*Mia's P.O.V *

Once Charlie bids me farewell after the game, I return to the library. Fortunately, I find the book he recommended on the same shelf we left it. Bringing that and Nancy Drew to the librarian, I request to borrow them.

"Have you borrowed other books this week?" she recites.

I say, "No," and she looks up from her monitor. "Then better find three more in case you won't see me again this week."

This is when my gaze falls on her slightly protruded tummy, and she drawls, "Yes, it's not the tofu. It's a fetus."

I return to the shelves, searching for books from both series. Two more Nancy Drew books catch my eye, and I consider making do with four books when the bell starts ringing.

"Shit!" I rush to the librarian's desk immediately. Her eyes remain fixed on the monitor, but she senses me coming.

"You're too late," she says dryly.

"Well, then, " I beg, "can you ... keep them for me so that no one will borrow them?"

The pregnant lady stares at me. I give her my most innocent smile, and she mutters, " There's rubbish gathered in the mega-library. I don't know how the janitor forgot to remove it, but if you call him, I'll let you have the books today."

I'm back with the janitor before she makes more demands. She hands him a bunch of keys and starts processing the books' codes in the library's system. My hands are full; I follow the janitor into the archaic library, carrying a trashcan.

I take a minute to inhale the scent of old paper before taking more steps in, letting my eyes skim everything: the monuments, trophy collections and posters quoting great men who made huge impacts in the world.

What catches my attention most is the wall of honour. Back when entering the mega-library was strictly prohibited, my freshman librarian allowed me to peek at it to see how my mother looked then. There was a picture of her posing amid other school prefects.

All that has changed is that a plaque is under each frame. The janitor is too busy collecting the rubbish to mind me abandoning his trashcan for the wall of honour.

I squint at the plaque underneath that picture, trying to find my mother's name based on prefectship.

"... Sports prefect...ur, wait, they're three. No, no, she's Russian, so it must be ... Yeltsin?"

Dad never mentioned her surname; he only called her Joe. I pull up my sleeve and jot the spelling on my arm before the janitor summons me to carry the trashcan again.

Afterwards, I make it to the school bus with a heavier backpack. Anna relieves me of the load as I explain that I've borrowed four storybooks.

"Wow, I didn't know you were such a nerd." She laughs as I plop down beside her.

We end up being the first people to arrive at the garage, followed by Kean, Dalia, and lastly, Kat.

Instead of starting rehearsal, we wait for Leslie, the judge, as she instructed Kat to tell us. We are discussing what will happen in our next watching of The Last of Us when the rolling shutter door shakes. Four legs appear suddenly.

My eyes widen as the door is pushed up fully.

"Hello, ladies." Leslie smiles at us.

Anna gets up before the woman realises there are five of us. As she inches towards her to explain, Harry glares until she walks back to tell us," Miss Morrell forgot to mention me, but it's whatever. I'll be in the hall, ya? And, that guy -" She motions to him. "- Is a prick."

I know that already, I ponder, but the others glance at him and wear intrigued facial expressions.

"So I would like to introduce you to your new lead singer, Harry."

"Hi." He gives us a shy. Introductions being said, Leslie leaves him to mingle, making a lengthy call outside.

"Hello, ladies," Harry speaks confidently now the adult is away. Dalia waves him back, and he subtly bites his lips, heading straight for Kat.

" I feel honoured to make your acquaintance," he gushes. Rolling her eyes, she accepts his handshake. He waves to my other bandmates, then sees me and smirks.

"Mia ... right?"

He doesn't deserve an answer, so I look at Kean, shrugging. Unfortunately, she reverts to him, seeming unsettled.

"How do you know her?"

"Ya, do you have history or something?" Dalia squeaks.

Two necks snap in her direction.

"No!"

"Well, the way you just said that in unison is suspicious. Whatever the case, we need to focus ok, so -" Kat holds her waist. "Do you have an original song for us?"

"We can't leave that to him," Kean emphasises.

"I'm right here," he scoffs, "and what, you think I'm not competent?" Then, he has the nerve to venture for her guitar. Although reluctant, she lets him have it.

He strums with a sudden base reverberating through the entire garage like a cinematic intro. Strands fall down his face as he gets carried away in his melody, halting only because Dalia blurts,  "Ok, that was hot."

"Yep." Kean rolls her eyes. "But, I got a boyfriend, so."

"Lady," he utters dramatically at her.

"Ladies."  He includes us all. "Can't we just be..." Then a smile creeps up his obnoxious face. "Friends?"

Kean snorts. Dalia nods in vigorous agreement. I groan," Oh my goodness."

"Exactly," Kat backs me. "We should focus. But Kean has a point. Maybe we should all be involved in writing the song."

