"Hit me like a ray of sun
Burning through my darkest night
You're the only one that I want
Think I'm addicted to your light
I swore I'd never fall again
But this don't even feel like falling
Gravity can't forget to pull me back to the ground again."
-Halo by Beyoncé

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

| KENZIE |

"Um, Lance?"

"Yes, Mackenzie?"

"Th-that's your house?"

"Yes."

"Your house...that?"

Lance was starting to get annoyed. "Is there something wrong with my house?"

"No, nothing's wrong. It's just that...IT'S SO HUGE!"

"Your point, Midgetzie?"

The two of us were standing in front of the Collins' house. Well, actually, it was more like a mansion--a two-story mansion, to be exact. The front had tall columns and grand curved steps that led up to the entrance, with a fan-shaped window above the double doors and rectangular windows symmetrically placed on both sides of the doorway. I asked him what kind of style it was; he answered it was a Federal Colonial style.

"But you told me only you, your mom, dad and younger brother live here," I said, my mind still whirring of what was in front of me.

"Yes, but you forgot that my dad has concerts all over the world most of the time," he said, "so it's just my mom, younger brother and me who are currently living in the house. We hire house cleaners once a week. Don't worry, though; Cindy's house is bigger than ours."

"No doubt about that."

He smirked. "Well, come along, now. We don't want to stand in this kind of weather any longer, do we?"

"Lead the way, maestro."

It was a snowy Sunday afternoon. After the firefly-gazing, I'd told Lance that I wanted him to tutor me in piano every Saturday and Sunday, too. He'd agreed wholeheartedly, also saying that he was thankful I was taking the competition seriously.

Since the school was close on Sundays, Lance had decided to teach me in their house. He'd shared with me they had a large music room.

As we entered, I couldn't help looking around. The walls were a soft brown. Everything was clean and tidy. There weren't much figurines displayed on the gateleg tables. Lance helped me take off my coat, then he hung it on a coat rack near the front double doors.

Before I could praise the interior of the house more, a melodic voice greeted me. "Mackenzie, dear! Welcome, welcome!"

Mrs. Angel Collins was rushing down the stairs, to me, and then hugged me like we hadn't seen each other in a millennium.

Because I wasn't expecting this kind of greeting, I let out a loud ooommmppfff when she embraced me.

"Oh, sorry, dear," Lance's gorgeous mom said as she ended the hug, her brown eyes--just like her son's--sparkling with delight. "I was just excited, is all. It's so great to see you again, dear."

"It's okay, Mrs. Collins." I smiled up at her. "And same here." She looked sexier in a yellow tank top and mini shorts. Before asking her why she was in that kind of outfit--what with the cold weather outside--I then noticed it was warm inside: the heater was on.

"Come, come. I prepared a cup of hot chocolate for you in the living room."

"Hey, what about me?" Lance protested. "And is my lunch already served?"

Mrs. Collins waved him off. "Yes, yes."

I turned to him, shocked. "Why haven't you taken your lunch yet?"

Lance stared at his mom with disapproval. "She said I should fetch you at your house first before I could eat my lunch."

"Well, you took a taxi to go to her house and to come back here, didn't you?" she said, wearing a playful smile.

"Yes, but Mackenzie could go on her own here, since I gave her our address."

"Lancie doesn't know how to drive a car," she whispered to me, then turned to her son. "Bah! Where's the fun in that? And she might get lost."

Lance scowled. "What did you whisper to her? And she'd be taking a taxi anyway--"

Mrs. Collins interrupted him by pushing him in the direction of the kitchen, I think. "Go eat your lunch, dear. And of course I also prepared a cup of hot choco for you."

"Yay!" Then Lance ran like a kid who was on his way to his favorite toy store.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but Mrs. Collins' eyes had a kind of mischief in them when his son wasn't around us anymore. "Now, dear, let's go to the living room, shall we? Your hot choco awaits."

🎹 🎹 🎹

"This is so good, Mrs. Collins," I complimented after taking a gulp of the chocolate drink, since it was now only warm.

She smiled. "Thank you, dear. But just call me Mrs. C, please."

"Oh. Um, okay, Mrs. C. He-he." It'd take a long time for me to get used to it, though.

"So, how are Lance's tutoring sessions so far?" Mrs. C asked, looking expectant.

"They're great," I honestly told her after gulping down the drink. "We're still on music theory. Lance's fanatical about building up technique and ability before letting me loose on actual music, but I appreciated his approach 'cause it's logical; it made sense. His teaching is easy to understand, and he's patient with me. Some of the musical terms and intervals still confuse me, but I do my best to remember them."

