Sakura POV
"Sakurrraaaa...pleaseeee?" whined Tomoyo.
"Come on, Tomoyo. It's just him coming over to work on this song. I don't need to look good for that!" I complained.
"But Kura!" cried Tomoyo.
"No." I said, simply.
"You're so mean! Eriol! Sakura's being mean to me!"
I rolled my eyes and giggled.
"Really? Then tell her to be nice or else I have to come over there and lecture her about personal hygiene." said Eriol, faintly through the phone.
"What? Hey! Are you calling me smelly? I am not! And this has nothing to do with our conversation right now!" I growled.
I heard Eriol's laugh and Tomoyo's tinkling giggle.
"Fine. Have fun with Syaoran. I'll call you later to see how the date went, but don't you dare try to hide anything from me." said Tomoyo.
"Or me!" I heard Eriol say, very faintly.
"Ok, ok. See ya." I said, and I hung up.
I pulled out my smooth, chestnut colored guitar. I strummed a couple of chords and closed my eyes.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and I literally jumped off of my bed and dashed down the stairs. I threw open the door to find a freaked-out Syaoran standing outside.
"Hi...there." I said, between breaths. "Come...on in."
"What'd you do, run a marathon?" asked Syaoran.
I paused. "Something like that. Now come on. My room is upstairs." I said, already heading up the staircase. Syaoran followed me up and we entered my room.
He looked around. "Wow."
"What?" I asked.
"This is not at all what I expected your room to look like." he said.
I looked around. The walls were black and white-like a piano, but there were covered in different posters of random things. In the corner was my large, fluffy bed with my guitar still lying on it. Two beanbags were in another corner of my room, and another corner had my dresser and my closet.
"What'd you expect?" I asked him, climbing onto my bed.
"I don't know...rainbows, ponies, medical kits..." he said.
I slapped his arm, and he smiled.
He walked over to my bed and picked up my guitar.
He sat down on a blue beanbag and began playing chords. I sat down on my bed and looked at him. It was then, that I realized how actually hot he was.
His chestnut brown hair gleamed in the light, and looked perfect in its messy own way. His t-shirt and jeans showed off his actually existent muscles (so many people had completely lied about having them), and gave him a casual, laid-back look.
I was stunned. No wonder he was that popular. He was down-right gorgeous.
"What?" he asked. He had caught me staring.
"What?"
"Why are you staring at me?" he asked, looking frightened.
"Oh, don't think I was checking you out or something." I lied. "There's just a chocolate stain on your shirt." I lied again, pointing at a random spot on his shirt. He looked down and frowned.
"Where?" he asked.
"Gotchya." I winked. He scowled at me.
"So, to the music. What kind of song do you want to sing?" he asked.