Thus begins our brainstorming: Harry tells us he has a love song in mind, and Dalia sides with him while Kat wants to touch on social injustice. Kean shrugs at everything.

"Mia, what do you think?" she says before the spotlight falls on her again. 

"I ... thought of singing about fathers."

"Oh, I don't know my father."

"Oh. Sorry," I mumble, but she shakes her head as though unperturbed by my blunder. "It's fine."

"Ooh, what if we just use our home experiences to make up the lyrics?!" Dalia yells out of the blue.

We all turn to her and Harry chuckles, "Ok, cutie. Let's all write something memorable and ... I'll make the song out of it soon, I guess."

"How long is soon?" Kat asks.

*

When Harry said "soon", no one thought he meant two days later. I expected the song after at least three years.

"Ladies, I finished it!"

"Boy, don't play with us."

"Look, look." He yanks out a singing book and flips through it. Stopping, he points at a page full of highlighted paragraphs.

Kean takes it from and smirks. "Are you seriously telling us you did all this?"

"Well." He stands akimbo. "A friend helped. Before you read further, let me explain something." Then he sits beside Kat. "We ur, ... my friend and I felt that just narrating our experiences is cool or whatever, but what's the value to our audience and the judges? What do we expect them to do with our sob stories? Pity us? And, I bet you, that we're not the only ones thinking of crying our hearts out on stage. So... urm my friend did some research into the competition and the judges, and made a hypothesis on what will generate not only tears, but also action. Action, you know,  like maybe, ur, someone will hear the song and feel an urge to be a better parent or to appreciate their parents. So, ya, this song is the hypothesis. "

All four of us listen until he stares at us in anticipation. Then Kean mutters, "Huh," showing me and Kat the lyrics. I smile as my gaze lands on a line about wanting to learn how to whistle like dad. I wrote that for him.

"Mia. Kean. You sing the second and third verses -oh and it goes like," he says, bobbing,  "verse, chorus, verse, verse, bridge and chorus. Within three minutes, we should be done."

"I like the impact you want to make." Kat praises him.

Grinning, he gets up as we hear a car engine. "Urr, Mrs. Leslie is here, so do the rest of you like it? "

This is when Dalia comes forward to see the song. She is the second to approve, followed by me.

"Here," Kean returns his book, shrugging.  He smiles at her nonetheless, and runs out of the garage in the same instant that Anna rushes in.

"Juice for the madam," she says to no one in particular. I take the serving tray  from her loose grip and she sighs in relief about not breaking the glass. When she observes the others' tense faces, she snorts, "The jerk hasn't written a song yet, huh?

"He has," Dalia defends. " Hopefully, Leslie will see how magnificent it is too."

"Magnificent?" Anna scoffs. Dalia gives her a freightened look to which she rolls her eyes. "Today he's magnificent, but tomorrow, he'll be a shitshow. "

"What do you mean?" Kat frowns.

"Even you should have figured it by now." 

"Figured what?" Dalia asks. Anna rolls her eyes at her and walks out of the garage, smug-faced.

I shrug and Kean grimaces. "Wait, what is wrong with him-"

"Girl! " Kat cuts in. "I get it now, he's the stoner from the pineapple juice scandal." We still look confused, so she adds, "Basically, Anna's trying to say he's got a drug problem."

Suddenly, the memory of him offering me weed in school comes to mind, followed by his bloodshot eyes glaring at me on our first encounter. I shiver. Oh crap, he does.

"He does?" The cutie wails, her eyes fixed on me.

Also staring, Kean sighs, "If it's going to be a problem, we can't tell Madam Leslie."

"Girl, you right. She'll just kick him out."

"So we lie for him?"

"It won't come to that point, Mia."

"Ya, Keany's right. You shouldn't let it get to that point."

"Me?" I snarl at Dalia. She nods as if what she said is perfectly normal. She's lucky that Kean takes back my focus to say," Dont mind her. It's not your job."

"Ya, and I don't know Harry well anyway," I insist. This is the sixth time I have said this.

"But, girls, we have to get an adult to intervene or something, right?" Kat scratches her afro. "Mia, do you know his mom's contact?"

"I just said-" I am about to update my counter to 'seven' when it dawns on me. "I do know someone who should know though?"

"Girl, who?"

*Charlie's P.O.V *

"Aren't gonna ask what I am writing?"

There's a pause.

"What are you writing?"

"A song for the band." Harry looks up at me. I don't return his smile, and he shuts his singing book. Throwing his head back, he lets out an exhausted groan. "Those girls are clueless, and the madam is demanding."

"Ok."

