The school's hallways look as if the mascot had thrown up all over them. Maroon and black cover the place in the form of streamers, posters, football jerseys, and cheerleading uniforms. It seems as though I stuck out with my plain black t-shirt and jeans. Homecoming week is probably my least favorite week.

I walk the hallways, keeping to myself ninety percent of the time. I was never a people person, and when Mikey died, I really became anti-social. People here know my brother, and they will even sometimes talk to me about him.

Maybe it was my death glare or the fact that I always have my earbuds in, but somehow, they stop talking to me.

Today is no exception. Per usual, I saunter into biology without a care in the world. Even when the bell rings, I don't take my earbuds out. My head automatically goes to the desk, allowing me to shut the rest of the world out.

That is, until Mr. Slade yanks one of my earbuds out. I jerk my head up then, glaring at him. He doesn't have to say anything to me for me to know exactly what he wants. I slowly twirl my earbuds into a tight circle before shoving them into my backpack.

Mr. Slade begins talking about plant and animal cells as I begin scrolling through my phone. It's not much for me to pick up the textbook and read what he was going to blab about for 45 minutes, so I decide it's okay to not listen.

Last night, I uploaded a video of me covering the song A Day in the Life by The Beatles on my keyboard. It was rough cover because one of the keys came loose and messed up the chorus, but I managed to get around it. I wasn't disappointed by the way it sounded, so I went ahead and uploaded it.

I tap on the video and it comes up, displaying only my hands and the keyboard. That's the only way I will post them; I don't want the entire world knowing it's me behind that keyboard. Not that it's a secret that I can play or that I love to, but it's a part of me that few know, and even fewer appreciate it.

I can't listen to it, but I watch my fingers fly across the keys and hear it play out in my head. I scroll down a little, seeing where the number of views is displayed. A record of 10 views in under 24 hours.

The thing is, I don't care about the views. I just like being able to watch what I'm doing and fix it later. Dad would appreciate that, seeing that sports players do the same. He still wouldn't quite understand, though.

I continue to scroll down towards the comment section where every once in a while, I get a comment asking about a song, a note, or my keyboard. This time, the comment is different.

Ash_Man: Hey man. Cool style. Wanna be in a band?

"Quentin Riley."

I jerk my head up to see Mr. Slade staring at me with stern eyes. "Put that away or you'll be staring at Mrs. Johns in the office instead."

Reluctantly, I turn my phone off and shove it into my pants pocket. I flip open my textbook and find exactly where he had been teaching from. Who said it was hard to multitask?

*

"Who the hell is this?" I whisper to myself, starring down at my phone. I stand at my locker, leaning into it as I scroll through this kid's profile.

I decide to reply to the comment, but I don't take any of it seriously.

Q_Riley: what are you talking about?

I shove my phone in my pocket and grab my history book before heading to class. My phone buzzes before I even get to the classroom door with a notification that I got another comment.

Ash_man: Name's Asher. My brother plays drums and I play guitar and sing. Our friend Ben plays bass. Could use a keyboard player like you.

I can't answer that in the moment. Was this dude for real? A band?

I walk into history class, forgetting about the comment all together.

Once school lets out, I jump into the car that once belonged to my brother. I kept the 2002 Ford Festiva in good shape, though it still makes mysterious noises that I ignore until it was necessary to get it checked out. I start it up and plug the aux cord into my phone.

I turn the music up loud enough so that I can hear it over the wind blowing through my open window. Right as the chorus to Led Zepplin's Whole Lotta Lovecomes on, the car begins to make a loud, indescribable noise. I raise my eyebrows when it grows louder than normal, and I think my eyes might pop out of my head when steam starts rolling out from under the hood.

Quickly, I pull off to the side of the road and jump out. As I raise the hood, a school bus drives by and almost every kid on it has their faces pressed to the glass staring at me. I glare at them all before turning my attention back to the car. Smoke rolls off the radiator, making the air around me look like fog had settled.

I grab my phone knowing that I won't be able to get this fixed sitting here on the side of the road. I yank the aux cord out of it in annoyance and turn it on to find my dad's number. The phone rings for what feels like forever until the answering machine comes on. I quietly curse my dad for never answering and call my mom. Not surprisingly, I'm not able to get a hold of her either.

I toss my phone into the car, annoyed by the entire universe. What I really want to do is drive this car off a cliff. Mikey had minimal trouble with this junker, and before that Dad never had trouble from it except getting through the snow. Since they gave it to me, it's gone downhill. Maybe it's me, or maybe it's my brother's ghost trying to get on my nerves.

