Hard to Speak || l.h.

Six

"Woah, woah," I ran over to a twelve year old boy and his friend who were banging on the drum set with one of the ukuleles. I gently took the instrument out of his hand and put it back on the rack.

            "Hey, we were playing with that!" one of the boys protested. I leaned down so I could look them in the eye.

            "Listen," I looked at the two. "Little people. There's a perfectly good bookstore next door that could use a little destruction."

            The boys shrugged and left the store. Crisis averted. Across the store a little girl had a guitar raised over her head, prepared to smash it into the ground. With a groan, I managed to grab the guitar right before she did. "Hey rockstar," I forced a smile at the girl. "Where's your mom?"

            "What's on your lip?" she asked, and proceeded to poke my lip ring. I laughed irritably.

            "Where's your mom?" I asked again.

            "Daddy's having a mid-life crisis," she nodded very seriously. I glanced around at the customers, the majority of which were middle aged men.

            "Uh, huh," I put the guitar back on the rack. "Can you point your daddy out to me?"

            The little girl pointed to a man in an expensive suit. It probably cost more than my apartment. She then looked back up to me with a squint. "Are you a real rockstar?"

            "Um, not really," I rubbed the back of my neck.

            "Daddy works with rockstars," she said matter-of-factly. "Do you want to meet him?"

            Right now I was not too fond of the man who nearly let his daughter destroy the store. "No, not especially."

            But the little girl wasn't taking no for an answer. She grabbed my hand and yanked me in the direction of her daddy. "Daddy!" she announced loudly. "I found a new rockstar for you since your other one is broken."

            The daddy, a bulky man with salt-and-pepper hair, turned around, one hand rubbing his non-existent beard. "Really?" he looked me over. "You look like you're in a band, son."

            I tried to free my hand of the little girl's statue-like grip, but she wasn't budging. I swear my hand was turning purple. "That might be because I am in a band, sir."

            "Are you any good?" he kept rubbing his chin, it was making me uncomfortable.

            "I think we're pretty damn good," I said, then felt bad saying that around the little girl. Neither of them flinched, in fact I think the little girl's grip got tighter.

            "My name is Walter Riley, this is my daughter Lucy," the man said and held out his hand. The little girl, Lucy curtsied as I shook the man's hand. "And you are?"

            "Luke Hemmings," I finally broke free of Lucy's grip and rubbed my hand. Mr. Riley held out a card to me, and I took it.

            "I like your look, kid. Call me up one day, maybe your band is just as good."

            Him and Lucy proceeded to leave the store, Lucy waving excitedly as she did. I stared down at the card. It was from a record company.

            Once my shift was over, I went to the bookstore next door, glad to see the twelve year olds hadn't blown it up. Raine had told me she'd be here by the time I was off from work. I walked awkwardly down the middle of the bookstore, looking down every aisle. Finally, I spotted her, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her nose in a paperback. Her hair fell out of her loose braid, obscuring her face. When I sat down, I saw that her eyebrows were knitted together in concentration.