His foot jovially kicks mine. "What's with the attitude?"

I shrug. His knees press his chest without any regard for my burdened couch. I relieve it of my weight, sighing,

"It's late."

"So?" He pouts. "I just got here."

I rub my temples. Sydney shouldn't have invited him over behind my back. Even if she did this because of what happened at his house, I should have been made aware so I could figure out my position on his matter.

"What's the matter, Charlie?"

"You," I huff. His puzzled look is unwavering, so I add, "You almost killed someone allergic to pineapples."

"Oh." His gaze drops to his toes.

"Did you know he was allergic?"

He snaps, "No!"

I exhale, relief washing me down. He looks at me like I have gone insane as I hug him. Patting my back too, he mumbles, "How did you find out?"

"Seniors in the locker room."

"Right." His palm halts. "Wait, you're a senior?!"

I nod, and just as he holds me back to squeal, Sydney's phone vibrates on the centre table.

I receive it, backing away from him. "Leo?"

"WHA -"

"- Leo? Hello?" I raise a finger to quiet my gaping friend. Some noise resonates through the line until I hear," Hey, Charlie."

"What the hell?!"

"Language, mate! Also, quiet!"

"Who're you whispering to?" Leo laughs. I put the call on speaker. "It's Harry."

There's dead air.

"Oh, ok."

Harry snarls at his sudden intonation. Glaring, I retrieve my spot on the couch and chirp, " Yes, he wants to say sorry."

"Wha-" Before Harry can yell again, I give him the phone, making him rather flounder, "I mean...ur, ur ya, I'm sorry?"

"For?" Leo says after a beat.

"For ... you know."

I hit his thigh, and he adds," For, like, the juice thing."

"And the party fight!" I whisper.

"And the party fight," he reiterates,  gawking even wider.

The line goes quiet again.

Then we hear, "Sorry too, I guess. Is Charlie still there? "

"Yes."

"Good!" Sudden exhilaration raises his voice."The guys think that during the trip, we should stop at my uncle's lakehouse so that I can take your pictures."

I bite my nail. "But I don't ur really want to go to the concert. T-the crowd."

"Then ... we can stay behind till they return. "

"You don't have to do that." I stop biting.

"It's fine. Besides, it'll save me some cost, " he breezes.

Still, I frown at Harry, only for this my annoyed mate to blurt, "He'll be there," and hang up before I can snatch the phone from his grip.

"Why did you do that?!"

"What? I hate him, but he did sound pretty excited to hang with you." He shrugs.

I groan, "But I haven't asked Sydney yet!"

"Ooooh." He bobs in realisation. I throw my head back, glaring into space as he scoots closer. As my cheek turns in his direction, he winks. My frown deepens.

"What?"

"I can convince her to let you go, but you'll have to tell me something first?"

"What?"

He sighs. "So you saw us fighting at the party, and you, what?... You looked for him?"

I nod.

"So, what? You were trying to be a peacemaker?"

I blink, and he sighs again. " That's sweet and all, but..." He sits up. "But, like, sometimes, you just have to ... argh, dial it back a little, you know."

"Just say it." I retort.

"Say what?"

"That I should not meddle in your affairs."

"Oh, come on, it's just-" Harry halts, scrunches his nose, loses his train of thought, and then stares at me for something to say.

I shrug.  "It's fine. You're right. Anyway, do you need help with your song?"

*

True to his word, Harry convinces Sydney, even to the extent of making her want to buy me new clothes for the trip.

"How does this look?" She beams from a boutique's changing room mirror.

I shrug.

"You're useless," she huffs, rotating me for my friend to see. "Is it good on him?"

"Mmm, na." Harry grimaces. Sydney facepalms and jerks the expensive leather jacket off me. After two more futile changeovers, she lets Harry make the selection, despite my laments that all this fuss is unnecessary.

Syd coerces me to wear his first pick, a patterned dress shirt, only to take it off and hit him lightly. "You're mad if you think I'll let my son look like sex on a stick."

"It's Versace!" He shields his face, laughing. "It's hot because it's from a summer collection!"

"Boy, I'll summer-collect your remains if you don't find my son decent clothing!"

"Ok, ok!" He gets off the couch and back into the aisles.

"Please, all this is unnecessary -"

"- You too?!" Syd snaps

"Sorry."

*

Our shopping ends as follows: I almost faint thrice, Harry gets hit on the head eight times, and we carry ten shopping bags mainly consisting of clothes for Syd. We drop Harry off at his place before going home to meet Dan's car in our garage.

I shake my head, taking the bags inside while she hugs her man. At least this Easter break, I won't have to follow them around or listen to their giggles all day. Who knew a concert could save my ears?

*