https://youtu.be/E4ScPro8YcI

I SAT ON the edge of my couch, my fingers curling into the cushions, blood singing as the guitar pierced the heavy thunderous air in the Upside Down. Claire was on edge too, but more for the actual plot of the movie instead of Eddie Munson's impromptu concert. I scrolled through my mental playlist of 80s metal bands, trying to guess the song before it even started. "It's going to be Iron Maiden. No. Van Halen. Wait, he talked about Ozzy, right –?"

Claire flapped her hand to nonverbally shush me as Eddie said, "Chrissy, this is for you."

Then he unleashed the opening rift. My eyes widened. "Of course –"

"Jo?" Claire's voice sounded just as strangled as one of the creepy bat monsters roaring. Then an entire flock of them took flight. Claire was enraptured in watching the plan the characters set unfurl into motion, but my focus deviated from the show to Eddie Munson, wondering if the actor was actually playing the guitar or if he was faking it. The flashes to him were too fleeting, and they were mostly him just shaking his wig all over the place, and with every blast of the guitar coming to the forefront of the action –

I ran upstairs to my room. "No!" Claire whined when she realized what I was doing.

"You can keep watching it!" I shouted behind me. "I just want to try something!"

I power walked into my room, pushing past the piles of unworn clothes to get at my electric guitar in the back corner. Liquid baby blue, glossy like candy. It sounded just as sweet. I grabbed it, throwing the strap over my shoulder before running back downstairs.

Only when I flopped back down on the couch in my original place did I realize that the house was too quiet for the climax of the show we were supposed to be watching. The screen was frozen on Eddie Munson standing on his trailer in front of a red sky. Claire had rewinded the show to the beginning of the scene. "You didn't have to do that," I told her, touched by the gesture all the same.

"Yeah right." She'd pivoted on the couch, leaning back against the armrest and resting her feet on the cushion near me. A book – her favorite book – rested on her knees, opened to a page she'd read a million times before. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy the show until you prove you can play that song better than he can."

I smirked. "You know me too well. After this, we can watch that Bridgerton show if you want."

Her eyes skipped up from her book to meet mine, brows raising with disbelief. "Really?"

I hated the show, the flouncy dresses and cheesy storylines and severe lack of women's rights, but if she was letting me do something I loved, I could return the favor. "Sure." I settled further back into the couch, cradling my guitar against my chest while I grabbed the remote between us. "Ask my mom if she'll bring home pizza, too. I'm starving."

Pizza to Claire was like books to Claire, which was like air to people. She simply couldn't exist without them. So she didn't need to be asked twice. Ensured that she was content despite me turning our show into guitar practice, I played the scene all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

I'd gotten good enough to learn certain riffs by ear. Like most metal music, Master of Puppets was a mashup of a lot of power chords, down picks, and chokes. It was aggressive. My favorite. My hand glided up and down the neck, calloused fingers pressing into the strings to pull out the right notes. At first, they'd been a little elusive, especially when I had to compete with the actual show. Why did people have to talk so much? Why did they have to do so many things? But they became easier to grasp, quicker to hold onto.

The hollow chords of my guitar played in tandem with Eddie Munson on a continuous loop as I played the scene a few more times. Then I grinned. "I can't wait to put this on TikTok."

Claire hummed in agreement, but she wasn't really listening. She slowly closed her book and put it to the side, pulling herself back out of the world she'd been absorbed by. "Did you figure it out?"

"I think so." I set my guitar on the loveseat next to us, laying it out along the cushions. "I'll fine tune it when Mom comes home."

"And then we can watch Bridgerton." She grabbed the remote and played the rest of the episode out, starting from the beginning of Eddie's solo one more time. And she seemed content. Too content.

I frowned. "This was your plan all along, wasn't it?"

"You should watch this for another review," she gestured vaguely to the TV with the remote. But I noticed her small, wry smile. And the fact that she didn't answer my question. I rolled my eyes.

I may have learned how to play the song, but Claire was the real master of puppets here.