"I see." Then her face grew worried. "I hope the tutorial isn't interfering with your academic performance, though. And you always come home late. Are Erina and Gilbert okay with it? I know my son walks you home every night to assure them, but still..."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Coll--I mean, Mrs. C. It's not interfering with my academic performance, and my parents are okay with it. I'm also thankful that Lance walks me home every night," I assured her with a smile, even though Dad kept warning Lance, You'd better not be doing anything nasty to my daughter, or else!

But there really was no need for him being alert. Seriously, what was Dad thinking? That Lance and I were in a secret relationship? Gods, just no.

She let out a sigh of relief. "That's good to hear, then. By the way, Lance told me you were a fast learner."

My eyes widened. "Re-really?"

With a nod, Mrs. C said, "Yes. Why, he didn't tell you that?"

"No..." That freak, I angrily said in my mind. He didn't bother telling me that. Maybe because he thought my ego would inflate. Well, I must admit it'd inflate a little. Heh.

"Maybe Lance was just shy," Mrs. C told me. "Though that boy should start giving compliments often." She suddenly beamed. "Well, enough about that. I wanna show you something, Mackenzie."

That's when I noticed a photo album on the coffee table that was in front of us. "Um..."

Happily getting the album from the table, Mrs. C opened it, and I saw a one-year-old (it was written above the picture) girl who was very, very cute. She was smiling at the camera, wearing a simple green skirt. She looked like Lance. But Lance didn't tell me he had a sister--only a brother--so maybe it was his cousin when they were still young.

"So pretty, right?" Mrs. C gushed.

I eagerly nodded.

"Here's another pic of Lance when we were at a mall." She pointed at the right picture where the girl, in a pink ribbon-lace dress, was standing beside Ronald McDonald's statue while grinning.

I grinned, then paused. Wait a minute, did she say it was Lance?

...

...

When a moment of silence passed, I couldn't help screaming and pointing accusingly at the pictures, "TH-THAT'S LANCE? THE GIRL IN THE PICTURES IS PRINCE LANCELOT DALE COLLINS?"

Mrs. C was trying to calm me down. "Y-yes, Mackenzie. And I thought it'd be obvious."

"NO! AND WHY THE DRESSES?"

Mrs. C combed her hair with her hand, looking mischievous. "Well, I wanted my first child to be a girl. But, alas, it hadn't been a girl, so I dressed Lance like a girl to somewhat fulfill my dream. Tee-hee."

I gaped at her. "DID LANCE KNOW ABOUT THIS?"

"Of course, dear. I'd let him know when he was three years old. But I only did that for five months," she reassured me. "Dressing him like a girl, I mean. And why're you still shouting?"

Before I could apologize for my behavior, someone screamed at the highest volume possible, making me flinch. Mrs. C and I turned around and saw Lance looking at the photo album, utterly terrified and embarrassed. Then he ran toward it in record time, forcefully grabbed it from his mom's hands, then threw it to the farthest corner of the living room, missing a horse figurine on a table by an inch.

"THE HECK, MOM!"

"Why, dear, I was just showing your future wife your baby pics," Mrs. C calmly said.

My eyes bugged out. "F-FUTURE W-W-WIFE?"

"WHY DID YOU SHOW HER THOSE ABOMINABLE PICTURES?" cried Lance.

"What're you talking about?" his mom said. "They're cute."

"ONLY FOR YOU!"

"Mackenzie also thinks they're cute. And please don't shout, dear. You'll wake Percy up."

My fangirl side wanted to exclaim, Oh my gods! Percy Jackson?

Turning to Lance, he looked like he wanted to kill himself by using the TV remote control that was innocently sitting on the coffee table. Then he grabbed my wrist all of a sudden, making me yelp in astonishment. "Whatever, Mother. Mackenzie and I should start practicing now in the music room." And he pulled me into another corner of their house. Er, mansion.

"Don't be too hard on her, Lancie!" Mrs. C called in a sing-song voice as we were going farther away from her. "She's fragile!"

I frowned. What did she mean by that?

When the two of us were inside the music room, Lance pleaded, "Please don't ever tell anyone about those blasted pictures of mine, Mackenzie."

Since I felt pity for the freak, I consoled him, "I won't, I promise. But who else know about those pics?"

"Spence, Dee, and Nis."

"Ah." I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "Oh my gods! Your mom's so epic!"

His scowl deepened. "Let us not talk about that atrocious moment, please."

