*Mia's P.O.V*

Rehearsals take a lot of time. I start to realise this as whenever I return home, Aunt Lisa complains.

"You better not make this habit unless you Andrés to fire you?!"

The first evening, she says this, and I get worried because if Andrés does, I won't get to my answers concerning Dad's pills. However, after Thursday night, I  care less; after all, the club guys still don't give me any helpful information, while rehearsals become ... interesting.

There's always a topic that distracts us while we deliberate the song of the day to rehearse. If not for Kat, we can talk throughout about everything and nothing.

By Friday recess, the news comes out: "Announcement Spencer High students! In light of last Saturday's music audition, we would like to announce that participants numbered twenty-five, fifty-eight, three, one hundred and eighty-three, and forty should kindly move into the assembly hall..."

"Oh shit."

"Mia, get up!" Noah nudges me. My head sways, and he huffs, "If you follow Kean, no one will notice you."

Witnessing his girlfriend bypass the cafeteria doors, I believe him and tail her. Kean leads me through the empty boys' locker room into the assembly hall, where Dalia sits alone with her legs hanging off the stage.

"Nervous?" She motions to the set of school instruments behind her.

"Yep." Kean climbs onto the stage before me. After fifteen minutes, Kat enters wildly. She is about to say pleasantries when Miss Morrell and the female judge come through the door with no-nonsense gaits.

"Please, where's the last one?" The judge snarls. Considering the massive bag under her Rolex-clad arm and the designs on her baggy jeans, I gulp. Someone, please answer her; rich people don't like wasting time.

The once demure-looking judge frowns and tugs Miss Morrell out of the hall with her.

Kean gasps immediately they are out of earshot, "Why didn't you respond?!"

"Girl, why didn't you respond?"

"It's not as if we know Moon's whereabout or like her enough to lie," Dalia sighs.

Ya, what a relief she didn't come for rehearsals even. She's a freaking monster.

Surprisingly, we are like minded on that. Kean jumps off and crouches by the louvre blades.

"What are you doing?"

"I am reading their lips, Kat."

"Really? What are they saying?" She also descends.

Dalia and I watch their skirts bump each other until Kean's forearms push until they overpower Kat's afro to get a better view.

Kean chortles, "Miss Morrell is saying let's wait a bit, and the judge is ... not having it apparently ... Oh, now the judge is asking how many people are in the Anderson High band ... Miss Morrell just said seven -"

"Why do we always compare ourselves with them?" The smallest of us speaks.

Kat's head tilts back. "Because they are the next best private school in the district, and they suck, Dalia. I hope they lose the game on Tuesday."

"There's a game on Tuesday?"

She stands, facepalms, and then holds her hand out as if strangling someone. "No one appreciates my job," she says and claps.

"We. Literally. Just. Said. It. Again. "

"Oh, sorry," I have the decency to utter, albeit embarrassed. For the umpteenth time, I did not heed all the school announcements.

Kean lifts her upper body, making it evident that she's laughing. They climb back onto the stage before Miss Morrell opens the door.

"Urm, so thank you so much for making an effort to come," the teacher chirps as her boots inch towards us. "Ur ... Leslie came from a long journey, so we can't waste any more time, and we were excited to make a female empowerment band of some sorts, but there's no lead vocalist here and - I mean Kean and Mia, your voices are wonderful but, we need someone who can make good original songs too."

"Original songs?!" Dalia voices my surprise, and again, Kat does her 'I will strangle you people,' face.

Meanwhile, Miss Morrell quirks, "You don't mind us bringing a guy in, right?"

*

*Charlie's P.O.V*

I am alive. On a beautiful afternoon, I am alive, punching my calculating as if mathematics will vanish from the face of the planet any second. I am so excited to finally solve a problem when a hand suddenly pulls me into the adjacent lavatory.

"Charlie -" I hear my name before witnessing the culprit close the water closet between us.

"Harry, what in the world -"

"I'm in!" He cuts me off, frantic.

I scowl. This is the first time he is talking to me in school; of all places, he chose to bring me here, and he's being vague. Does he want to annoy me?

"I'm in the school band thing," he clarifies, reducing his tone.

This is my turn to become frantic, but as soon as the urge to squeal arrives, I numb it with a smile. " I told you that you'd get in!"

Harry nods, agreeing vehemently.

"It's amazing," I muse, recalling the announcement a while ago. "Your number -"

"- Was not mentioned? Yes, but apparently, one girl quit."

"So they were all girls," I emphasise - in recollection of what Mia said about the band.

Harry wiggles his brows. "It's like my fantasy coming to life."

I gag. "Don't you have a girlfriend?"

" Yes," he proudly says, "and a wife and a stepson that can't support my fantasies."

"You are so lucky we are in school."

To that, his smirk dies just as mine erupts. I pat his shoulder, and he sees my wrist before moaning, "I pray that they are hot. "

"If your eye causes you to -"

"- Just be happy for me."

