Chapter One
I don’t go out of my way to impress people. I don’t change things about myself to make people notice me. I listen to the radio, I wear the right clothes, I don’t fail classes, I don’t get noticed. I’m an ordinary male student, nothing special about me. And I’m alright with that. It has taken me several years to understand that the best way of life is to go under the radar and several more years to put myself in this position. I like it this way.
So why am I sitting here, at two-thirty in the morning, on my desk chair, holding my Dad’s old guitar? Why are there stacks of printed music scattered across my floor? Why are my fingers bleeding from playing for hours? I’ll tell you why. That goddamn Mia. Stupid, perfect Mia. Loud, bubbly, confident Mia. Pretty Mia. Mia, who is tall (but shorter than me which is good) and gorgeous and single and cool and popular and talented and nice and funny and laughs loudly and pretty, pretty, pretty! Mia, with eyes like the deep, dark ever changing sea. And single. (God knows why.)
Mia is in year eleven, like me. She works at the local Foodland loading and unloading trucks, part time, for eight dollars fifty an hour, like me. She aces her school work, like me. People notice her, unlike me. She has dyed black hair and several bits of metal in her ears, unlike me. She is talented, unlike me.
She is popular. Very much unlike me. She can have whoever she wants. Even more so unlike me. She is extremely good looking, unlike me a bit. Maybe more than a bit. I don’t know, I can’t really say I’m good looking, can I? Even if I thought I was, I couldn’t. I’m not saying I think I do, just that if I did, I couldn’t really say I did, could I? No, I couldn’t.
So, I ask again, why? Why am I even trying? But I know, don’t I? The school’s band (which is totally rubbish now that Logan, the guitarist, left the school on invitation to record in New York) is looking for a new guitar player. Mia’s going to get it, obviously. She’s been playing since she was, what? Four? Anyway, Mia’s going to get it.
Good for her! Really! I don’t want it, I don’t want to even try and take it away from her. (I couldn’t though, even if I did try). I just want her to… I dunno, know that I play guitar. Even though I don’t. That is the problem. That is why I’m sitting here, at two-thirty in the morning, on my desk chair, holding my Dad’s old guitar. This is why my fingers are bleeding. I suck on one and the metallic taste of blood runs along my tongue. I throw away the pick and get up, putting the guitar down on the chair. This is ridiculous. I climb into bed.
“Finally!” My brother calls from across the hall. “I can go to sleep now!” He throws something at the wall.
“You mean you can video-chat Shelly?” Sheila is his best mate’s girlfriend, and yes, my older brother is douche-bag dickhead.
“Get lost.” He yells back. I silently thank God that our parents sleep like babies. (Funny term, isn’t it? Like, a baby doesn’t sleep well at all. A baby gets woken up by anything, or even wakes up randomly. If an adult was to sleep like a baby, they’d probably be in hospital for insomnia and bed-wetting and all that. I think I prefer the term ‘sleeps like a log,’ but then again, logs are dead. And they’re not dead, but they’re sleeping like they are. Yes, I definitely prefer that.) I silently thank God that our parents sleep like logs.
Chapter Two
The next day is Thursday, but a student-free day. I get to work early, at five in the morning. I’ve had about an hour and a half’s sleep. And a two and half hour shower which Mum wasn’t happy about but Dylan, my brother, was because I no longer smelt like ‘girl and dogs.’ To be fair, it was early and his mind wasn’t totally on at the time. He redeemed himself by telling me, as I left, that I smelt like an elephant had sat on me. I thanked him, slapped him, and jogged off in case he tried to chase after me.
