*Charlie's P.O.V *

"Who keeps calling me?" Sydney glares at her phone screen. "Is it the girl you're tutoring this morning?"

I frown, doubting that. She puts the phone down and consumes the watermelon cubes in front of her, mouthing between ingests. "But you said she's obsessed with you."

"No," I correct instantly, "I said she stares at me weirdly, but she doesn't seem like that kind of person. "

Syd hums to that. "Well, with the good looks you inherited, I guess who can blame her?"

I can't disagree. If her and Sil's features are anything to go by, our family exceeds this world's standard of ethereal beauty. Whereas we her offspring are nitpicked - me for being too pretty for a boy and Sil for being too pretty to be 'rude' - Syd takes advantage of this privilege to propel her career paths.

Honestly, she's too attractive to let a man stay under her roof rent-free. On that thought, my head motions to her bedroom door. "Please ask Dan."

"Never mind." She tosses me an apple. Once I have devoured the fruit, we set off. Unlike Monday, there are barely any students and cars around when Syd stops driving. Harry is nowhere to be found. He's probably still asleep by now, I think.

"Good luck with the girl then," Syd mutters as I hop out, "and don't get distracted."

*
Little did I know that I would need that good luck. This morning was rough. First, I was struggling to stifle my nerves. When I succeeded, ease began dwelling between Mia and me until she insinuated lying was ok; I am aware that my high-mindedness comes across as annoying sometimes, but that's false.

Anyway, I have decided to put all that at the back of my mind. Holding my serving tray, I focus on finding somewhere to sit.

The cafeteria is still rowdy, but - to avoid recalling this morning again - I can't spend recess at the rooftop.

I find an empty table and sit alone with my vegetable sandwich. Muffled laughter draws near to me, and then the table trembles. Shifting my earmuffs, I hear the girls now at the other end of the table, talk about a musical audition. I eavesdrop a little more after which my eyes beeline for the table Harry sat on the last time. I only see his two friends.

Maybe he's elsewhere in the school, I think, shrugging off any worry.

*

The next time I see those two, it's closing. They enter a Lamborghini and rev out of the school parking lot with no Harry in sight still.

"What are you looking at?" Syd lowers her car radio.

"Harry," I say, plopping onto the backseat. "It seems he didn't come to school or something."

Sydney rolls her eyes as I ask, "Please, can we go check his place."

"It's probably nothing to worry about," she mutters. "Besides, didn't you say you must meet someone after school?"

This is when I groan, "Oh," because I indeed have to meet the 'photographer'. "Ok...let's call him first."

Sydney disturbs the hems of her halter-neck blouse as she yanks out her phone and dials him. She puts the call on speaker, so I hear my friend yawn while I crouch to change. (I don't want to draw attention to my casual dressing by changing in the school washroom) She asks him if he came to school, and he coughs, saying he's got a cold. When the call ends, she scoffs, "This your lazy bruv," and starts the engine.

I beg her that we should still check how he is faring until, begrudgingly, she mumbles that she'll think about it and shoos me out onto the skatepark.

I move past the wire mesh fence, onto my skateboard, and then onto the ramps.

It doesn't take to spot the guy I met here as he beckons me over from the circles of Anderson High kids. I feign disinterest, so he jogs to me.

"Sup," he pants cheerfully. I shrug, and he slides down the pipe. Prepping to be on his tail, I kick one foot backwards while the other balances, adrenaline bursting everywhere.

We wind up skateboarding with an intoxicating breeze for what feels like forever before he halts to try out a trick I just did.

"Wait, so you like - what?" he sweeps his flying strands back to observe me.

" Ju-just ollie and..like, you can hold the board but, ur, t-then spin a little like this-" I attempt demonstrating as best as I can without leaving his side, but he laughs nervously. My lips bend into a challenging grin as he bites his.

"Ok, but let's try it together." He follows my lead, eventually. We bypass those near us, picking up speed and spinning too soon. Once no longer in the air, I traipse a little, completely knocked out of breath.

