Presley

"I hope everyone's started practicing for the audition," Mrs. Davis says.

She's looking extra pretty today wearing a long pink and green loose-fitted batik dress that stops at her ankles, matching sandals on her feet, and her curly black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She's pretty young and is in her late twenties, got married at twenty, had two sweet little kids, who will be starting elementary school in a few months.

"Y'all are done for today. Now off you go." She waves us off.

I finished writing the piece for the sax yesterday, and I plan on giving Deon his music sheet back. While I pack my things, I realize something's missing, but can't exactly point out what. Rechecking everything, I realize Deon's music sheet isn't there. I look for it in my bag again, and in between my books because I'm very certain I brought it to school to return it to him, even though he didn't show up.

"Is this what you're looking for?" I turn around at the sound of a venomous voice to find Jessica holding a crumpled music sheet.

Oh, no. It can't be!

"How did you get that?" I ask, feeling my resolve crumble.

"I sit behind you at band practice, Presley, and your bag was just lying around behind your chair. So, I wanted to take a peek at what you and Deon will be doing for the auditions, and I'm guessing I got my hands on the right paper."

"Can I please have it back?" I ask as nicely as I can.

"No way in hell! At least, not until you leave Deon alone," she hisses.

"Jess, do I look like I'm holding him? Does it look like I've tied him to myself or something?" I'm growing agitated and tired of her delusions.

"I mean, he sits next to you in class, in the cafeteria and you always hang out with him. You two definitely have something going on. I don't believe he likes you though, because you're not very pretty, and definitely nothing compared to me." Ouch.

"It's not like I've asked him to do any of that. Now, can I please have it back?" I reach for the music sheet, but she shoves my hand away and that pisses me off.

"You can tell Deon to come and get it from me." She smiles coldly, making me lose it. I reach out and grab the paper from her, but she pulls it back and it tears in half.

Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of the person I hate the most. I stare blankly at the half of it in my hand for a second before it's snatched away from me. Jessica holds the two pieces together and tears them in half again. And again, and again, leaving it in tiny shreds.

"It wasn't even mine," I say, trying really hard not to cry. "It was Deon's. He wrote it."

Oh god! What am I going to tell him?

"Even better," she says coldly, placing the tiny pieces of paper in my hand. "Now you're just gonna have to tell him that you accidentally put the paper in the shredder or something. Oh, and tell him I said Hi."

"Why did you do that?" I ask calmly, not having the energy to scream at her right now. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Well, let's just say that you're not my favorite person in the world," she says before walking away.

Touché, bitch.

Deon

It's dark as fuck outside as the rain pours, and it's only four in the afternoon. I have gotten to know that it doesn't rain often in this part of Ontario, but it's raining heavily today.

The doorbell rings twice before whoever the hell's outside starts knocking on the door like a crazed person. Dan says he'll get it and leaves me to raid the fridge for junk food.

A few seconds later, I hear someone sniffling. My heart starts hammering against my chest when I imagine the person outside as Bree. I run to the front door to see that it's not her and my heart calms down, but only for a second before it starts to pound again when I realize who it is.

She's soaked from head to toe, her sky blue dress sticking onto her body like a second skin. Her beautiful brunette hair is slick and dripping with water. In her palm, she holds a lump of wet paper. Her entire face is red and blotchy, I'm guessing from crying.

Fuck. What has brought this on?

"Hey, what happened?"

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm hauling her inside, closing the door behind her, and stroking her face and hair, completely ignoring Dan's confused-as-hell expression.

She looks shocked and speechless for a moment before she sniffles again.

"I'm so sorry, it was my fault. It was all my fault. Jessica took it and I tried to take it back from her and then I caught it but she pulled it back and it ripped and now it's in shreds. I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm really, really, really sorry—"

"Hey, slow down. I'm not following. Besides, I'm sure whatever it is, we can fix it," I say in an attempt to stop her from crying because I hate it when she's sad.

I hate feeling helpless.

"Deon, you don't get it," she says, tears streaming down her beautiful face. "I brought the piece you wrote for the auditions to school to give it back. Jessica stole it and I was trying to get it back from her, but when I did, it tore. She took the pieces and tore them into tinier pieces and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry, Deon. I'll write a piece for you if you want. Please don't hate me—"

I hug her and wait until she stops crying. It's been about a month since we watched the movie at my place, so maybe she's on her period again and she's having mood swings? She seriously can't be crying over a torn music sheet otherwise.

I honestly can't keep up with this woman.

"I'm sorry for ruining your shirt too." She sniffles. A shiver runs through her reminding me of the fact that she's still soaked, and that she could catch a cold or even worse, pneumonia.

"Dan, can you get Presley a towel please?" I say without looking at him, guessing he's still here. I rub her shoulders and back gently, trying to warm her up.

"Uh...yeah, sure." I hear his retreating footsteps before Pres speaks again.

"So...aren't you mad at me? You're supposed to be mad at me." Her forehead crinkles in confusion.

"No, I'm not," I reply, nonchalantly.

"How are you so calm?" She demands.

"Because I have a photo of the music sheet on my phone, and I don't even need that. I know the piece by memory."

Dan returns with a clean towel and gives it to Pres. She thanks him before facing me, looking a little pissed.

