School on Wednesday came and went, but not at the speed Angus was hoping for. On his and Hannah's way home from school, Angus stopped by the music store again and stared wistfully at it. The guitars hung in the window and teased him. The banjo in his room had sprung three strings now and wouldn't tune like it used to. Malcolm had recently earned enough money to buy his own guitar after he helped pay off George's broken one. It was beautiful and Angus would play it whenever he got the chance. There were close calls when Malcolm would come home early and Angus wouldn't hear the front door open and close over the music. Thankfully Angus had seen his brother's jacket on the couch and hurried upstairs to put it away. Malcolm would always tease Angus about being deaf that he should have the record player on so loud.

"You're fogging up the glass, Angus," Hannah teased behind him. The boy glared at her before he turned his gaze back to the store. He had to at least take a look around before he died, didn't he?

"What do you say about goin' in there today?" he asked over his shoulder. He could hear two feet hesitantly shuffle a bit behind him so he tried again. "Jus' for a bit. To look around, ya' know."

"I-I don't know, my mother wouldn't like me in there, says there's druggies in there an' nothing good comes out of that music." Angus was appalled.

"Do you believe in all that horse shit?" he asked turning to face her. A pale red flushed her cheeks. "Can't imagine why you're friends with me-or Malcolm if you believe that for yourself."

"That's not-it's because I-" Hannah sighed, not able to say anything just yet. This was hardly the time or place. "Angus, if I get smoke or pot or any liquid that may or may not be alcoholic on my uniform, so help me God..."

"Ever heard of dry clean? The spots will be out in no time."

"Doesn't take away the smell." Angus opened the door for her.

"Jus' for a bit. It'd get you out of a house for a while, you deserve a day off from studyin'. Come on, lemme take you out somewhere." Hannah blushed at the statement but washed it away with a frown. She crossed her arms and stepped past the threshold.

"Fine. But we're studyin' extra tomorrow," she said giving him a smile. Angus closed the door after them shaking his head.

The room was bigger on the inside, with shelves on one side filled with albums from bands of all fame. Instruments littered the walls and special guitars hung from the front window. A couple drops of rain peppered the window and a cold breeze swept under the door. At the front desk stood a man who was tuning a violin on request of Mrs. Banker who lived down the street. Her son was learning to play and she detested rock and roll music. Whenever she saw Malcolm or Angus walk down the street her nose would turn up and she'd tell her son to play louder or better so he wouldn't have the faintest idea to engage with them. She's had a few talks with Mrs. Young over tea about her sons, but the conclusion was always the same. My children, my parenting. If they ever acted up on her property Mrs. Young would certainly allow a talking to from Mrs. Banker, but since no such thing happened, the two boys didn't seem to warrant her voice.

Angus was immediately drawn to the guitars hanging up on the wall and window. Hannah took her time glancing through the albums all while trying to avoid any trouble makers or blunt smokers. The store was overall clean, but Hannah wouldn't simply touch any little thing. One guitar in particular caught Angus' eye from the window, and checking it out was always a big reason for wanting to look inside. It was a brown Gibson SG, and always hung to the very left, next to the Fender. Angus didn't have a lot of money, but what he did was going toward that little piece of rock. If Malcolm could buy his own guitar, why then so could he.

The price tag was tied around the neck and blew from the breeze under the door. Angus stood on his toes to see it but even that didn't help. He glanced at the man at the desk. The idea of asking him to use his height to his advantage and tell him the price wasn't the most appealing idea to him. He didn't need to be humiliated. The man looked busy anyway. His eyes cast a look at his companion, her eyes skimming the shelves for at least one good album. He sauntered over and tapped her shoulder.

"Huh?"

"Get on my shoulders."

"What?"

"Get on my shoulders," he insisted. She eyed him up and down.

"You're nuts."

"I know that, just do it." Angus had bent over to allow room for her to climb on. Hannah wouldn't do anything until she knew what for.

"What on earth do you want me on your shoulders for?" she asked crossing her arms. Angus brought his voice to a whisper.

"There's a really nice guitar hanging over there and I can't reach to see the price tag, just do it." Hannah laughed quietly at his predicament and complied to sit atop his shoulders. She pulled herself up and Angus carefully walked up to the window where his guitar hung. "Stop laughin' at me, you're gonna get him suspicious." Angus of course meant the man at the desk who might kick them out if they caused too much of a ruckus. Hannah's laughter subsided to giggles.

Angus teetered this way and that over to the window. Hannah almost slipped but she caught herself on the wall with her hand. "Hold still, I got to reach it."

"Take your time," Angus gasped out. Hannah stretched out an arm and grabbed the price tag. In little black letters written with marker was the type of guitar and numbers underneath. "What's it say?"

Hannah squinted her eyes. "Four hundred."

"Dollars?!" Angus cried out and in his surprise at the high number, fell backwards. Both kids came crashing to the ground, Hannah luckily letting the price tag go before she collapsed. Unlucky that she was being crushed by the boy. Angus sat up as quick as he could and helped her sit up as well. "Shit! Are you okay?" Hannah rubbed her head while giving Angus a glare.

"What the hell are you thinkin'?" she asked agitated.

"I wasn't," he admitted. He looked down at her, a river of guilt flooding his heart. If she got hurt, it was all his fault. If her uniform was in any way damaged, it'd be his head mounted on her mother's wall.

Angus grimaced not at all liking that picture. He looked up from his friend to see the man at the front desk giving the two kids a warning look. The crash had requested his attention and he couldn't help giving it. Hannah's hand was grabbed and roughly pulled behind a shelf of albums that she had been looking over before. "What are you doing now?" she asked.

"Hiding from that man over there," Angus whispered.

"Why? You stomp all over his vegetable garden?" Hannah snickered.

