Bullseye

Chapter 3

"Uh you have something on your shirt" I croaked out before he could possibly get any closer, thankfully he opened his eyes, looking down at his shirt and that's when I flicked him in the nose.

I know it's the oldest trick in the book, but give me some credit, I came up with that on spot.

Goodness gracious, only a few hours and I've already almost kissed this kid twice, given the first time was my fault, but man this kid is loose...

"I hate you." He mumbled while rolling off of me.

"Oh really? So you just go around trying to kiss all the people you hate?" I said smirking.

"I-I wasn't trying to, oh forget it."

"That you can guarantee I will do."

He just glared at me and then asked, "So are you going to play something for me or what?"

"We've already been over this, I will never in a million years sing for you under any circumstances."

Then a mischievous look came over his face. "Well then I guess I'll just have to sing you a few of our top hits or perhaps our whole album, it's awfully boring and quiet in here."

"No, no, no that won't be necessary!" I all but screamed.

Picking up the guitar, I lightly strummed on the strings contemplating a song to sing.

"Play Unwell by Matchbox 20."

I couldn't help but smile because that is one of my favorite songs. It's the song I sing when I am upset to cheer me up.

I began strumming the opening chords and then began singing, my voice filling the room.

Miles sat in silence, closely watching me, and smiling like a creep.

I got uncomfortable under his gaze by the time I reached the chorus so I just closed my eyes.

The flashbacks playing in my mind adding emotion and strong feeling into my already powerful voice. It made the song that much more authentic.

When I finally finished the song, I opened my eyes and noticed my cheeks were wet from tears, quickly wiping them away, I looked to a very enthusiastic boy jumping in front of me making thunderous clapping noises and yelling "Brava! Brava!" and couldn't help but chuckle.

"Now that that's out of the way," he said sitting down again. "Wanna tell me why you were crying during a non-depressing song?" He asked very seriously with a hint of concern crossing his face.

"Um no not really."

"You were just crying, I think I have a reason to know why."

"I'm not going to tell a kid I just met a few hours ago my life story. Having to sing to you was enough for one day."

"Ugh fine you stubborn turd."

"I swear you're like a five year old."

"Sing another song!!"

"I'm going to go check to see if the lunatics have left yet."

The screaming and flash flood of pink answered my question. Quickly shutting the door, I turned around to a smirking Miles. 

"What do you want?" I snapped. God, I can't stand that smirk, it's always no good.

"Looks like you have time to play another song." The smirk never leaving his face.

I looked down at my watch and saw it was only 8 o'clock. Great, I have to put up with this kid for another 3 hours... 

"Fine, one more, but that's it."

"Ok, but if it's only one more I want to hear a Kara original."

"Well as I always like to say, suck it up buttercup. It's my way or the highway."

And with that introduction, I began to play Rascal Flatts, Life is a Highway, but the country sounding parts I put my own rock style twist on.

"Wow that intro was smooth, that was almost a concert level intro right there. I'm impressed. And dang, your voice gives me chills."

"Thanks."

"Well since you refuse to sing anymore, I wanna play something."

"Please Lord, if you are out there, let a miracle happen! Give me liberty or give me deaf! I don't want to hear this singing!!!"

"That's a bit dramatic. Punny. But very dramatic."

"Please, do not sing! For my sake, spare me the torture!!"

"I promise you'll like it. It's not one of our popular songs, in fact, it's not even on the album."

My curiosity got the best of me, if he likes the song so much, why isn't it on the album?

His husky voice began belting out the lyrics. They were beautiful, nothing like the cookie-cutter crap you hear on the radio. It was authentic. It was a breakup song, but it was so filled with emotion, I almost feel as though I had lived through it myself.

it was absolutely breathtaking.

Why don't they have songs like this on their album?? They would sell so many more records!

When he finally finished, he set the guitar down and I just sat there with my jaw on the floor.

"Not what you expected huh?" He joked, but you could tell he was (for some weird reason) eager to hear my opinion and what seemed to be nervous, as if there was any possibility I wouldn't like it.

"That was absolutely amazing! Why don't you have songs like that on your album?!?! Heck, with music like that I might actually become a fan..."

He let out the widest grin as he mumbled thank you. Then he answered my question, "Well we don't exactly get to decide what goes on our album. You would think the sound of the band is actually up to the band, but it isn't. At all. We are told which songs to sing, they are all written by other people and then we sing like emotionless robots, they auto tune the crap out of it, and then sell it. They force us to sing as you so eloquently said, that crap that belongs with the firewood and toilet supplies, because they think that's the music that will sell the most albums and get on the radio. Record labels have destroyed real music and manipulated the market. I used to love singing and would sing anywhere and everywhere I went and now the thought of singing that garbage makes me want to cry. I wish I could sing my music, but I can't."

"Well screw the system! Grow a pair and tell them you're the one singing and doing the work so either they cooperate with your style or you will find a new label."

"I can't. I'm legally bound by a contract to do what they say."

"Well that sucks. I think you should release a black market CD with your real sound. The world needs a voice like yours." I said offering a smile, trying to lighten up the mood.

"Thanks." He sincerely said smiling back.

"Alright, I had to sing two, it's only fair..." I said gesturing to the guitar.

"What happened to give me liberty or give me deaf?" He mockingly asked.

"What happened is I found the real, authentic kid. Not the kid on posters and CD's."