Everyone has problems, a concern and circumstances that cannot be dealt with openly. Whether it be mental illness, absent parents, or a stalker who won't stop blowing up your phone; the Earth keeps on turning. Time keeps on ticking, and we just have...
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"South Hampton? Have you even heard of a town called South Hampton outside of New York before?" Ria chattered quickly from the other side of her computer screen. I quickly pulled a shirt on over my head and leaned over so that I was in the line of the camera of my SurfacePro.
Ria was leaning rather close to the screen, like she was trying to grab something from behind her desktop. Finally she sat back and held up a shiny, purple, rectangular packet between her fingers with a smug smile lingering on her lips.
"Ha! I found my Vandoren."
"How the hell do you lose a reed behind a computer monitor?" I asked as I minimized the Skype window so that I bring up a list of competing bands that Northern Michigan would be required to go against this year to make it to nationals. Sure enough, at the top of the list happened to be a High School Band straight out of South Hampton, Pennsylvania.
"I've never even heard of this band," I murmured under my breath and made a note to look up how good they were later -- probably at some time around three in the morning.
Ria rolled her eyes and threw the large bamboo reed offscreen. Her dark brown hair fell into her face in matted locks, but she had that relaxed mood about her that made it seem like she was too lazy to care.
"Honestly, I don't know," she replied and pushed away from her camera in a leather office chair so that she could pull her black and yellow marching band hoodie off over her head.
Underneath she wore a simple white tank top that hugged close to her body in a way that would have been attractive to most people, but only reminded me that I needed to send in a complaint for more masculine guard uniforms next winter.
"So do you want to come over and help me tape up me rifle? I just got a new one. They say we're going to paint them this year." Her bright eyes twinkled in a way that suggested that we might be doing more than taping rifles.
"I can't," I lied through my teeth. "My parents want to talk to me about something."
Ria leaned forward and crossed her arms on the desk; the calm expression quickly melted into concern.
"You're okay, right, Braden?"
I sighed and threw a crumpled ball of paper at my SurfacePro. I must have been stronger than I thought, because the slight knock tipped my computer, and if I hadn't gotten up from my seat on the bed, it would have fallen a potentially murderous drop off the top shelf of my dresser. Ria seemed rather amused by the klutziness of my tablet computer, but even though I'd distracted her, the laughter didn't reach her eyes.
"Stop laughing," I said as I propped the camera back up on the shelf. "Or I'll go downstairs and stick you in the fridge again."
"No! Not the fridge! Anything but the fridge!" she exclaimed and brought her hands to her face in mock horror.
