The Boy Who Called Me Songbird

Chapter 24~ Pie Anyone?

Ferrior's POV

"Again! From the top!" Chris calls out.

I lean back on the piano bench with a groan, massauging my cramping fingers. I guess that's what I get for playing piano for three hours straight.

It was the saturday before the big performance and Chris has been driving us insane with the whole practicing thing. He got us up at 6 AM yesterday to practice. Eddie was walking around like he was drunk, his eyes droopy and glossed over. Griffin was an absolute grouch, growling and grumbling at anyone who got near him. The worst part of it was that I was the one who had to go and get Willy.

Now, everyone knows that Willy was an early bird. She was always smiling and perky in the mornings, wide awake even though though everyone else was still half asleep. Not this time.

She came outside looking like a sleep-deprived zombie. Her hair was sticking out in all different directions and there were dark circles underneath her bloodshot eyes. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of pink short-shorts.

As soon as she saw Chris, she calmly walked over to him and slapped him upside the head.

"Practice starts at seven," she said, "Don't ever make me wake up like this ever again Chris."

With that she grabbed her things and headed up to the bath houses to get cleaned up.

We started today's practice promptly at seven. Not a minute before.

"It's break time," I said, "My hands can't take much more of this right now."

"Suck it up," he said, warning him a well-deserved glare, "I have to make sure that this is perfect."

"Do you want me to be able to play or not?" I shot back, "My fingers feel like they're going to fall off."

"Yeah Chris," said Willy, inspecting her fingers with a grimmace, "I don't think that my fingers can take much more either."

She lifted her hands and we all gasped in horror. Her fingertips were a painful, cherry red and her well-worn calluses were bright white with partially torn pieces of skin fraying off of them all over the place. It was painful just looking at them.

"We're done man," Eddie piped up, "We've been playing all morning. We've got the song down. Give us a break."

"Boys, Boys..." says Griffin, putting his hands up in a mediatorial mannor, " and Chris... no fighting! We're best friends remember? Can't we all just get along?"

"You," Chis points at Griffin, "Shut up! Come on and lets run it again! This needs to be perfect! Practice makes perfect!"

I sniggered at Griffin, "You just got yelled at."

"You shut up too!" he yells at me, starting to get flustered that we were all ganging up on him, "Get to it piano man!"

"Chris, you've really got to chill," said Willy, "You're getting way too worked up about this."

"I don't need to chill!" he snapped back, "I'm perfectly chill! Absolutely chill! As chill as a Chris-sickle!"

"More like a cramp-sickle," Eddie grumbles.

"Let's take a break and then meet back here this afternoon," I suggested, "Give us time to nurse our corpal tunnel and sore fingers."

"And eat!" Griffin added, "I'm starving! It feels like forever since breakfast!"

As if on cue, Willy's stomach rumbled loudly.

We all turned to her with amused faces and she shrugged, "I didn't have much to eat this morning. Usually we're not practicing for four hours straight. All that I had was a pineapple-mango smoothie and a muffin."