"No! That's Mr. Potterson you're thinking of." After a few minutes to catch their breath, the two children stood up from behind the shelf. Angus pocketed his hands and took one last look at his guitar in the window. It'd have to wait a little while longer. Hannah had resumed her search for any good albums among the poor, and found one that stood out.

"Oh man! My mother's been talking about these guys, she says they're the best in the business!"

"Thought she didn't like rock and roll," Angus remembered as he saw the album cover.

"Well, she likes these guys." Hannah held up a Monkees album with a red guitar made up of the band name. The band stood in the middle with their hands all together looking at the camera. "They're from America like me. At least, three of them are anyway."

"Your mum have any records?"

"She has a few but she won't let me touch them. I'd get my own, but I usually spend what money I have getting her birthday or Christmas presents. I don't exactly have an allowance, you know."

"She never gets you albums?"

"Once. It broke about a year ago. She never bought me another one fearing I might break it." Angus frowned. It had to have been a complete accident, he would never believe she would intentionally ruin an album. She was certainly worthy of a second chance. He opened his mouth to speak when the door opened and Mrs. Banker walked in.

Her sour eyes scanned the room and landed on the front desk where her son's violin lay almost perfectly tuned. "It's almost ready, ma'am. Soon you can take it and pay whatever the fee is."

"I'll be sure to," she replied snootily. "I'm not paying you for a news report however, only for tuning. Make sure it sounds crystal clear. I will not have Andrew playing a piece of rubbish."

"Yes ma'am." Angus watched the older woman order the man at the desk around. Just because her husband was the owner of a very successful tie factory she thought she was better than anyone in the town. And it made Angus just plain sick. He hated everything he could find on her. The way her sun hat was always tilted to one side, the way she wore it on cloudy days like this one, or the way her front teeth stuck out under pale pink gums like crooked ice cubes. Her feather boa brushed his face as she walked by and she turned to him with distaste.

"Watch where you're going young man. I have a right mind to tell your mother of your absence from home. Surely she doesn't want you home with all your acts of misconduct but you wreaking havoc in the open is unacceptable. And with that brother of yours...unruly!"

"My mum doesn't give a damn if I'm here Mrs. Banker, so neither should you," he answered coldly. "Does your doctor know you're skipping out on your medication to stuff your face with lasagna?" The woman gasped at him.

"I'll be giving your mother a call this afternoon, bet on that you imp!" Hannah pulled Angus away to the door before he could say anything else he would regret.

"Ma'am, your violin is ready to be wrapped," the man said. The older woman and the boy shared one more mutual look of malice before the two kids opened the door to leave. Hannah walked outside while Angus poked his head back in.

"Batty hag!"

Angus grabbed Hannah's hand and they raced down the street toward his home. Mrs. Banker scoffed at the boy, and shoved her way over to the phone at the front desk to call Mrs. Young.

Their feet pounded the sidewalk as they ran away from that store as fast as they could go. Hannah kept up rather well, but it took time to adjust to Angus' tendency to swerve around objects and people for shortcuts. By the time they reached the neighborhoods, the rain had poured down like gunfire leaving both children soaked. So much for protecting their uniforms. Angus figured it would be best to get Hannah home now; the rain had been said to last for at least three days.

He pulled her up the steps to her front door and let go of her hand. Both kids were completely out of breath but happy nonetheless. "Thanks for taking me out, Ang," Hannah said. "That was pretty fun."

Angus panted a bit then smiled. "Told ya', didn't I?" Hannah gave a smile in return then punched his arrogant shoulder. Angus laughed as he stumbled back and watched her disappear inside her house. Then he turned and headed for his own home.

The rainwater collected into a puddle on the floor and her shoes squelched down the hall. Hannah crept her way to the bathroom hoping to change before her mother could see the mess she was in. That was wishful thinking. "Why on earth are you soaked to the bone?" the woman called behind her.

"I was on my way home when it started raining," she explained.

"I thought you'd be at the Young's helping your friend study."

"Oh, Angus knew it was gonna rain, he thought he should take me home so I wouldn't get wet..."

"Hmm... well it appears he was a bit wrong in his timing," her mother mused. "Well, I won't have you standing there all soaking wet, watering my floor. Come on dear, let's get you dried off." On their way to the bathroom for towels, Hannah's mother shook her head. "That boy is trouble, I'll tell you. It was nice of him to drop you off, but I'll never understand why you hang out with him."

Angus opened the door to his own house and laid his school bag on the table. He took his hat off and shook his hair free of any water. He could hear Malcolm's guitar playing upstairs and for a moment he felt a pang of envy. Since Malcolm had his own guitar, he was able to practice more and already sounded better than him. George had also been more willing to teach him what he knew, and Angus felt left out. Sighing, he took out his algebra book and his notebook when his mother called him.

"Angus?" She stood there in the kitchen, hands on hips.

"Y-yes?"

"I just received a call from Mrs. Banker today. She didn't sound too happy when she talked either. Would you happen to know why?" Angus smiled nervously and shrugged his shoulders.

"No-no idea," he stuttered. Mrs. Young tapped her fingers against her elbow.

"Are you sure? She said you called her a very obscene name the last time you saw her. Is this true?" Angus didn't answer. The whole room seemed to turn into a special realm of hell, where young boys like him were tormented for their acts of uncivilized behavior toward old women. "Angus. McKinnon. Young. Is this true." It wasn't a question anymore. The boy lowered his head and held his hands behind his back.

"Yes ma'am," he answered barely above a whisper. Mrs. Young's hand came down upon him and he thought for a moment that she might actually strike him. He flinched, but looked up once he realized she was patting him on the back. His look of fear turned into one of shock, then one of a smile when he saw his mother's smile.

"That's my boy."