Okay, so this chapter is really long. Anyways, poor Jude. She really goes through the wringer in this chapter. What a sucky day. And yes, it continues.
Hmm, anyways, so spoilers… Ooh, well, Boyz Attack! is gonna be in a chapter and I know that because I like them and awww, Tommy's sorta getting along with them. Seriously, though, was Chaz kinda coming unto Tommy or was I just imagining that? I mean, all that "You look good… Older, but good." and the "She's not the only one I want." (coupled with that weird look on Chaz' face)…
Anyways, that was a good episode. And Tommy singing Jude's song? SO cute. They were just all-in-all SOOO cute this episode. And Boyz Attack! and the dance moves… I kinda liked the old school version though… I mean, was Pick Up the Pieces like their only hit or something? Because it's the only one they ever sing… But I wrote a Boyz Attack! song… Gonna try and stick it in somewhere in this story o' mine.
But Sadie… I can see where they're going with that, and boy, do I NOT like it. But hey, they're still dating in my story, and… shudders It'll be a long time before that gets changed.
And did anyone notice that song Eden was singing? It goes like: "All my rocks are turning to sand/Before my eyes/One more reason to hide in my bed all day"… I guess it must've been written somewhere between Skin and Me Out of Me… It was the same song that was playing in the beginning of the ep… So why isn't it on the CD? It sounded pretty cool, actually… "Shatter Me", that's what it's called.
I'm SO naming a chapter Shatter Me. Anyways…
Don't own Jude Harrison, Tommy Quincy, Michael Jackson, Kat, Sadie Harrison, "Skin", "Hey, Jude", Boyz Attack, "Waste My Time", "It Could Be You", Georgia Bevans, "Let Me Fall", Professor Snape, Harry Potter, Shay, Jamie Andrews, Eden, Darius Mills, No Doubt, Satan, Stuart Harrison, Victoria Harrison, or "Just a Girl".
I do, however, own Mr. Travis Quinn, Joan Travers, "Together" (the song Tommy sings that you don't recognize), Jude's car, the Vice-Principal, Jude's soon-to-be-lawyer, the paparazzi, Joan's friend…
Oh, and if you're wondering about Joan… She is nothing like me. I cannot play the guitar, I haven't taken music since I was in seventh grade, I'm a sophomore, and Joan's really a little blunt… Almost 16, actually… In a few months. But I look like her. Except I'm like 5'4'' at the most… And my hair is slowly turning white and blonde (but it was pink! Bright electric pink)… But yeah, Joan's cool.
Song lyrics are in italics.
And just so you know… I like this chapter. I especially like the beginning of this chapter. But even more than that, I like this one part in the next chapter… You'll know which part I'm talking about… It's sooo good. Well, I like it, which I suppose isn't saying much… And I sound incredibly full of myself, which I'm not because yeah… Not that my writing's incredibly stellar and deep and thought-provoking or anything, but I figure since I separate paragraphs and spell things right, I've got a bit of an advantage… Hmm, and I sorta write stuff that kinda makes sense (Like, for instance, not making Tommy go to Iraq when he is A. Canadian, B. There isn't a draft for that yet, and C. Canada's disapproved of that war from the beginning, so they don't have any soldiers over there… Anyways, that is not the point.)… And I've never really had much of a cliffhanger in any of these chapters… Puzzling.
Sigh… I love Canadians.
Oh, and just a random note… Counting the next chapter, this story's up to 52 pages. Yay!
Mmm, I feel all warm and safe. And I've got a really comfortable pillow… Wrapped all around me! What did I do last night?
"Jude…" Someone groans. But not just any someone… Tommy! My eyes snapped open. What the hell am I doing in bed with Tommy? And indeed, there he is, right next to me, bleary-eyed and looking amazing, as always. His hair's all cute and messy and his arms are so warm around me… Ah.
I sighed blissfully, still half asleep, snuggling in closer to Tommy. Wait a second, he's not wearing a shirt! And, hey, neither am I! Whoa… Did I? Did I have sex with Tommy last night? That's so illegal! Mom and Dad are going to send Tommy to Jail. J-A-I-L! He's gonna be doing five years for statutory rape!
