A.N.- The idea for this story came to me while I was listening to my dad's old records with the fam. I know that I have I'm Only Sleeping in progress, but I really thought I'd get this down on paper (or in this case, cyberspace). I felt like a nice sweet, and somewhat short, story. For each chapter, I'm going to give you a song, and when I feel like it, a link to that song where you can listen to it, but otherwise, it's kind of up to you to get it and listen to it. Trust me, you're musical repertoire will be expanded by the end of this! Enjoy and Review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Connect 3, Camp Rock, or Nate Grey, however handsome he may be. I do not own "Acid Tongue" by Jenny Lewis.

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In Between The Racks-Chapter One

Sara's POV-

I went to a cobbler
To fix a hole in my shoe
He took one look at my face
And said, "I can fix that hole in you"

You know, it's funny, because you'd never think that anyone would open a record store, selling legit records, when there is a whole world obsessed with cyber-downloading, mp3's, and iTunes. And yet, here I am, selling records in my dad's record store, earning my minimum wage, or in my case daily allowance.

I beg your pardon
I'm not looking for a cure
Seen enough of my friends
In the depths of the godsick blues

But you know, it's really not that bad. I love all the music in this store, the good, the epic, the heavy, and the cheesy. And part of the magic of it is the record too. To me, a record store is almost exactly like a book store, only with audio instead of just boring old print. I mean, there are booklets in every record you open. And each has its own little story. I guess I didn't mention the fact that this is a used record store. I don't really think any music company does records anymore, so the word "new" doesn't really apply.

You know I am a liar
You know I am a liar
Nobody helps a liar

Oh, well. Well here I am, a junior in high school, earning my living (literally, you could say) and having the freaking time of my life while doing it. You see, I love music. All of it. And this record store is my home. And there is a lovely assortment of people who come in here, just to buy back a piece of their past. And of course, we have weekly regulars, which make Mondays seem like Somedays. (A.N. - Somedays- like as in days past, fairy tale, story days….)

Because I've been down to Dixie
And dropped acid on my tongue
Tripped upon the land
Until enough was enough

I was a little bit lighter
And adventure on my sleeve
I was a little drunk
And looking for company

But anyway, here I am now, sorting through this one rack that needs to be alphabetized, and listening to Jenny Lewis warbling trough the stereo, the only other modern piece of equipment besides the cash register (my dad would've rathered a cash box, but I insisted we go for the cash register) and the phone, sorting through years and years of awesomeness. And I love it.

So I found myself a sweetheart
With the softest of hands
We were unlucky in love
But I'd do it all again

We build ourselves a fire
We build ourselves a fire
But you know I am a liar
You know I am a liar

You never really know who's going to stumble into the store. I mean, it's not quite out of the way, but it's farther off the beaten track I guess you could say.

And you don't know what I've done

Man, I'm not really sorting at all. My "alphabetizing" is me looking through the records and pouring over each miniscule detail; every water stain, scratch, rip, and bend. These records really do have a story of their own.

By the rolling river is
Exactly where I was
There was no simple cure
For unlucky in love

And I think that's why I love them so much. Why I love this store so much. It's not just the music, it's the places and the people this music has been and has had an effect on, and I'm not trying to get all philosophical or whatever, but this really is where I belong. Me, Sara, and it's awesome.

To be lonely is a habit
Like smoking or taking drugs
And I've quit them both
But man, was it rough

You see, I'm pretty different. I dress different, I wear my hair different, and I love different things, and though I have a few friends (who also stop by the store occasionally), I'm kind of lonely, being so different. And these records, and the people and the experiences they bring with them, are my friends. Like this White Album (by the Beatles), has an inscription on it, and it's so sweet: "To my own lovely Rita, I love you and always will, as long as you love the Beatles (which I know you promised me forever). You keep this record, and with it, keep my heart, because I know I'll keep yours. Love, Joseph"

Now I am tired
It just made me tired
Let's build ourselves a fire
Let's build ourselves a fire

So now, I'll be here for a while, not that I mind, and soon it'll be time to go to my real home. But until then, I think I'm quite comfortable right here.

A.N- Like it? Should I continue? Please tell me! Thanks :)