Mary Jane Watson found her first guitar lying on the sidewalk, half buried under porn magazines and dirty wife beaters smelling of Old Spice.
She was on her way home from third grade, her head held high and her gaze set on kill should any well-meaning adult raise an eyebrow at a child her age walking alone. No one who should know better would dare bother Philip Watson's daughter and besides, the streets held little fear. She knew every corner, every alley, every hole where her fast, skinny little body could squeeze through and leave whoever ran after her panting and wheezing on the other side. Luis at the bodega didn't even bother going after her anymore – he just tossed her an apple and juice box whenever she walked in the store. She would prefer a candy bar and a Coke, but she recently read that Gwyneth Paltrow swore by fresh vegetables and fruit and so Em Jay ate her apple. She didn't like Gwyneth, but she understood famous people had nice skin with bright smiles while sugar caused pimples and rotted teeth. The internet said so.
Em Jay was squeezing the last drops out of the juice box when she spotted the guitar. It seemed to glow in the late fall sunshine, the weak rays highlighting the silver strings and faded gold inlay. The neck stuck out of a pile of items strewn on the sidewalk as if someone had thrown them out of one of the brownstones lining the street. Em Jay was used to seeing abandoned property on her way home. The neighborhood had long ago seen better days and was currently under invasion from Manhattan refugees who hoped the better days were coming back. But for now, the newbies put up with the litter of crack pipes and the occasional basement meth lab explosion under the guise of "quaint" and "hip" and "keeping it real." Em Jay's family was part of the "real" the new residents claimed gave the neighborhood its character but they secretly – or not so secretly – hoped to displace.
She picked her way through the smelly used men's clothes and slippery magazines with naked women in them, finally wresting the guitar free. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She whipped her head from side to side. No one was looking. With more than a little struggle – Em Jay was not a tall child and the guitar was a full size Fender six-string acoustic – she managed to get it home and smuggled under her bed.
She couldn't keep it there, however. Philip Watson would eventually find it. He always did. And then it would be gone. Sold or traded or just plain smashed up because he felt like it and it made the others laugh and buy him drinks. So at school the next day, she pulled Glory Grant aside at recess. "I'm gonna have a band. Want to be it?"
Glory threw her head back and laughed, her braids bouncing off her shoulders. "You're not going to have any such thing. "
"Yes, I am," Em Jay insisted. "I'm gonna sing. And play guitar. And be a star someday."
"You're crazy. What do you know about playing a guitar? You don't have one." Glory didn't say it, but Em Jay knew she was thinking, "And we both know your dad won't buy you one, either."
"Yes, I do." Em Jay tugged Glory closer so she could whisper in her ear. "I do so have a guitar. And if you want to be in my band, you get to keep it at your house." She stepped and nodded once, emphatically. "What do you think?"
Em Jay knew Glory's apartment wasn't much bigger than hers, and Glory had to share a bedroom with her baby sister Sondra. But the guitar would be safe there. Glory had been wearing to school the gold cross they each got for First Communion for MONTHS now. Em Jay couldn't find her necklace three days after the ceremony. Her father told her she must have misplaced it and to be more careful with her things, but she knew she carefully put it on her bedside table when she went to sleep and it was gone when she woke up. She felt so bad, she stopped going to church with Glory even though she liked the fruit punch and cookies they served after all the talking. But the fact Glory still had her cross meant although her house wasn't the perfect solution – Em Jay wouldn't be able to practice as much as she hoped to - it had to be better than trusting the guitar to under Em Jay's bed.
"I don't think you have any such thing, Mary Jane Watson," Glory said with a toss of her chin. "I'm not falling for another one of your stories."
"What if I bring it to your house after school and prove it?" Em Jay licked her lips, and rubbed her suddenly damp palms on her jeans. She would die if she couldn't keep the guitar. Just die. She never wanted anything more in her life. She didn't believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny never brought her anything but music – music could make the rest of the world disappear, if she concentrated hard enough on the beat and the words. "Will you be in the band then?"
Glory pursed her lips and gave Em Jay a sideways glance. "Sure. Show me your guitar and I'm in. Can I play guitar, too?"
Em Jay shut her eyes. She hadn't thought that far ahead. They flew open as the perfect idea occurred to her. "Your mom! She plays the organ at St. Anne's sometimes, right?"
"Yeah…." Glory said slowly. "When the regular organist is sick. But I hate the organ. Too wheezy. Makes my ears hurt."
"But all bands have…what do you call them, the guys who plays, like, the piano, right?"
Glory shook her head. "No way," she said, her hands balled on her hips. "Everyone knows the guitar player is the best player in a band."
"That's not true!" Em Jay insisted, although deep down she was sure Glory was right. But the guitar was HERS, dammit. She found it. She would learn it. Somehow. "Everyone's important in a band. We need a piano person. And an organ is like a piano. You have someone who can show you how to play!" A charge of electricity ran up her spine. She only asked Glory to be in a band so she could keep the guitar at the Grant home – but maybe this would really work. Maybe they could be a real band! She grinned and grabbed Glory's hands, jumping up and down. "It's meant to be!"
Glory kept her feet on the ground, rolling her eyes and letting out a theatrical sigh. "Fine. I'll ask my mom to start teaching me. But you owe me, big time." Then she smiled, an ear-stretching grin. "We're really gonna be in a band?"
"We really, truly are!" Em Jay promised, and she hugged her best friend tight.