"Wait, just give me a few minutes to calm down."

And so Lance did. While I was chortling, he was just scowling at me, looking like he was making a plan on how to brutally murder me so that I'd shut up and be gone from this world.

After a while, my stomach was starting to hurt from laughing, so I finally stopped.

"Done, Midgetzie?" Lance flatly asked.

"Yep, Cocky Violinist Freak." I shot him an innocent grin, then gazed around the large room. A grand piano was in the middle; a large shelf full of musical pieces and books was on the right side; and a violin case on a table, music stand and many other musical instruments were on the opposite side. There were no windows. "So, what's the lesson for today?"

"We are not going to tackle a lesson today," Lance said. "We are going to recap of what you have learned so far and it will be like an exam."

"What?" I gulped, suddenly nervous. "Are..are you serious? Why didn't you inform me about this yesterday? Then I could've studied!"

"I am one hundred percent serious. But don't worry. The exam is easy."

I rolled my eyes. "Duh, because you already know the answers."

"And so do you."

"Will this be an open-notes exam?"

"Of course not." He lightly laughed. "Do not be afraid, Mackenzie. What we are going to do right now is mostly just like a review. Just focus, yes?"

Shooting him a doubtful look, I relented. He grinned widely and got a white board from a corner of the room. "We will start with musical terms." Lance wrote ten terms on the left part of the board with a black marker and then the definitions on the opposite part. "The first part of the exam is matching type. If you get the answer wrong, I will correct you."

As time passed by, we also recapped about the different note names and values, stem direction, time signatures, rhythm, rests, key signatures and etc.

After almost three hours we were finally finished. My brain felt like jelly. I was surprised I got seventy-seven correct answers out of one hundred items. I'd done well at musical terms. I'd messed up at harmony intervals. Writing the scales then using the circle of fifths to write a key signature had also been kind of hard. But because of this exam, it'd solidified my knowledge from all the theory lessons we'd had so far.

I sat beside Lance on the piano bench with a heavy sigh.

"Well?" he asked.

"The exam was very insightful," I admitted. "It assessed my own understanding about the topics."

"And...?"

I frowned at him, knowing what else he wanted me to tell him. "You're a very, very great tutor and musician. How can I live without you?"

Lance let out an obnoxious laugh--that annoying nya-ha-ha laugh of his. "Thank you, Mackenzie. I must admit, though, that you learn pretty quickly. I believe teaching you piano will be a breeze." Then he gave me a genuine smile that it gave me a weird feeling in my chest. "But...I believe your grandmother is a greater piano teacher than I am." Before I could reply to that, he stood up and headed to the door. "I'll get you something to drink. What would you like?"

"Do you have a can of soda?"

Lance nodded, then went out of the room.

What was that all about?

With nothing else to do, I checked my phone if I had any messages. There were none. Then my gaze landed on the green rectangular violin case on the table. Walking toward it, I touched the case and felt its smooth texture in my hand.

Should I open it? I haven't touched a violin yet in my whole life. I was curious what it'd be like to hold one. But maybe Lance would get angry at me for not asking him first if I could touch his precious Sherlock Holmes.

The door suddenly opened, making me almost jump in the air. I turned around rapidly. Lance was staring at the piano, a can of Coke in his hand.

"H-hey!" I said, gulping. "How's the weather now?"

"It is still snowing outside." He looked at me, then at the violin case. "Feel free to open it, Mackenzie."

Well, busted. "Um, really?"

"Yes." Lance walked in my direction and put the soda on the table. "You have gentle hands, anyway. You're not like Dee who usually destroys things with her hands."

I suddenly remembered that time when Cindy was doodling in her notebook while we were chilling at The Café. Then when she was about to drink her roasted milk tea, she saw a girl talking to Spencer in front of the shop. The handle of her cup got broken into pieces because of her tightened grip on it while she was glaring at the girl, causing the cup to fall onto her lap, the liquid spilling into her skirt, and she yelled hot! repeatedly. Thankfully, Cindy didn't march in their direction and go all Medusa on them. (Her glare sometimes could petrify a person figuratively, swear!)

But whenever Cindy was doing artsy stuff, her fingers were surprisingly gentle and careful enough not to make mistakes.

Shaking my head a little to clear my thoughts, I opened the violin case.

And there, sitting and shining in all its glory, was Sherlock Holmes.