I make a surrendering pose as his hand ruffles his combed hair. His uniform is as neat as possible, and his eyes are not bloodshot. If this means he is clean now, I am happy for him.

"You make me happy today."

"Aww, thanks, mate." He cuddles his chest and wipes an invisible tear.

"Sorry, I mean - every day of my life since I met you."

"Dude, do you want me to hug the life out of you?"

"No. You just touched the toilet lid."

Harry gags this time. Shaking my head, I watch him turn on the faucet and rub his hands with soap. His reflection stares back when he says, "We should hang out on Tuesday."

"But isn't there a game? On Tuesday?"

"Yes, which means no lessons in the afternoon." He rinses his hands. "Which means free time to hang."

"Actually ..." I look at the ceiling squares.

He turns to me as I bite my lip. "Maybe... I want to see the game."

"It's basketball."

"I heard the announcement that we're against Anderson High."

"You hate basketball; no, you hate all sports," Harry turns with his hands mid-air. "And you want to be amid a noisy crowd?!"

"I will find a deserted place to sit with my earmuffs on," I say, sounding ever more collected than him.

He blinks in disbelief. "Ok." Then he chuckles, " I won't even ask why because the reason must have the word 'social experiment' in it."

"Those are two words."

"Shut up."

"Please, nicer language."

"I'll show you nicer language." He twists the tap again. Instantly, I don't even bother asking about his motives. I flee.

And on Tuesday, I flee again.

*

*Mia's P.O.V*

It's a good thing the bell rings for Tuesday's game right after our first physics homework is given; otherwise, Mr Stone would have added five more. I sigh in relief once my feet are gladly out of his territory.

"The game will be starting..." The intercom booms as everyone erupts from their classes. As people bump into and bypass me, I see a familiar whitish-pinkish head floating above the chaos. When it vanishes behind the library door, I follow it.

The few ones in the library mind me when I enter. Avoiding their looks, I follow the floating head. It disappears between the fiction section's shelves when the thud of a book plummeting resonates.

"Charlie?" I turn to the direction of the sound, and lo and behold, he appears, picking it up.

"Oh, hey." His gaze lifts to me, taking on a happy facade.

"Aren't you going to watch the game?"

When his head shakes, I also ask, " Why not?"

His response is silence. He fidgets with the pages' edges and sighs.

I'm considering not pressing him further when my eyes land on the yellow cover and turn to saucers.

"Nancy Drew!" I gasp, nostalgia jolting me to grab it.

Dad used to read me the Nancy Drew series as bedtime stories that often led to adventurous dreams about being the main character's sidekick, helping her solve cases, and defeating bad guys.

He laughs a little at my reaction, then probes, "Wer-were you searching for this book?"

"No, I was following you," I admit. Then, realising how creepy that sounds, I add," Because it's odd seeing you ... aside in the morning. "

Then I look away, only sparing him another glance to guess what kind of book will distract him from my obvious humiliation.

"... Harry Potter?"

His forehead furrows as if the words coming from me sound weird.

My jaw drops.

"You know Harry Potter, right?"

He blinks.

With utmost surprise, I lead him on a hunt for magic, inquiring about which planet he grew up in as a kid. Who doesn't know Harry Potter?!

He mutters something about Earth, the library, thermodynamics, and classics. His eyes roam wild with intrigue over book titles as we reach the 'H' section.

"Clueless son of Einstein."

"Stal-stalkerish daughter of Radiohead."  

I gasp, halting in my tracks to feign anger.

However, unabashed, he blurts, "I looked up your audition song b-by Radiohead. Do you like them?"

"My dad did." I shrug. "He raised me with the likes of KISS and Radiohead."

A faint smile creeps up his face, and I cock a brow."What?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"Ok." His lips expand in a genuine grin as these words roll out, "You forgot to say he raised a superstar."

A blush floods my face. I turn away to hide it. I wonder if he compliments a lot of people like that. It's not like this is the first time he's done it to me, but there's a thin line between flirting and complimenting here. I don't know which side he is on now that he isn't fumbling.

I avert my thoughts to Dad. Reminiscing hearing him sing in the mornings, I suddenly get an idea.

"Imagine the band writing a song about fathers. It'll be kind of different for a bunch of 'highly hormonal' teenagers, huh?"

"Uh..." Charlie says, admiring the books' spines.

I chuckle at his absent-mindedness. He freezes, gawking at one spine as if it is candy.

Curious, I squint at the title, then him for confirmation of the pronunciation.
"You like ... Lies of Locke ... Lamora?"

"Uh-huh!" He hands it to me like it's gold. "I recently found it online. It is the first of the Gentleman Bastard series, a thrilling fantasy which will keep you spellbound, considering how slyly the rich were duped -"

"Hey, no spoilers," I cut him off, just as a muffled uproar rises. He looks up, and a twinge of yearning clouds his eyes.

"Hey, maybe we should go watch it." I restore the book to the shelf. He looks down and shakes his head, though I am already walking backwards. "C'mon!"

*