Oh no. That doesn't look good.

"And you didn't think of telling me that this whole time?"

"Nope. You look really cute even when you're crying." I chuckle softly.

"You're unbelievable." She puts a bit of distance between us, drying her hair with the towel. "Anyway, I need to get home."

"Okay. I'll drive you," I move to grab my car keys, but Presley stops me.

"What? No, I'm walking. FYI, My house is less than a minute away."

"In this pouring rain? Are you crazy? Unless...you want to shower here and wait until the rain calms down."

She looks out the living room window and her forehead wrinkles as if she's just now noticing that it's raining heavily. "I don't wanna bother you—"

"It's no bother at all. You can shower in my bathroom upstairs. I can get you some of my mom's clothes," I offer.

"Um...will your mom be okay with it?"

"Of course. She won't mind at all," I assure her.

Pres hesitates, but then says, "Okay."

I smile wickedly.

"Or maybe you could just stay naked," I joke.

She gives me a crooked smile. "I'll pass."

She wraps the towel tightly around her, shivering. Her nose and cheeks are still red from crying and her eyes glisten slightly.

"Come on." She follows me upstairs to my room. When we're at the top of the stairs, Kay's bedroom door swings open, and out comes the jackass himself, holding a bottle of Gatorade. "Oh hey, tampon girl—" He pauses. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Um, there was a little incident at school. It's all good now," Pres says. "And can you please stop calling me that?"

"No way," he says.

"Fuck off, Kay."

I hear my brother snickering right after I flip him off before grabbing Pres's hand and leading her into my room. She takes off her wet shoes before stepping inside.

"I'm sorry for dripping water all over your house. I'll mop the floor straight after I shower," she says, following me into my en suite bathroom.

Fuck no. There's no way I'm letting her do that.

"It's fine." I smile at her. "I'll take care of it while you're in the shower." When she starts to protest, I tell her not to worry about it.

I show her how the shower works, grab the absorbent sponge mop from the bathroom, turn the heater on in my room and leave a new towel and a couple of Mom's shorts, T-shirts and dresses on my bed for her to pick from. Since the carpeted floor in my room will dry up soon, I start mopping the floor from the top of the stairs to the living room and then to the front door. When I'm done, I head into the kitchen.

"So, that's Presley, huh?" Dan's leaning against the kitchen counter when I enter.

"Yep," I say before opening the fridge.

"Did you just mop the floor from upstairs to the front door?" He asks, looking amused.

So he's been spying on me.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Jesus Christ. You would never have done that if Mom had asked you to. What has this girl done to you?"

"Nothing, bro." I take some chocolate chip cookies out of the fridge and put them in a bowl. "By the way, do you know how to make hot chocolate? The only thing I know how to make is Coffee, and Pres doesn't come off as someone who likes coffee."

"Fuck. You're honestly pussy-whipped, dude."

I make a sour face at his comment. "Haha. Funny. That's bullshit."

Smirking, he shakes his head before telling me how to make hot chocolate. When I'm done making it, I take it and the bowl of cookies to my room.

The sound of 'False Confidence' by Noah Kahan, playing from my iPod dock, meets my ears when I open the door. Pres is standing at the foot of my bed wrapped in nothing but a towel. When she notices me, she screams, "Shit! Turn around, turn around." But I just stare at her with my mouth open wide, unable to look away, while she picks up the clothes and the towel on the bed and rushes into the bathroom.

When she comes back out again, she's holding two towels in one hand and her wet clothes in the other. She must have wrung them because they're not dripping with water anymore. "I hope you don't mind that I played some music on your iPod."

I shake my head, indicating that I don't.

Mom's clothes are a little big on her. She's not wearing a bra and my gaze lingers on her chest for a while.

"Deon, do you have something I can put these in?" She asks, thankfully distracting me. "I'll wash the towels and the clothes I'm wearing, and bring them to you tomorrow."

"Oh, don't be stupid." I catch sight of the pale pink bra and plain white panties in her hands as I grab the wet towels from her and toss them into the basket full of dirty clothes next to the toilet door. The bra looks cute as fuck with a tiny ribbon bow attached to the middle. Shit! I stifle a groan, dragging my eyes away from it. Not wanting to invade her privacy by tossing her clothes in the basket as well, I walk over to a drawer next to my bed, take a polythene bag out and hand it to her.

"Thanks." She grins at me.

"You're welcome. Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you some hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies. I hope you like both. You don't seem like someone who likes coffee."

"You're right," she says, taking a bite from a cookie. "I actually hate coffee, especially its smell. I've only ever drunk coffee once when I was ten, and since then, never."

We talk for a while about normal stuff and what happened in school today. I tell her why I wasn't in school today, that my family had to attend the funeral of one of my mom's cousins.

I walk her to her house and come back home, before closing the front door and leaning against it. All three of my brothers who seem to be having some sort of a discussion in the living room, turn and stare at me as if I've grown antlers.

"What?" I shrug before heading upstairs.

I sort of agree with what Dan had said earlier about the fact that Pres might have influenced me in some way. A good way. Being around her makes me want to be a better person.

However, I am not pussy-whipped.

No girl can make me worship at their feet.

Not even Pres.

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