He falls hard on his buttocks. "AW-"

"-Sorry!" Immediately, I scurry to his sprawled posture behind me. He folds his arms over his face and lies back on the dusty pipe, wincing, stifling his yelp.

"Are you ok?!"

"No," he creaks, " I'm dead."

"Are you hurt-"

"No, I'm dead."

"Let me get you help -"

"So they'll think I died of embarrassment?! Nuh-uh." His biceps bend further for me to see his reddening eyes. I turn to get him anyway when he yells, "Wait- wait! Ok! I'm fine. I'm up -"

"Don't move!"

He sits up anyway. I glare, and he chuckles at my exasperation, dusting his jeans. He is fortunate to be casually dressed too; otherwise, his school trousers would have been messy. He heaves, resting his chin on his knees.

"Come on, please let me get you help," I squat to say.

"No," he pants, " I'll just call my driver to come get me."

On reflex, I bring out Sydney's phone from under my helmet for him. He calls his driver as I notice that the clouds are darkening.

"Why have you deleted my number?" His offended tone interrupts my sky-gazing. I open my mouth to ask him to repeat himself when realisation strikes me.

"You were the one calling? Oh, sorry." Sydney must have deleted it out of annoyance. This is exactly why she should decide if she'll keep both her phones or not, instead of taking the other back whenever she feels like -

I'm snapped back to Earth when he pulls a pen out of nowhere and grabs my hand. Before I can squirm, he tells me to relax. If not for his firm grip, I will rip my hand away because I disdain when people touch me without my foreknowledge. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think, weirdo?"

"Don't call me that!"

A seething tone is all it takes to stop his pen. Genuine curiosity flushes his cheeks as he says, "What should I call you?"

Oh, we don't know each other's names, I reckon. "Charlie. "

"Well, Charlie, I am writing Leo's number." He resumes writing on my palm. " If you forget again, ... I won't take your pictures, cuz all my clients stay in touch. That's how I do my business. "

"Who says I'm your client?" I say on impulse. He raises a brow at him, and for some reason, that encourages me to add, "I just needed you to know that Harry was sorry."

His jaw drops. I smile. You've forgotten.

After an agonising pause for him, he sighs, "Yeah, I know your Harry. But he wouldn't apologise."

"Maybe he will if you do," I blurt, "considering you hit him too."

Again, a look of utter shock overtakes his handsome features.

He gasps," If you knew what he did-" then cuts himself off to look at his dusty hands. Before I can ask what Harry did, Leo mutters, "But, yeah ... I guess you're right."

*

When it's time for me to return to the car, Sydney is snoring with her laptop on her lap. I tap her shoulder and say," Let's go to Harry's. Please. Pleeeease. Pretty please."

"Do you think I care about the appearance of 'please'?" 

Forty minutes later, we are at his house. Syd waits in the car as I knock on his front door. No one answers.

"Harry?!"

Still no response.

Immediately, I reach for the knob, and the door bursts open. Running up the stairs, I keep yelling his name until I barge into his bedroom.

He stirs as I exhale in relief. "Harry, did you not hear me."

"Mmmh." He rolls and rubs his eyes. When he yawns, I have to double back, covering my nose.

"How long have you been -" I gag, taking in his clothes scattered around, then the piss stains on his sheets. "- sleeping?"

"Mmhph." He squints at me, momentarily scratching his head. Then, suddenly, his bloodshot eyes bulge dramatically.

"CHARLIE!" He jumps out of his bed. I gag again as his arms lunge at me, but they trap me too tightly. I am gasping for him to let go when something almost trips me.

"What's that?" I tug him closer to his bed so that I can recover. He groans as I look back at what it is. Horror shoots up my spine.

"Harry." I pick it up, aghast. He pouts in confusion.

"HARRY!"

"Shit." He blinks, but my eyes are too transfixed on him to hear.

"Charlie," he coos and reaches for it, but I back away, causing him to bang my back into the wall. We begin to wrestle, his unwavering determination to snatch it reeking so bad that I can't extricate myself without pushing him. As his grip gets slippery, his incisors suddenly dig into my wrist.

"-AaRGHARRY!"