Ack! Suddenly I was wide awake. "Tommy, what are you doing here?" I muttered, throat hoarse from sleep. Tommy frowned at me as I pulled back from his grip a little.
"Girl, you honestly don't remember?" He questioned, looking a bit incredulous and slightly crestfallen. Well, of course I don't! But how I wound up in bed with Tommy is the least of my problems. My problem is that I'm in bed with Tommy. Were we safe? Was I drunk?
Wait, of course I was drunk… A sane Jude does not screw Lil Tommy Q. Ack, I rhymed! It must be really bad. Oh, crap… That's extra charges right there. Intoxication of a minor… I mean, look at the Michael Jackson case… Well, I guess if Tommy gets a really good lawyer, he can get off too. Besides, Tommy's younger, and he's already a sort of playboy and wait, why do my parents even have to know? Maybe if I get up now and…
"It's not that, Tommy… This is just… wrong, and all…" I stuttered, pulling the sheets up higher. Tommy's face fell, and he looked immediately nervous. Can't say this is a side of Tommy I've seen much. He reached his hand around the blankets to rest on the small of my back.
"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about us, Jude… I mean, this won't change anything at the studio, I promise, and I know we don't know each other too well, but we'll be alone together a lot producing your CD…" Tommy promised, sounding very worried. But how odd… He didn't mention Sadie or the age difference.
I sighed with frustration. "Tommy, I don't even know when your birthday is!" I snapped, rather annoyed. Tommy gave me this indescribable look that just turned me to mush.
"Well, I'll be 23 next November…" Tommy replied quietly. Wait, next November? It was like, September now. I sighed, somewhat confused.
"And I'll be seventeen soon…" I muttered to myself. Then I noticed that Tommy was giving me a weird look, putting a hand on my shoulder and feeling my forehead with the back of the other one. Why was he acting so weird?
"You sure you're okay? I mean, don't you mean 22 instead?" Tommy questioned suspiciously. Wait, I'm actually 21? How is that possible? Am I on drugs or something? Is Tommy on drugs? I have to ask him now…
"Tommy, what exactly happened last night?" I asked, dreading the answer. I knew we had slept together, but how did that happen?
"Well, you kissed me last night, performed, and then you tried to quit. But you didn't give me time to explain how I feel about you, so I went to your house… And, well, this happened…" Tommy explained somewhat vaguely, smiling at the recollection. Wait, he couldn't be talking about my first gig, could he? Because if he was, then we really rushed into this and I didn't even know him at all. Guess he really wasn't kidding when he said in a heartbeat…
Man, am I like a future slut in-training or something? Is this what I'd do if I was 21? If so, then I'm scared…
"Anyways, I was watching you sleep for a while, and I came up with some lyrics," Tommy replied absently, bending down and picking up my guitar, the very guitar I had shoved at him after my first gig when I "quit". Okay, so I guess I did sleep with him only hours after meeting him. Go figure. Amazingly enough, he started to play a melody and sing, "You and me, we belong together… Yeah, you know we're meant to be… You and me, we belong together… I can see it should be you and me forever…"
Tommy sang this softly, pulling me closer to him. It struck me then that I had no idea where we were. I assume it's Tommy's apartment… Unless I've got one of my own. But I don't really recognize any of the stuff here, so I'm still going with the fact that it's Tommy's. He's so warm and soft and I wanna just go back to sleep. But I should be worrying about… What should I be worrying about?
I don't remember…
I just remember me and Tommy… Good memories. Happy… He looks very good shirtless. Mmm, I think I'll just go back to sleep… I can go to the studio later… And, besides, it's not like I really need to go, what with Tommy here and all…
I was lightly shaken awake. "Tommy, I don't wanna go to the studio now…" I muttered sleepily, burrowing my head into my arms to escape the light. I was only shaken harder.
"Whatever you want you're not going to get, now let me sleep!" I groaned, swatting away at the air and hitting nothing.
