Banding || l.h

Prologue

"So, er, are you going to tell me what's going on, or not?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in Luke's direction as I run my fingers along the headstock of the bass leaning against the wall, twisting one of the tuning keys between my fingers.

"Don't." The boy (Calum, I think) from my English class mutters, lifting what I can only assume is his bass from my hands and holding it protectively against his leg, shooting a disapproving scowl my way as he re-adjusts the tuning key I was playing with.

"Uh," Luke's eyes flash between my accusing stare and the garage floor, "we're... we're banding." He states more confidently than expected, given that I don't think banding is even a real word.

"Right. Banding." I say, nodding my head slightly.

"Is that even a real word?" Olivia whispers in my ear. I shake my head gently.

Before I have a chance to respond to her question, I'm interrupted by someone else.

"Banding," Michael, the Physics boy, says matter-of-factly, "is literally banding."

"Oh, yeah." Olivia blushes uncontrollably. "Of course."

I nudge her in the ribs for her flirting. "Oh, well done, Einstein. Really cleared that up for us!" I snap at him.

"Again, Physicist. Not musician." Luke mumbles.

"Oh, shut u-- wait, did you say musician?" My eyebrows, both, shoot up yet again as I train my eyes over the four boys stood (or sat) in front of me.

"Well, yeah. Banding." The seated one speaks up for the first time since we got here. I recognise him from school a couple years back, but I don't think he goes there anymore. He's sat on a wooden box thing that has the word 'Ash' printed on it in black. Ashton, probably.

"Still none the wiser on the word."

"Don't you get it?" Ashton stands up now and walks slowly to the centre of Luke's garage. "My drum box," He gestures to his 'seat'. "Calum's bass," He gestures towards a still-scowling Calum, who is yet to re-tune his bass. "Luke and Michael's guitars," Gesturing towrads a sheepish Luke and a smug Michael (whom I gladly glare at. I hate smugness.) "The microphones."

"So, what you're trying to tell me is, you're a--"

"We're a band, Al." Luke interrupts me.

Olivia gasps, muttering something about calloused fingers.

I almost splutter on the oxygen I'm breathing in. "A, a band?!"

"Yeah." Luke nods.

"A band." I repeat. "Okay."

Silence fills the garage. Surprisingly, there's not even an echo, like you'd expect there to be.

Luke fiddles with the strings of his guitar, giving off a quiet strumming noise as he does. I shoot him a glare, and he promptly stops. Calum seems to have sorted his supposed predicament with the bass, and is now smirking smugly (ugh), and satisfyingly at it. Michael picks at his nails, seemingly unaware of the awkward silence before him. Ashton just watches me, as if waiting for my response to this revelation.

Suddenly, Michael speaks up. "Why are you thinking this over so much? It's not exactly a big deal."

I glare at him. "No. You," I point at him. "I don't care about. You," Point at Calum. "I don't care about. You," Ashton is now on the receiving end of my accusing point. "Well, actually, you kind of explained this to me, I kinda care about you." Ashton smiles to himself.

I now turn my attention to Luke, who meets my eyes for a split second before dropping his gaze, pulling his beanie down to cover his flushed cheeks.