He jerks away instantly, barely coherent sorries pouring out of him. My body freezes.

"Charlie...I-I sorry."

"So-sorr-" he heaves.

I don't respond; I get out. Running back into Syd, not a single sound escapes. I bang her car door; she jolts, and her mouth opens to speak, only for her eyes to fall on my hand.

"He bit you?!"

"Charlie, why did he bite you?" she whispers, turning. I sit upright, so she focuses on what's in my grasp. Her shallow inhale seeps into silence. I listen to the way her pulse crescendoes. I let her fumble on our behalves. My numbness is permission.

" Is he dead?"

No.

"Is he locked up?"

No.

"Why did you come back here?" She hesitates.

"Are you scared you've failed them both?"

When it's obvious I still won't reply, her arms fly across me to open the door. "You will, if you don't stop this your-" She hesitates again. " Your babyish, ... selfish behaviour. "

Each syllable digs up my grave; then, this removes the nail in my coffin: " So, it's your choice, Krypton."

*

When Harry wakes up to the sun's rays illuminating a clean bedroom, he mumbles so many curses that it takes everything in me not to smack his head.

He hears a scolding and frowns. Then, recognising my voice, he gapes.

"Charlie?"

"Hm?"

"Charlie." A normal tone dissolves his rasp. He looks down at the breakfast on my lap and up at me.

I smile. "Good morning. I made you eggs and toast."

"Charlie." His eyes flutter as if he's imagining me. Then his hand stretches out to touch my hair, but I duck. He shudders.

"Ok. I deserve that."

"Please."

Nodding defeatedly, he touches the toast.

"I hope you don't mind me wearing one of your uniforms?" I ask, making him revert to absorb my appearance.

He shakes his bird's nest of a scalp. "It's not like we didn't use to switch clothes."

I watch him breathe out and in. Out comes a quiver.

"I am sorry."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not." He snaps. I shrug, and his glare softens along with his entire demeanour.

"I'm awful when I'm high, huh?" he sighs.

I nod.

"So...why aren't you telling me to stop then?"

"Because it's your choice." I think: just like I have chosen not to be a selfish baby.

He takes a bite of his toast, and I distract myself by wondering how he feeds himself alone in the house.

"Usually, I order online," he retorts, reading my mind.

I chuckle. " When will your parents return so you can eat well?"

"Whenever they want to."

Based on his murmur, they won't return for another month or more.  

"Would you ... want me to stay with you then?"

He briefly considers it, then says, " Na, my friends like popping in any way, and you won't like them."

"Oh, ok." Trying not to show my disappointment, I think of another topic of conversation to broach. When it dawns on me, I quirk, "Hey, have you heard there's a music audition coming soon?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes."

"You'll go for it, right?" I bob my head, only for his tone to mismatch my enthusiasm.

"I can't."

I frown. "Why not?!"

"Because," he groans," my girlfriend will, and she wouldn't want us competing from the same spot or something."

"You have a girlfriend?" I peek again. "How is she like?!"

"You won't like her."

"Are you sure?" I squint. "Or do you just don't want me to know her or any of your friends?"

He gulps to that. Instantly, regret floods me.

"It's fine though," I quickly say, "it's fine if you d-don't want me to disturb your... la-life, but - Hey, you still have to audition to appease me at least, innit?"

*Mia's P.O.V*

I hate Thursday night.

I'm not too fond of the way I sing.

I hate the way this entire club sets ablaze until the song ends.

But most of all, I hate that just when I have the chance to show the band guys the pink pills, someone drags me away to go home with Andrés. At least, the look the tattoo-faced guy gives me serves as an assurance that he'll help me out somehow.

Andrés doesn't hesitate to leave his reserved parking space immediately after I'm in the backseat.

We say nothing until he asks,   "Who told you I couldn't pick you the last time you were here?"

"Ur, Lóre."

"Hm," he snorts. I frown and wonder if it's surprise or anger etched on his face. Either way, I hope it doesn't mean Lòre lied or something.

When I reach home, I rush to bed, feeling great soreness in my throat. It's a good thing the audition is next week - if it were tomorrow, I wouldn't bother auditioning.

