~Jack

"I thought we were going to Cincinnati." I frowned when we stepped off of the plane, heading towards the place where we grab our luggage. "Your father insisted we go to LA instead since he thought there would be better job opportunities here." She explained hastily, grabbing my suitcase and handing it to me. Grunting at the sudden weight, I dropped it on the ground, extending the handle and dragging it behind me as I followed my siblings. "Where even are we staying?" I asked my parents as we loaded our stuff into a taxi, barely able to fight ourselves in. "You'll see." Father winked. I watched blurry cars pass by through the window, my thoughts constantly drifting to Ireland. I already missed my friends and ached to hold my drumsticks again. I had stashed the ones ma threw away in my suitcase under a bunch of clothes after duct taping it together. I wanted to keep at least one piece of my old band with me. I pulled out my phone and smiled at the picture Conan took. I quickly put away my phone when we arrived at our new home. It was small like our cabin, made out of bricks and painted a boring white. There was a paved pathway that curved from the driveway to the door. Instantly my siblings surged forward to claim their rooms. I hung back, watching in mild amusement as they fought over who reached a room first. I peacefully accepted the basement without any argument since even though it was big, it was freezing, the floor made of concrete and walls made of dark brown wood. A single dim light bulb connected to a string illuminated my new room. I walked back up the creaky stairs to bring my stuff down when I spotted ma talking to someone at the door. It was a guy about my age with red dyed hair, black rectangular framed glasses, tan skin, chocolate brown eyes, and a friendly smile, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He looked around ma at me, his smile widening. "Hey, I'm Mark!" He greeted me, extending a hand for me to shake. "I'm Sean, but my friends call me Jack." I cautiously shook his hand. "Um, I live just down the street, so I thought I'd say hi." He smiled sheepishly. "I like your accent, where are you from?" He remarked. "Ireland." I stated. "Nice! Where are you planning on going to school?" He asked. "I dunno yet." I shrugged. "Oh. Well, see you later hopefully!" He waved goodbye, walking back to the house across the street from us. I then took my stuff downstairs, realizing I couldn't really unpack much since I didn't have a closet or bed. Instead, I sifted through and pulled out my drumsticks, practicing rhythms on the concrete floor that echoed loudly in the spacious room. I stowed them away when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Father. "How do ye like the new place?" He asked with a grin. "It's great." I mustered up as much energy as I could. Truthfully it was, but even though I was physically here, my heart's still in Ireland, playing on my old drum set that wasn't broken. "Good! So, you're mother and I have been talking, since we don't have any furniture yet, we thought you'd like to go stay at Mark's house." He suggested. "I-I guess." I stammered. Apparently my parents are desperate for me to make friends, I thought as I dumped my extra stuff from my suitcase on the floor, packing only what I thought I would need, including my drumsticks so no one would find them as I walked out the door, meeting Mark at his driveway. His house was wooden and about the same size as mine from the outside. "Hey Thomas, I brought a friend over!" Mark shouted when we entered the house. A man that looked almost like Mark with shaggy black hair, black goatee and brown eyes poked his head out of one of the rooms down the hall. "I'm Sean." I awkwardly introduced myself. "Hey, I'm Mark's older brother Thomas." He replied. "He's in college so he's only visiting for today, then he's leaving in the evening." Mark whispered in my ear. "Anyway," Mark clapped his hands together. "What do you wanna do?" I looked around the house, spotting a video game console. Immediately I was excited since the only time I had ever played video games was at a friend's house. "I'm guessing video games." Mark laughed at my excitement, turning on the console and handing me a black video game controller before sitting down on the plush beige couch, motioning that I sit by him. "This is one of my favorite games, grand theft auto five." He explained as he pressed start. I felt like all of my problems melted away as I listened to Mark talking about how he went to a school simply called Los Angeles high school that was close by here while we broke into military