Then I heard a very unfamiliar voice. "Look, I'm not Tommy, whoever that is…" The voice was a feminine voice, and I jumped up at that, suddenly wide awake. How much of that had she heard? Okay, probably all of it… Damnit!
And where in the h-Oh, I'm in the girls' bathroom. Whoa. How messed up am I? I fell asleep on the floor of the girls' bathroom. Against the wall. And boy, do I feel it… Ugh.
There's this girl standing in front of me who I've never seen before in my life. Which means she's either new or a freshman. Really, I don't care. I'm just tired and I wanna go home, and crap, I'm probably missing History. Eh, screw it… It's not like we're doing anything important, after all.
Anyways, so this girl's got wavy dark brown hair, about shoulder-length, brown eyes. She's a little shorter than me, but taller than Kat. She wore a black lace shirt with a jean miniskirt and short black boots. Well, I guess I've left out the really cool thing about her… That would be the huge, bright pink streaks in her hair. Right now, she's just kind of annoying me…
"You okay?" The girl questioned cautiously. I merely blinked tiredly before walking over to the sink and gazing at myself in the mirror. The girl did not follow, and, as I wiped away the trails of mascara, I muttered an awkward thank-you.
"So, what's your name?" The girl asked a moment later.
"What's yours?" I retorted rather edgily, messing with my hair.
"Joan Travers. What are you doing in here, sleeping, during class? I mean, it's the first day… You can't honestly be that tired," She replied quickly, looking at herself in the mirror, smoothing her skirt. She almost looked somewhat nervous. Why was she so inquisitive? She didn't even know me. But then again, neither did those hate mail people… I snorted.
"You're new here, right? I'm guessing you're American, judging by the way you say your O's. Anyways, what are you doing out of class?" I retorted, smoothing my own clothes, which were wrinkled from leaning against the wall. Yawning, I stretched, feeling my bones pop.
"I have lunch this period," Joan stated simply, fighting back a smile. Attempting to smooth her frizzy curls, she spoke again. "You know, you still haven't told me your name…" I haven't told her my name for a reason. Right now it isn't that great to be me…
"Jude Harrison," I responded, grimacing. Joan nodded, laughing a little. I rolled my eyes, washing my hands and then drying them. I stepped back from the mirror, turning to see her reaction. Her face was blank and impassive, but then a smirk appeared on her face.
"Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, Hey Jude!" Joan hummed, smirk widening. I felt a scowl appear on my face, and I rolled my eyes, grabbing my bag and moving to leave. However, my phone rang again, and I dropped my bag on the floor, forgotten.
"Hello?" I questioned, feeling impatient. I was wondering why Tommy had to call me again. Stupid jerk was screwing me all up.
"So, Jude, how long have you and Tommy been going out?" An annoying, hyper-fast sugary tone implored me. I didn't know the person, but I had a guess. The paparazzi, I'm sure.
"Well, for one thing, we're not going out. And printing statements that we are, however fun, is libel and slander. But mostly libel. Next time I'm calling my lawyer," I retorted angrily, hanging up the phone and picking up my bag. Good, I think I scared them. Now, let's see… I'd better get a lawyer. Hmm, note to self, talk to Georgia about that. After she chews me up about Tommy.
Ugh.
"Was that Tommy?" Joan asked innocently. I almost jumped, as I had forgotten she was still there. I frantically shook my head no and moved to get out of the room, but my phone rang again. Groaning, I once again answered.
"What do you want?" I snapped, frustrated. I knew without a doubt that it was a reporter. I could've bet ten bucks on it, as a matter of fact.
"So, Jude, how does it feel to be engaged to Tommy Quincy?" A different, yet similar sounding, somewhat annoying voice said. I groaned again, eyes narrowing as I leaning against the wall.
"I wouldn't know. We're not engaged. We're not even dating. And besides, I'm sixteen. Who the hell gets engaged at sixteen? Now I'm gonna tell you just like I told the last piranha, okay? I'm gonna call my lawyer and sue your ass for libel and harassment, if this persists…" I rambled quickly, fury building inside of me. Why would anyone think that Tommy and I were engaged? For crying out loud, it was just one kiss!
