The Scale's and I wasn't sure how far it would get me. I brainstormed and searched the recesses of my mind for pieces of hidden evidence, perhaps some clue lurking on Izzy's laptop which had been offered to my brother- for school work my parents said, for Call of Grand Theft Shooty Times more likely, but he hadn't taken it, saying his old PC was set up just the way he liked it and now it sat languishing in our garage.

I couldn't concentrate on psychology- especially not when we spent the last fifteen minutes reading our textbooks and listening to music and I was sure I could hear the now increasingly familiar albeit tinny sound of For A Song drifting in from the headphones of a girl a few desks down. I didn't see Boy Frankie until the last lesson of the day, double English. Like always, I sat alone on the desk behind both Frankies. It allowed me to spread out my things, pens spilling out onto the table and I never minded being the third wheel- I'd been doing it so long by then that I hardly even noticed if they were holding hands or cuddled up close during movie watching sessions or kissing on street corners. Boy and Girl Frankie got into the class together and immediately craned around to ask me how it had gone down at Winton and Trout.

"He's right though, isn't he?" Girl Frankie conceded. "You are pretty stuck without proof."

"Maybe not," I tried to insist hopefully. "Maybe if I just explain things, explain that Izzy didn't finish the song and that it was too private to go on the radio then they'll understand." It sounded weak then, even as I said it- though I'd been putting so much faith in it before hand.

It made Boy Frankie laugh a little too, but sadly, "Oh jeez Hilly, Hills," he shook his head. "You're like a newborn baby deer sometimes."

"I am not."

"You are too. It's not like anyone's been shouting from the rooftops that The Scale stole Izzy's song. They didn't respect her when they were nicking it, why would they suddenly care about whether or not she wanted it out there for everyone to listen to?"

I opened my mouth to say something. Automatically about to point out that The Scale always seemed like pretty nice people. No wrecked hotel rooms despite the image, they'd played at a fan's birthday party once just because he'd written to them and asked if they would- but I didn't know why I was bothering to defend them after everything. So I just closed it.

"Plus," Boy Frankie added, one elbow resting on the table as he leaned forwards to make his point. "You'll be asking for it now with that letter. Getting a lawyer involved makes it look like you want to declare war. It's one thing to appeal to whatever human decency you think any of those tossers have with a sweet handwritten letter on, like, flowery paper and another to have it all printed and professional like that."

"I hadn't thought about it like that," I mumbled.

"You can't help it. It's in your blood. Two lawyers for parents? Of course you'll be all litigious."

"I'm not litigious," I stressed. Sure my parents were pretty academic and into the law, and we'd grown up hearing about cases, with my mother telling us from an early age about human rights law, what to do if we ever got arrested and the intricate boring details of the differences between fixtures and chattels when we got a conservatory installed in the back garden but as kids we'd all been anomalies. Ralph was far more interested in maths and computers than he was in civil disputes while Izzy and I were undeniably artistic types, which is why we'd always been close. And maybe why my mother and I never had. "Besides, my dad just teaches law. It's different."

"It's not."

"So you don't think I should get Phil to help? You think I'd be better off doing it by myself?"