Brave ● BACKSTAGE

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I was nodding my head to the sound of the beat, Gabby's providing vocals for a spectacular song that we wrote. I was manning the controls, making sure everything sounded alright, not that Gabby could ever make anything sound bad. She was amazing. 

She looked at me and smiled while she wasn't singing. I stopped the track we were using and pulled off my headphones. I smiled back at her. 

She walked out of the recording booth and into the small studio. "How was that? It was good, right?" she asked. She was always unsure of herself, and I never really know why. I think it was because of China. 

"That was more than just good, that was awesome," I told her and laughed. I pushed up my glasses gently. I leaned back in my seat. "That was utterly incredible." 

Gabby smiled at me and hugged me. I hugged her back. "I'm going to go get a water, I'll be right back." She then left me alone, which I didn't mind, of course. It was easier for me to work on editing files without someone standing over me. 

It was silent, not a lot happening. It was just me and my thoughts, left to move files and name them. There was nothing better to do. Gabby had her own folder on my laptop for everything she sung, wrote, or anything she worked with. Since I'm the resident techie between the two of us, I keep anything. 

"Hey, Loser Laney, get out of her," a voice said. I looked up. China Sullivan. Resident mean girl. The girl who was at the top of the music class. The junior that ruled the school. 

"It's Lana," I told her, getting up. I was done anyway. I unplugged my laptop and packed it into its bag. I took my time, knowing I was being irritating but I didn't care. I took care of my belonging because I know that they need to be taken care of right. 

"Like I care," China said and walked in. Behind her was tech geek like me. A kid names Norman that was tall and lanky. He didn't talk much, which pretty much explained how China could tell him what to do, because he wouldn't object. 

I pulled my bag onto my shoulder and sighed. I waved to Norman and then walked out of the room, leaving nothing for China to take. She wasn't below taking other people's things. She would so do that if we weren't smart enough to know better. 

Though this can't be proven, but Chatty Charlie has brought it up once. She said something about China taking some solo from a former senior and calling it her own. So wrong!

"Lana!" the voice of Gabby sang. She skipped down the hall to me and handed me a water bottle. "The machine screwed up and gave me two for one." She smiled. 

"Cool," I said and chuckled. Unscrewing the top, I looked down the hall. "So now we just wait around." 

"No, let's go to the dance studio. You can practice your moves and stuff," Gabby said, sipping her water afterwards. She smiled at me. "You can show everyone how amazing you are." 

"What's the point, China already kicked me to the curb at the beginning of the year, what's different now?" I asked. We started walked down the hall aimlessly. "I'm in a lower standard dance class." 

"But you could be in the top ranking. You could become an Aristocrat," Gabby said, whispering as if it was some big secret. 

There were other students scattered around the hall, working on playing an instrument or in a notebook. Some were in their lockers, putting away their dance clothes. I saw the captain of the Aristocrats at the end of the hall, looking out the huge window that over looked the courtyard. 

Abby Keener. She was tall, limber, and perfectly proportioned. 

"I don't want to be an Aristocrat," I told Gabby, turning to her. "Those girls make everything a big deal. They are all on diets, and I heard that they all have college boyfriends." 

"And where did you hear that?" Gabby asked. I looked down. She sighed. "You can't believe anything Chatty Charlie says, Lana. She's probably making up most of that gossip stuff anyway." 

"I don't think so," I said, stopping and pulled her aside. I looked around, making sure no one - especially Abby - was close enough to hear. I looked at Gabby. "I heard one of them purging in the girls' bathroom," I whispered. 

"Purging?" she asked lowly. 

"You know, throwing up," I told her. 

She looked at me for a moment. "Let's  not talk about this, please," she said. I shrugged and we started walking again. "And besides, it's none of our business." 

"We aren't talking about it anymore," I reminded her. She laughed and nodded in agreement. 

~~~

I walked into the music store that was just a few blocks away from the school. It's called Every Music Imaginable. It didn't really make much since, but maybe I just wasn't good at English. But in a sense, it did. 

There were walls of CDs, boxes of records, recording equipment strung everywhere and in glass cases. Then there was the usual novelties that every store had to sell. Posters, merchandise, and other stuff like that. Dolls made to look like singers and musicians. It was awesome. Then, of course, there were instruments everywhere. 

Me being me, I actually have a working record player. It was my grandmothers and she gave it to me before she went into the nursing home. She said she wanted to make sure I got it before she died, because even though she's made up her will, she doesn't think her son, my uncle, will stay faithful to it. It used to be her mom's, my great grandma, and now it's mine. 

I started looking through the records, thinking that it was so cool. Gabby thought it was cool too, but she didn't have a record player like I do. Whenever I bring her to Every Music Imaginable, she always buys records and brings them to my house to listen to. She said she didn't know why it was so good. 

I told her it was because it was more authentic. 

"Who listens to records anymore?" a voice said behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw a boy standing behind me. He had a pair of headphones hanging around his neck and was wearing a stupid, teasing grin. Another boy was standing beside him, looking cooler than his friend, and was carrying a guitar case. 

"I do," I told him and turned to him. I crossed my arms. "Something wrong with listening to music the old fashioned way?" 

"No, there's not," his friend with the guitar said, his voice calm and cool. He looked at his friend. "Don't mess with her," he said lowly, as if I still couldn't hear him.

"I was just messing around," the other guy said, getting defensive. He turned his attention back to me, holding up his hands. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything. I swear." 

I pushed a finger to his lips before he could continue sputtering out excuses. "I don't care, really. I'm used to the criticism," I told them. I shrugged and turned back around. 

They started talking in hushed voices behind me, again as if I wasn't able to hear them. 

"Ask her if she works her," the cool one said. 

"Why me?" the sputtering one asked. 

"Because you already made an impression," his friend said. 

"I don't work here," I said and pulled out an Elvis record. It was The Golden Records. Whether is was real or not was a whole other story. I looked into the box, but the boys were talking again. 

"See, she doesn't work here. Let's go find someone who does," the sputtering one said.

"Good luck with that. Herby usually just hangs out behind the counter and reads comics," I told them, turning to them again. They looked at me again. I pointed over to the employee sitting back behind the glass cases that were the counter. "Or he sleeps." 

"So now what?" the taller one asked. 

I looked between them. "What are you looking for?"