"Holmes is a handmade semi-antiqued master-grade reconstruction, looking like it was really made by the Guarnerius family, a group of distinguished luthiers from Cremona, Italy in the 17th and 18th centuries," Lance began, as if in a trance. "Holmes is also hand-varnished and has pure black ebony fittings, finger board and inlaid purflings--"

"Lance, I'm sorry, but I don't speak violin craftsmanship," I interrupted him before he'd lecture me about the wonders of violin making for hours.

He seemed startled. "Oh, right. Apologies." He gestured to his instrument. "Go ahead and hold him. Holmes does not bite. I am sure you will be careful with him."

I slowly got the violin from its case and gingerly held it in my hands. "Hello, Sherlock Holmes." It was yellowish-brown, and the back looked like a tiger's skin.

Lance noticed I was gazing at it in awe. "Rare single-piece highly flamed and striped maple back," he told me while getting the bow from the case.

"Why's it black?" I asked him out of curiosity when I saw his bow.

"It's a carbon fiber composite bow," he said. "It produces lush sounds, just like the other expensive wood bows but without any drawbacks. I have a pernambuco, a wood bow, but most of the time I prefer the former because it is lightweight and flexible."

"So if your violin is named Sherlock Holmes, then is the bow's name John Watson?" I joked.

Lance smirked. "No. John Watson is my electric violin. The bow is Nameless."

I raised an eyebrow. "Capital N or small n?"

He chuckled. "You caught me. Joking aside, the bow does not have a name." Lance held his hand in front of me. "Wait, give me a few seconds to attach the shoulder rest on the violin so that you can try playing it with ease."

My eyes widened. "What're you talking about? I just wanted to hold it--not also play it!"

Lance tilted his head to the side. "Why not?"

"You know full well I can't play the violin!" I protested.

"Just try playing it for experience. We are done for today's session anyway, so I will teach you how to play the instrument to kill time."

"Fine," I relented after a moment of thinking. "I heard it's hard, though."

"At first, yes." Lance got his wooden shoulder rest from the case, attached it at the back of Holmes, and told me the parts of the instrument. Then he pressed the violin into his neck, his head tilted and chin holding the body of the instrument with the help of the shoulder rest while his left hand fingered the neck. He told me to copy his posture after giving me Holmes.

I placed the violin between my chin and shoulder, pressing it into my neck. Lance asked if I was comfortable and if the chin rest was correctly placed under my chin. I said yes. He placed the bow in my right hand.

"Now try bowing," he said.

I raised the bow on top of the thinnest string of the violin, the E string, then stroked it. I thought it'd let out a melodious sound. Turns out it let out a screech that sounded like fingernails scraping across a blackboard, and Lance and I couldn't help wincing.

"Don't stroke it too slow," Lance advised after recovering from the mishap.

"I fail at this," I said, dejected.

"I know. At least you tried."

"You're my friend; you should at least support me, you know."

"Of course I support you." Lance stared at my left hand. "By the way, do not stick your wrist to the neck. That's a bad posture."

"Oh, sorry." I moved my left wrist a little from the violin's neck.

Standing in front of me, he gestured at the fingerboard. "There are three areas of the fingerboard: the first position, second position, and third position." He pointed at the first position area. "This area is mostly for beginners. Place your index finger on the thickest string--the G string."

I did what he'd said.

"Then press your finger near the top of the string--a little more--stop. Now, if you stroke the bow on the G string while still pressing your finger there, it will produce the A note. Try it."

I stroked the string, but what came out was still a scratchy sound. "What the Hades?"

Lance sighed, then stood behind me and held both of my hands in his.

I was startled by his action. "H-hey! Lance, what're you--"

Still holding my hands, he guided my right hand to stroke the G string again, then the A note came out clearly. "There. See?"

I just nodded, feeling that weird sensation in my chest again, and color rose to my cheeks.

There was silence. Lance was still not letting go of my hands. But for some reason it was a comfortable kind of silence, and I liked him holding my hands in his.

Wait, what?

"Put Holmes and the bow on the table, Mackenzie," Lance instructed after a while, slowly releasing my hands.

After following his instruction, Lance surprised me again when he hugged me from behind, causing me to gasp.

"Lance, are you okay?" I asked hesitantly. "You're...you're starting to worry me."

"I'm okay. Just tired, is all," he whispered. Wait, was he smelling my hair? "You are comfy."

I wasn't sure what to reply to that, so I just said, "Oh, er, thanks, I guess."

The freaky sensation in my chest was still there, but it multiplied a hundred fold when Lance held my hands in his again and rubbed them tenderly. "You have midget hands."

"While you have calloused hands," I countered.