bases, trying but failing to steal jets. "Diabhal!" I cursed after the jet I finally managed to take was blown up. "What does that mean?" His eyebrows raised. "Damn." I told him, focusing back on the game. "Jogeumdo is damn in Korean." He informed me, punching a military soldier in the face and taking his gun. "Can you teach me Irish and I'll teach you Korean?" He pleaded, pausing the game so he could look at me. "Sounds cool." I agreed. "Awesome!" He exclaimed as he continued the game, teaching me mainly curse words in Korean. "You like to curse a lot?" I teased. "No, my dad taught me." His face fell. "My dad was in the military, and he was here for a visit when he had a heart attack...I held him while he died in my arms, his last words promising me that he'd be proud of me, no matter what." Mark said softly. "But that was a year ago." He shook his head and focused back on the game once more. An uncomfortable silence fell over us as we played for a little bit longer. "Nice tattoo by the way." He commented, breaking the silence. I looked on my arm at the black pitchfork shaped tattoo I had gotten on my sixteenth birthday, nearly forgetting about it since I was so used to having it. "You should dye your hair, it would look cool. Probably green would be good." He added. "Is that because I'm Irish?" I teased, thickening my accent. "No." Mark's face blushed as he scrambled to find a reason. "I just think it would look good." He said finally. "Sure." I sarcastically rolled my eyes. "Would you boys like chicken and dumplings?" A woman entered the room, holding a steaming pot that smelled delicious. "Thanks mom!" Mark darted into the kitchen, dragging me behind him. "Chicken and dumplings is my favorite!" He licked his lips as she served the food. "Thank you Mrs..." I trailed off. "Fischbach." She supplied. I nodded in acknowledgment, blowing on the food before eating it. "You like it?" He nudged me. I nodded again since my mouth was full, swallowing before taking another bite. Once we were done eating dinner, Mark showed me around the house. It had three bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, and living room. "Thomas room is really the guest room when he snot around." He explained. "Sorry about the mess." Mark apologized as he shifted a pile of clothes out of my path before sitting down on the bed. "I went ahead and brought your suitcase in." He pointed at where it was lying in the closet floor. "So, you play drums?" He prompted. "Well....it's a long story." I sighed. "It's a good thing in an excellent listener." Mark folded his hands in his lap, waiting expectantly for me to begin. "I was in a band before...Raised to the Ground. We had been around for a while, but when we played our last gig at our school-" I broke off, memories of food flying and staining my friend's clothes flashing through my mind. "They were less then excited." I laughed bitterly. "They threw food at us, trays, and even silverware, and as soon as we left the stage, they...broke my drum set I had since I was a kid." I swallowed hard. "My drumsticks are all I have left of home." I showed them to him. He gently examined them. "I was never part of a band before." He confessed, handing them back to me. "Why don't we make one?' I blurted. "I-I don't know what I would do, I mean I play trumpet, but-" "you can be our vocalist!" I interrupted him. "As soon as I get a new drum set, we'll start practice." I decided. "You're sure?" Mark asked incredulously. "Positive." I assured him. "What would we be called?" Mark frowned. I paused, contemplating different names. "Say a word from your language." I instructed. He hesitated before answering. "Uliuli." "Banna." I supplied a word from my own language. "Our." He translated his word. "Band." I translated mine. "Our band." I put the two words together. "I like it!" Mark remarked. "Sean, your mother wants to show you something at home." Mark's mother poked her head in. "I'll be right back." I promised Mark, running home to see what ma wanted. When I got to the bottom of the stairs, she covered my eyes. "I got ye a little something as a moving present." She removed her hand from my eyes, revealing a black drum set with a white drum and a couple of cymbals. "This is perfect!" I gasped, running my fingers across the cymbals, wishing I had my drumsticks with me so I could play. "Ye like it?" She smiled. "Like it? I love it!" I hugged her while she laughed, stroking my hair. "Now go back to your friend." She lightly pushed me up the stairs. I jogged back to Mark's house, face flushed with excitement when I entered his room. "Guess who just got a new set of drums?"