Enjoy!

"Perdi? Are you in here?"

No response.

It was a first, considering that he had been showing up around the sametime everyday of this week.

"Marcella?"

"Yes?"

She heard a low groan coming from the corner of the room. Pedri lay outstretched on the old sofa, yet to awaken.

"Um, are you okay?"

It was well past lunch hours. She would usually find him behind the drums, or playing an imaginary guitar solo on one of the broken violinis.

"Yeah." He said, making efforts to sit up. "Got any snacks?"

"Actually I do."

He raised a brow. "You do?"

Marcella dug through her backpack. "Yeah, um, my mom she made these African samosas, but we call them sambusas. Here, try one." She went over to the sofa, handing him a sambusa. Pedri took it and did not hesitate to taste it. Matter of fact, he finished it in seconds.

"That was good. Can I have another one?"

Marcella's shoulders fell. "No. That was it."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence.

"So... how's the song coming on, it needs to be done by Friday, no?"

"Yes, and I actually took your adviced."

"Really?" He smiled.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, it was only a few changes." Marcella went over to the piano, Pedri followed, but got up at his own pace. "I took out the part where I rhyme time with crime and crazy with lazy."

"That's good." He nodded. "That's...." Coming around the piano he squinted his eyes at the sheet music.

"What?" She said, anxiously biting her nails. "You don't like it?" Even though she said she didn't care, Marcella kind of cared about Pedri's option of the song. His advice throughout the week had been surprisingly helpful. He sighed as he sat down next to her. "I like it Marcella, I really do. But why is the song still in English?"

"Not this again." She rolled her eyes and grabbed the sheet music.

"What?" He questioned.

"Look, Spanish isn't even my first language, it's French. I might as well sing in French, no?"

Pedri shrugged, "If it makes the song more sincere. You supposed to sing from your heart. I really think that's what señor Garcia meant for you to achieve with this assignment."

"Well, what do you know?" It was Marcella's usual response to when Pedri overthrew her with reason. She could see where today's session was going. It was not going to be useful to her if she'd spent half the time arguing with Pedri who had no involvement in the music program whatsoever.

"Are you leaving?" He frowned, seeing her get up and grabbed her things. "Already?"

"I need to finish the song by Friday and this isn't working for me."

"What? Us?" He stared at her blankly, perhaps wondering if he said something to offend her.

"I'm sorry Pedri, I'll see you around."

"Marcella, wait!"

She pushed the door open, ignoring his plea. But then he stopped pleading and started playing the piano.

Marcella paused in the doorframe, the melody familiar to her.

Cualquier cosa que haga está mal para ti..... (Anything I do is wrong for you.)

It was her song but....

Te quiero, tú me quieres, pero ¿por qué seguimos dudando.... (I love you, you love me, but why do we keep doubting?)

....he was singing.

Pedri's hands floted across the piano keys. And his voice....

Vuelve a mí y yo volveré a ti. Por favor, encuentra a mitad de camino. (Come back to me and I will come back to you. Please meet halfway.)

Marcella's feet betrayed her, reentering the room. Pedri was still playing and singing as she sat down next to him. There was no sheet music, he was playing by heart. And the lyrics, they were his own.

He nudged her shoulder "Sing."

"I don't..." She looked for the lyrics. He must have written them down somwhere. "Just sing Marcella! Improvise, from the heart."

Dudo de mí pero no de ti, porque el amor nunca duda. (I doubt myself but not you, because love never doubts.)

The words flowed out of her, along with the melody.

Te quiero, tú me quieres, pero ¿por qué seguimos dudando.... (I love you, you love me, but why do we keep doubting?)

Pedri joined in and now they were singing together, all of it coming from the heart. Marcella was buzzing all over once Pedri's hands stopped playing and the music died.

An unknown but exciting vibration flowed through her body.

"That was..."

Her sentence was interrupted as Pedri turned to look at her, his expression hard to read. He leaned forward, his warm lips sneaking up on her own.

"Pedri." She pulled back, a slight terror in her eyes.

He said nothing, eyes still darting hungrily at her lips.

"I don't..."

She tried to speak but his hands went to cup her face, railing her back in. Marcella closed her eyes, letting it happen, letting Pedri Gonzalez kiss her the way he wanted, slow and wet. It wasn't her first kiss, but this one was definitely the most exciting one. Pedri held her down, kissing her gently but rough at the same time. His tounge caressed hers gently and at times he would pull back as if to check that what he was doing to her was okay.

"I have to go." He eventually whispered, when his face was nuzzled up in the crease of her neck, his lips pressed against the pulse of her throat.

Marcella sighed but nodded. "Okay."

He pulled back to look at her, reaching forwards to stroke a thumb across her plump lips. "Nobody knows....that I can sing." He said. "None of my friends."

She smiled. "Now would be a good time to tell them, don't you think?"

He shook his head. "You can keep the song, it's yours. Just promise me that you won't tell anybody about this, about...."

"Us?" Up until just moments ago Marcella had never thought about her and Pedri being an us. She had thought of him as arrogant, inconsiderate and not to mention that he was friends with Gavi. No, Pedri had never been her type, although she could see why other girls may believe that he was theirs.

"Marcella? You okay?" He was cupping her cheek again, gently stroking her skin with his fingertips.

"Um, yeah, sure. I'm okay."

"Yes?"

She nodded. "Sure, I um, I won't tell anybody about the song or about..." She looked up as he stood.

"There is a football match on Friday, you should come." He spoke as if nothing had happened between them, as if the emotions that Marcella was feeling were of her imagination.

"I...can't."

"No? Why not?" Pedri grabbed his gym bag, throwing it over his shoulder.

"I have to go dress shopping with my mom. My friend is celebrating her seventeenth birthday on Saturday."

"Martina Blanco?"

She frowned. "How did you know?"

Pedri smiled. "Lucky guess." He moved on to the door, throwing her one last glance. "I'll see you Saturday Marcella."

"Um, I'll... He was gone before she could finish the sentence. "...see you?"