Lance chuckled. "I am not insulting you this time, Mackenzie." He rubbed my hands again. "They're soft. So soft...like Softie."

I chuckled back. "The toilet paper you endorse?" I turned lightly in his embrace to look up at him, then my breath hitched in my throat when I saw Lance's face was inches away from mine. His gaze was serious, and I remembered all of a sudden that awkward moment we'd had after the firefly-gazing.

"Mackenzie..." he whispered.

Then a horrible memory flashed into my mind. Gulping, I said, "Lance, this better be not your tickle revenge on me."

He just stared at me a moment longer, then that freaking freaky smile tugged his lips. "Ah," he mused, his eyes twinkling. "Bing...go."

Eyes widening, I tried to escape from his trap, but Cocky Violinist Freak tightened his grip on me.

"Ah, ah, ah," he said tauntingly. "I do not want our scores to be even, Midgetzie. It's me who should become victorious on our tickling game."

Fear was bubbling inside me. "H-how about we talk this through peacefully?"

He thought about it for a moment, then said, "No." That's when he started tickling me mercilessly on the side.

"YOU FREAK!" My mouth let out an uncontrollable laughter. "YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS!"

"It's a good thing we are in a soundproofed room," Lance said. I couldn't see his face, but I'm pretty sure he was grinning wickedly. "Does this scene remind you of something, Mackenzie? Hmm?"

Lance knew full well I couldn't answer him in this kind of state. Dam this freak! I should've seen this plan of his before entering their house.

He continued tickling my sides, then my ribs, and this caused me to laugh harder than ever. I was about to kick him in the shin, but he noticed my action quickly and trapped me between him and the wall, my legs now locked.

I was still chortling, my chest now starting to hurt. I couldn't form any coherent words. But I had to think on how to escape from his tickle torture.

"Speechless, Mackenzie?" he asked, his fingers not stopping from what they were doing. "I really am a great actor, yes?"

I surprised him by pushing myself into him with the little strength I still had and we landed on the carpeted-floor. I was on top of him, so I had the upper hand to tickle him--on one of his ticklish spots: his neck.

Without further ado, I tickled him there. It was his turn to bark out a laugh. "NOOOOOOO!"

"YEEEEESSSS!" I gave him a mischievous grin, and I wasn't planning for this revenge of mine to be short-lived.

"HOW DARE YOU!" he yelled between laughs while squirming underneath me. "IN MY OWN TERRITORY!"

"Not my fault, Cocky Violinist Freak," I returned smugly.

Then it was Lance's turn to shock me again: he pushed me to the side, got up hastily, and ran toward the door.

What was he thinking? Did he have a death wish? He knew that I was a faster runner than him. Oh, wait. He couldn't even be called a runner in the first place anyway. Good thing I was wearing running shoes and jeans.

Lance tried to run, but he only managed to fast-walk because he was breathing hard. I was still catching my breath, so I, too, was fast-walking, preparing some energy to launch myself at him at the last second.

He went up the staircase, and I followed suit, deciding to look at the paintings that were pinned on the walls and appreciate them later. Of course, Lance reached the second floor first, and then he started to run, and I did the same. He turned to the right, opened a door and was about to close it. That's when I sprinted, beating him before he could fully close the door, and continued giving him my tickle assault.

Lance and I were tangled in each other's arms--me trying to tickle him, while him trying to tickle me back. Because what we were doing was silly, we began laughing our hearts out.

But it all ended when I landed on a soft surface with Lance on top of me, and I realized it was a bed.

The two of us froze with wide eyes. The only sound that could be heard was our panting; our chests were rising and falling, and our faces were inches away from each other. My left hand was on his shoulder, while the other was on his chest, and I could feel his heart beating fast. Was it from the running, merciless tickling, or something else? Mine was also beating like it was on a marathon, and I hoped he wouldn't hear it.

I could see his chocolate-brown eyes, the bags under them, and his defined jawline that I always heard from his fangirls in the school's restrooms how perfect it was from down here clearly. It was like the position we'd had on the "rooftop incident." (Seriously, why am I still calling it that?)

I knew we should move away from each other now, but for some unearthly reason my left hand began to caress his jawline. He closed his eyes, seeming to like the sensation, his breathing returning to normal. His left arm was beside my head, keeping himself not to crush me. His right hand was on my waist, then it moved--not to tickle me, but to touch my stomach like he was slowly bowing on his violin. Surprisingly, I wasn't tickled by his movements, but it gave me goosebumps.

