She's A Rainbow

2. doll on a music box, wound by a key🗝

As I put pressure on the brake to stop, I hear Sierra's soft, mezzo-soprano voice on the radio talking to me about acne cream before the next song starts.

Why am I even upset? I think. We literally got into a fight about colorblind casting once. The thing I've noticed about guys is that they SAY that race doesn't matter whenever WE want to turn it into a positive thing like black-owned businesses and movies, but suddenly it DOES matter when it comes to preferences. Fucking cowards. If race doesn't matter to you, prove it. Date me.

The next song on the radio is "She's A Rainbow" by The Rolling Stones. Damn right she's a fucking rainbow. Not just one color.

❤️🧡💛💚💙

I step out of my car and shield my silk-pressed hair from the rain with my music binder. Determined to minimize as much damage as possible, I sprint towards the entrance and pull open the glass door.

I smell the sterile, freshener scented air as I wipe the soles of my damp Converse on the burgundy rug. My eyes gaze at the flickering fluorescent lights on the faded yellow ceiling.

My shoes squeak on my way to the sign-in desk. Where a woman sits behind the counter. She has stylish, silver fox hair and a face that reminds me of a cute, button-eyed stuffed bear.

Her name is Marjorie-Berkley Riley. But we all call her Marnie for short. She's in her early sixties, and despite being retired and set for life, she donates her time here purely because... she loves it. She loves helping to cultivate talent, even if it's just letting them through the door. That taught me, despite how shitty I feel right now, I'll always put on a brave smile for her. To show her how grateful I am.

"Hi, Marnie! How are you?" I greet her.

"Hi, Kiara! You're right on time!"

"How's Lucas?"

"Oh, he's great. He's doing much better in math now, thanks to you."

"That's amazing! Do you still need me to tutor on Fridays? Because I might have a slight schedule change again. I'm applying to Wendy's soon and I need the hours," I mention to her.

That's right, I'm getting not one, but two jobs.

"It can honestly be whenever you can, dear. We're always free!" She sweetly replies.

"Okay, Wednesdays will probably work best for me, so I'll show up then." I say.

"Oh!" She points at me with her maroon nail. "I've been meaning to introduce you to my other grandson. He LOVES theatre! And he's the same age as you."

Fear kicks me in the gut. I've already met her other grandson and, honestly? He scares me.

I politely inform her, "It's okay. I've met Tyler."

She chuckles, tipping her nose. "Oh, honey, no! Tyler's not into theatre and he's about to graduate. I'm talking about my other grandson, Aaron-Taylor."

I tilt my head. There's another member of the Riley family dynasty? "Oh? Why haven't I seen him before?"

"He's been so busy doing shows after school. He recently was just in The Sound Of Music!"

Must be nice, I think.

"Gotcha. Well, I'd love to meet him," I perkily say despite having a now skewed, cynical view of guys. Especially if he's related to Tyler.

"Lovely! I'll introduce you next Wednesday!" Then, she whips her head to the clock. "Oh—time flies when you're having a good conversation! I almost forgot to buzz you in."

She holds the button on her desk, and puts her lips into the fuzzy mic. "Ms. Katerina? I have Kiara here for you! Are you ready to let her in?"

"Yes I am! Tell her to come in!" Ms. Katerina replies.

The metal door in the corner clicks open.

"Go right on in, sweetheart," Marnie says.

My whole body instantly shudders at the coldness of the practice room. I can feel prickly goosebumps form on my flesh, despite me wearing a rainbow-striped sweater.

"Hi, Kiara!" Ms. Katerina, a bright-eyed blonde woman in her twenties greets me. "How are you?"

"Okay, for now." I answer.

She leans forward to ask me, "How did it go with that guy?" while respectfully lowering her voice.

"Terrible. I can't even say what he said to me."

"Wow, I'm so sorry. You always have such bad luck with guys. I don't understand it."

Ms. Katerina sometimes doubles as my therapist. On our first lesson she stressed how important it was for us to have a good bond because it affects the learning experience. She always values my comfort.

"Thank you. I dunno if I can get through this song without either crying or voice cracking. There's so much mucus in my lungs right now," I groan while soothing my burning cheeks with my cold palms.

"I feel you, girl. Hopefully the warm ups will, well, warm you up!" She jokes.

After about five minutes of lip buzzes, yawning, tongue stretches, and major scales, we get to my current song, fittingly, "Doll On A Music Box" from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

"What do-you seeeee?" I start singing, "You Peo-ple ga-zing at meeeee? You see-a-doll-on-a-music-box-that's wound-by-a-keyyyyy."

Ms. Katerina stops playing the melody accompaniment to tell me where to breathe, and I mark my sheet music. I'm singing this song for my fall recital, but there's one problem: I need my own Caracticus Potts.

"Did you find my Caracticus?" I mention before we begin again.

She answers me with a head shake and a thin-lipped smile. "Sadly, no. I'm trying to ask the guy students I teach but they all have busy schedules. We're only in the beginning though, so I wouldn't worry about it for now."

I have to worry about this stuff ahead of time, though. I say in my head. I know no guys here would want to work with me.

"How-can-you-teeeeeell, I'M, un-der a speeeeell, I'M, wai-ting for loooove's first kiss." I continue.