In the morning, during our tutoring session, Charlie comments on my voice, and I chuckle, "Ya, I went to a party and screamed a lot so."

"Ok," he says. There is a shift in his tone as if the fumbling boy in him is returning. Not wanting to let the boy go, I chime in, " I should stop the partying until next Friday, right?"

"Why?" His interest rises. "Are you auditioning?"

When I bob my head, he transfers his attention from my textbook to me.

"You should take honey and ginger ... and fruits," he blurts, "do you get to eat fruits often?"

"Nah."

"Ok then, " he sighs, "I will bring you fruits."

I can't believe my ears. "Huh?"

*

At long last, next Friday is here. I thought it would never come, considering how the days dragged on with zero sympathy. Fear and excitement keep battling for supremacy over my mind, just like who knows how many people do vocal exercises in the locker rooms, cafeteria, classrooms, and everywhere.

I feel like my preparedness is sixty-five per cent, thanks to Charlie, who brought fruits to improve my vocal cords every morning since. Today, for instance, he just made me eat all the apple slices in his Tupperware before giving me my score for the day's chemistry test.

I'm smiling at the eighty-one per cent mark, descending into the hallway, when I notice that all the posters have been put down and there's no excitement in the air.

Everyone looks gloomy, outraged, or smug for a reason unknown to me. Out of sheer curiosity, I eavesdrop on some girls passing by, only to end up among the sulking party because the auditions have been postponed.

As the rest of the day passes in a blur, I gradually start to reckon that maybe it is for the best. The thirty-five per cent in me is not ready anyway.

*

Saturday, I am startled by a cackling sound at my window. I abandon my maths homework to open the window.

" Charlie?!"  My eyes bulge out at the sight of him discarding a stone he's presumably about to thrust at my window again.

"Finally! " He groans in relief, "Listen, we don't have time for pleasantries, so please, come down right now; the auditions are almost over!!"

"Huh?!" I frown, puzzled. "Wasn't it postponed?!"

"Yes, to today. Now, would you kindly come down?!"

He doesn't have to alert me twice.

I hastily stash my participation card into my jeans pocket and bolt downstairs, ignoring Aunt Lisa's puzzled gaze in the hall as the front door slams shut behind me.

Charlie's already on a bicycle, which appears to belong to Noah. I get on mine, and we peddle fast.

Reaching the school grounds first, he drops the bike to start running. Adrenaline pumps through every fibre of my being while I catch up.

As we barge into the assembly hall, a scream drowns out the cacophony, hitting our ears. "Mia, OVER HERE!"

We simultaneously squeeze through nervous students until we find the source of the scream, Noah. Charlie positions his earmuffs properly as Noah leads us to a makeshift backstage.

"Thank goodness you brought her here so soon," Noah tells Charlie before yelling at me, "You're almost up!"

My eyes grow to the size of saucers. Panic sets in. I turn to Charlie, and he just shrugs. For some reason, that stops me from physically quivering.

The curtains separating us from the school theatre stage open a little.

"Next!"

Our eyes snap to the speakers above us. My breath hitches.

"Summers?" Charlie looks back down at me.

I gulp. "Huh?"

" You know you can do this. You just have to make the choice to be the best version of yourself."

There's a pause in which he finally lets out a shaky breath while I blink back nervous tears, registering every word, trying to imprint them in my mind.

I nod. I take a deep breath, one trembling step forward, then another and another until three pairs of eyes fall on me. One pair relieves me from my misery as a  demure-looking brunette in a white halter top asks, "Contest one hundred and eighty-three, right?"

"Yes." I glance at my card.

"Ah." She gives me an affable smile. The other judges jot down something before the mid-forties dude in a leather jacket looks me straight in the eye and chuckles.

The quite tough-looking, impassive guy now says, "Just go ahead and show us what you got."

Charlie catches my nervous gaze. I smile at him before the curtains disguise him completely. Then, I reposition the guitar across my tummy.

I close my eyes, see Dad beaming, - my best version is being his daughter - breathe in his cologne and strum.