My left hand then ran into his soft dark brown hair. He opened his eyes and whispered, "Mackenzie."

And with that I suddenly forgot how to breathe. The way he'd whispered it...it was kind of...sexy.

The hand on my stomach was now on my cheek, his thumb gently grazing it. "Even your cheeks are so soft," Lance said huskily. The expression on his face looked like this was all new to him.

"Lance," I whispered back shyly, liking what I was feeling for some reason. This wasn't the usual game we played; this was something different. Was he also feeling the same thing?

I noticed his lips when he leaned in a little, our noses touching, and I wanted him to lean down more and feel those lips on mine--

All of a sudden a childish voice said, "Lance, I--oh, oops! Sorry!" There was a loud bang. "You forgot to close the door!" the kid shouted behind the door, then Lance and I heard him scampering off.

And because of that, the magical moment Lance and I had was instantly ruined, like a vicious earthquake had attacked the room. We blinked at the same time, then our faces became tomato-red.

Lance was the first to say something to get out of this awkwardness. "I...um...th-that was my y-younger brother, Percy. I w-will be right back." Then he dashed toward the door. I believe that was his fastest running record time.

I sat up on the bed hastily and told myself, "Just what was that all about, Kenzie, huh? Gods, you're so stupid!" I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed. The erratic beating of my heart was slowing down. "Now just what will Lance's younger brother think?" I gasped. "Or worse, what will Mrs. C think? If ever his younger bro tell her, that is." I lay down again and covered my face, this time with a pillow. "You're dead, Kenzie. You're dead."

Sniffing the pillow without meaning to, I smelled the familiar foresty and fruity scent. Bolting upright again, I looked at my surrounding and realized I was in Lance's room, causing me to gape.

IN. LANCE'S. ROOM.

Oh, my gods!

Now what Percy and Mrs. C thought would be a thousand times worse. They'd think Lance and I were doing...having...

My cheeks heated up at the thought.

NOOOOOOO!

I cursed in my head repeatedly because of what I was thinking. But if Lance and I explained to them what had honestly transpired, they'd believe us, right?

I scoffed. Percy would believe us, sure. But what about Mrs. C? I could imagine her giving Lance and me her mischievous looks, making me feel mortified.

Sighing, I looked around the room again. Everything was almost mint green--the curtains, walls, comforter, pillows, and tiles. Being in Lance's room felt like you were in a healthy forest.

There was a shelf in front of the bed that was filled with books. Getting up, I walked toward it and read the titles. There were fantasy and music-related books, but most were mystery/thriller books. Lance even had the complete Sherlock Holmes series.

No surprises there.

I faced the door, deciding if I should go out or just stay here. I'd be completely terrified seeing Mrs. C without Lance by my side if I went out of the room.

Exhaling loudly, I sat back on the bed instead and stared at the minty pillows. They looked like they were inviting me to take a nap to forget what had happened.

I took off my shoes and lay down. A pillow was under my head, and I got another one from the side of the bed to hug it. My thoughts came back to what had happened a while ago. Did Lance had a thing for me? That's why he'd had that kind of reaction?

But, Kenzie, both of you had the same reaction, I thought. Does that mean you have a thing for him, too?

A fake laugh burst out of my lips. "No, Kenzie. That's so impossible. Lance is an aromantic," I reassured myself out loud. (Talking to yourself is a sign of genius, they say. Or maybe I'm just making excuses so that you won't call me crazy. Ha-ha.) "Or so he believes. You're just confused. Lance is also confused. The two of you were both in shock. You're both teenagers. That's all."

I sighed again. Here I was lying on Lance's bed to take a nap and forget the misfortune, but I was doing the exact opposite. Shaking my head, I embraced the pillow tighter and closed my eyes.

Just take a quick nap, Kenzie. Just a quick nap...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poor can of soda all left alone in the music room. *sniffs*

Just to let you know that I slightly changed the timeline of LLL. Before, they started their first day of classes on the last week of August; I changed it to middle week of August. I found out some schools in Denver start with their classes by that week, so yeah. XD And this would give Lance more time to tutor Kenzie in piano and make things more realistic. The Elgar Community's violin contest was held on Oct. 1.

Picture of Sherlock Holmes on the media. And yeah, I got the image from Violin Village. It's a family trade based in the Philippines that specializes handmade interpretations of rare 18th century violins, and violin accessories at the lowest price possible. They also ship worldwide. If you're interested, go to their website now (link on the pic). :))

I hope you guys enjoyed reading the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment! Mwahugsss~! :D

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