I slam the hood down before plopping down on top of it, not giving a care in the world to the people staring as they drive by. There's nothing I love more than attention. Sarcasm intended.

A cow moos at me from the other side of the fence that I've pulled beside of. It's fur is brown and white and shaggy. One eye is glossed over with white and gray while the other is a dark brown, almost black color. It won't stop staring at me in my frustrated state.A horn sounds behind me, causing me to jump. I turn my head to see a bright red car driving slowly towards me, pulling off beside my car as much as possible. Inside is a girl with her eyebrows quirked, red hair pulled up on top of her head.

"Need any help?" She calls out the passenger side window. I hop down off the hood of the car and bend down so I can see her. Her freckles dance across her cheek bones like stars in the sky, her blue eyes are like the moon.

Who is this girl?

I realize that I hadn't answered but was instead staring at her for a good five seconds. "Um... yeah. Looks like the radiator."

The girl nods her head. "I'm going to pretend like I know exactly what that does. Do you need a ride?"

"You're just going to give a stranger a ride? Doesn't seem too safe."

"You're not a stranger. You're Quentin Riley. We go to school together."

If I'm not mistaken, the girl rolls her eyes at me. "Oh... What's your name?"

She lets out a heavy breath. "Sam. Now, would you like a ride, or what?"

I stand up from my position and look up the road. Mom and Dad don't seem to be getting back to me anytime soon. Walking home would mean walking at least ten miles. I look back down at the girl and her dancing freckles.

"That'd be great." I quickly grab my backpack and phone out of the car, lock it, and walk back to Sam's Chevy Impala. As soon as I slump into my seat, the smell of vanilla hits my face. Hanging from the rearview mirror is a silver locket of some sort, shining when it hits the sunlight.

"So, where am I taking you?" Sam asks, clapping her hands onto the steering wheel and giving me a look of expectancy.

I shrug my shoulders. "I guess home, not that I really want to be there." I rest my back against the seat, waiting for her reply.

She chuckles. "That was such a clear answer, thank you." She pulls onto the road and begins driving in the direction I was going before. She had no idea where she was going. "Am I just going to drive around until you tell me where to go?"

The idea strikes me as soon as she says it. "I mean, that sounds like a good deal to me."

Sam glances at me out of the corner of her eye, a suspicious look filling her features. "You're a weird person, Quentin."

"I get that all the time. Got anything better?"

"You're also rude."

"You're not very original."

"I have plenty of insults. But, since this is technically our first time meeting, I'll be nice." She smirks then, casting another glance at me.

"Why haven't I seen you at school?" I inquire, crossing my arms over my chest. I watch as she turns us down another street that surprisingly is close to my house.

"Maybe because you walk around with your earbuds in and your head down," she tells me matter-of-factly. "We have biology together."

I roll my eyes. "How else am I supposed to get through the day?"

"You just seem... miserable, is all."

I look over at her. She raises her eyebrows as if waiting for me to counter her argument. Of course I can't; I ammiserable. I don't know what it is, but happiness has never come easy to me. Even before Mikey died, I was never a happy kid.

"Samantha, right?" I ask, turning towards her the slightest bit. "You don't know me, and I don't know you, so maybe we shouldn't make assumptions about one another. Cool?"

I watch her blank expression for a solid two seconds before she bursts into laughter. A confused expression must consume my face, because when she looks at me, she laughs even harder.

"You are so serious," she laughs. "I mean, I thought you would be, but I like to prove myself wrong."

"Too bad you weren't proven wrong."

"Yeah, too bad." She takes a few deep breaths to calm herself down. What was so funny to this girl?

"You have a weird sense of humor," I tell her, a scowl on my face.

She shrugs her shoulders. "The best of us do."

"Turn here."

"So, we aren't going on a road trip?"

"Don't want to waste your gas."

"Good thinking."

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pluck it out. Mom decided to answer my phone call with a text wondering what I needed. I ignore it and drop my phone into my backpack this time.

I tell Sam which house is mine so she can stop right in front of it. Dad's car is parked in the driveway with Mom's right beside it. For a moment, I think about staying in the car. But I don't feel like being annoyed much longer by this girl.

"Thanks for the ride," I tell her as I step out of the car.

"No problem. By the way, my name is Samara, not Samantha." With that, she disappears down the street. 

______________________

Song: Whole Lotta Love by Led Zepplin

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