Chapter 1
I watched the people walk by, one after another, casting me disapproving looks as they continued on with their day. I wanted to yell after them, but that was going to do nothing to prove my point. Be the bigger person, I tell myself, attacking people and calling them out will do nothing in proving your point. Continuing to strum my guitar, I sing the chorus of a song I wrote about a year ago. Honestly, I was ashamed to be busking. It was a last resort, if I did not get another $50 in the next 24 hours I was going to be kicked out of my apartment complex and out onto the streets. Before I moved here, I promised myself to not do anything involved with music besides listening to it and writing reviews on it. I was here to further my writing not to pursue my childhood fantasy of stardom through singing. I took a break after strumming the last cord of the song and looked at how much people had given me. A grand total of $22.58 and a gum wrapper. As I sat with my head in my hands, contemplating on my next move someone coughed behind me. I looked up and my eyes met the worried gaze of a boy probably around the age of 19.
“Are you okay? You seem to be in a rough spot.” He said, his voice flowing into my ears like velvet.
“Just going through a rough time,” I tell him honestly. I put the money I had into my purse and began to pack up my guitar. At this rate, it would take another 2 hours to get the amount I needed. I had to come up with a new plan.
“Care to explain over a cup of coffee?” He asks,” my buy, and there’s a great place just around the corner.”
“I probably shouldn’t, but I have no idea what else to do, so I guess I will. Lead the way,” I stand up with my case in my right hand. As we walked, I took the opportunity to check out the boy. He was a good 4 inches taller than I was, had a combination of curly and straight hair laying over his forehead, and was dressed as if he had just stepped out of a modeling shoot. Next to him, I probably looked like a dumpster-diving, drowned rat. We walked down the street to the corner where he held the door open for me. The inside of the coffee shop was something like you would see in an indie-inspired movie. There were couches set up and comfortable, sofa-style chairs around round tables. People were all around but it still did not seem crowded. Some had headphones in, some were typing away on computers and others were talking with their friends.
The boy led the way to the counter, where I ordered a salted-caramel latte, then he told me that he would wait for the drinks and I could go ahead and choose a table to sit at. True to the cliché movie scene, I picked the table tucked away in the corner. Placing my guitar against the wall beside me, I pulled my phone out to pass the awkward moments of sitting by myself. I play piano tiles, not getting anywhere close to my high-score. It is not entirely my fault that I could not concentrate because a hot and seemingly nice boy was about to sit across me and listen to my problems. A few rounds of piano tiles later, my drink was placed in front of me and he sat across from me.
“Okay,” I say,” Before I tell you my depressing life story, I feel like I should at least know your name.” He chuckles before answering, “The name’s Ashton. And since I’m about to listen to your life story, I feel as if I should know your name.”
“I’m y/n,” I say, letting a smile slip onto my face. The coffee cup warmed my hands as I contemplated where I was going to start.
“I guess I’ll start with the fact that my family disowned me about a month ago,” I begin,” I did not want to do what they wanted me to with my life. I wanted to move here and pursue a career in writing. They laughed and told me how stupid I was to think it was possible to succeed, so me being me, I decided I was going to prove them wrong. But so far they seem to have been 100% correct.”
