Tone Deaf

Chapter Nine

Author's Note:

Hey guys! Thanks so much for the comments and support on the last chapter! They made me smile so much. I'm glad you still wanna read after all this time! Anyway, this chapter has a LOT of background information, but it's important stuff and tbh, I kinda loved writing it so I hope you enjoy it!!

<3

Q.

PS: check out this song I attached; I listen to it on repeat when writing this story, it gets me in the ZONE (plus it's a jam.)

https://geo.itunes.apple.com/us/artist/celeste-buckingham/438920834?mt=1&app=music

^ if you want to buy it on iTunes; it's also on Spotify though :)

Devon:

Okay, it's official—Freddie Junior is the craziest motherfucker in the industry, and in the entertainment industry, that is saying a lot. I express this much to Kyle as we're sitting in the lounge by Studio C in Razor.

He barks out a brief laugh and puts up his feet to rest more comfortably on the couch. I shoot him a disdainful look, but at this point, I've learned that telling him off has absolutely no influence on his behavior.

"You are such a drama queen, Devon, I swear to god." He shakes his head, incredulously, a soft grin still on his face. I've decided that his reputation of not smiling a lot is utter bullshit, because he's constantly cracking up at all the shit I say.

"Dude, he made me spend an hour making a mind-map of what's most important in my life. He had me split it into categories." I emphasize each word, to stress how completely ridiculous the experience was.

Kyle's grin just grows wider. "What were the categories?"

I roll my eyes at him. "You are completely missing the point."

He doesn't answer, just raises his eyebrows to indicate he's still waiting for an answer. I scowl at him, but his grin is contagious, so I concede and allow myself to smile in surrender at him.

"Personal, romantic, spiritual, and occupational." I list, remembering how completely empty the corner of the page where 'romantic' was written was.

"Spiritual?" Kyle questions, and I'm glad he decided to focus on that one.

"I don't know what to tell you, dude. I mean, I went to church growing up, but it's not like I ever paid any attention."

"What denomination?" he asks, which surprises me.

"Methodist." I answer, looking at him curiously. "Why, you in need of a religious awakening?"

He snorts and looks down at his hands, which are playing around with his car keys in his lap.

"Nah, just have these vague memories of a huge church I think my parents took us to before we were taken away. I think it was a cathedral actually. That means it's Catholic, right?"

I stare at him, and while he doesn't look up, he squirms slightly in his seat like he knows he's got eyes on him.

"Not necessarily," I say, quieter than normal. "There are Orthodox and Anglican cathedrals too. Even a few Methodist ones. But in the States, yeah, Catholic's probably your best bet."

"Right." he says, as a means of indicating this particular route the conversation has taken has reached a dead end. I'm shocked yet oddly pleased that he revealed something else about his past to me, and while my curiosity is still burning, I'm not going to push it, especially because I don't want to have to tell him the reason I know all of that is because I did a project on religion in my seventh grade social studies class.