Joan laughed again, confused. "Who thinks you're engaged?" She queried, interested. It was then that it struck me that Joan had no idea who I was or no idea which Tommy I'd been dreaming about. Oh, god. I was dreaming about Tommy. And me. In bed. Together. Naked. Okay, you know what? I can PANIC about that later. Because I shouldn't be dreaming about Tommy either. Really. But I did. ARGH!
But you know, I could use that to an advantage. Might as well befriend someone. That way I'll have someone to talk to… Even if she's not in my lunch.
"Oh, the tabloids…" I sighed, putting my phone on vibrate and dropping it in my bag. Joan gave me a weird look, but followed me out of the bathroom. I knew the end of class was approaching, so I decided to just skip. Trust me, I think I needed it.
"Wanna tell me why the tabloids think you're engaged?" My somewhat friend posed, amused. She still looked absolutely bewildered, as if she didn't believe me. I sighed, heading in the direction of my locker.
Do I really want to tell her this? Oh, I might as well… She'll find out anyways… Sooner or later. They'll plaster those tabloids on my locker again, I bet. I took a deep breath, sighing once more, before I started to talk.
"I kissed Tommy Quincy on international television," I said rapidly, feeling my face turn about as red as my hair. Looking me over, Joan blinked, clearly not understanding what a punk like me was doing kissing Li'l Tommy Q. Well, neither did I. So, as soon as she figures it out, she should tell me. But Joan was insanely calm about the whole thing. Calmer than anyone actually involved with the situation was…
Loads of other girls would've jumped up and down asking me what it was like. Or bitch-slapped me, kinda like Sadie did, for "stealing their man".
"As in the teenyboppin' teen heartthrob Boyz Attack! über Pop Star, Li'l Tommy Q.?" Joan gaped, disbelievingly. Hey, if you told me a year ago that I would have kissed Tommy Q… Well, actually, I've almost known him for a year… Sorta. Anyways, I wouldn't have believed you. I would've denied it and asked you what you were smoking and told you to get off of it before it killed you. I sighed, turning to her.
"He hates it when you call him that," I muttered distractedly. What I'd meant to say was, yes, that Tommy. But, here I am, distracted again because of that stupid Thomas Quincy. Argh. Joan stared at me unblinkingly, jaw dropped. I sighed impatiently, rolling my eyes. "Yes, I know he's not my type. Yes, I know he's too old for me. Yes, I am aware that that's illegal. And, yes, he is everything I hate about music."
Joan blinked, and then we were at my locker. I sighed once again, opening it slowly. "Don't believe me?" I questioned carefully, pausing before continuing, "Look at this." And I handed her one of the tabloids on my locker, pointing to some of the pictures where we were together. Her eyebrows rose, looking at the photos, as she carefully put the tabloid back in my locker.
"So, how do you know him?" She asked finally, after what seemed like forever. Staring at a picture of him and me from my birthday, I responded immediately.
"He's my producer." I gestured to the photo I was looking at, and Joan peered at it, intrigued. "That was at my sixteenth birthday party… Before it all turned sour and my heart was served to me on a silver platter." I explained in a monotone, remembering how much it had hurt.
Joan blinked for a minute, staring at the photo of my CD intently. Suddenly her face lit up with realization and she just turned and stared at me for a minute, as if she was in shock. "Wait, you're Jude Harrison…" She stated in awe, pointing a finger at me. Well, jeez, no duh. I'd already told her that.
"Yeah… And you're Joan Travers…" I retorted in a no-duh kind of tone, rolling my eyes. Joan shook her head, and I somehow felt as if I was not understanding her correctly. She went on with her explanation.
"My friend back home totally loved you. Like mad. She played your CD over and over again. Especially "Waste My Time". Man, was she a fanatic," Joan reminisced, and it struck me then that she missed her friend. I could sympathize, considering that my best friends and my sister were avoiding/hating/ignoring me.
"Oh, cool. I could sign something for her if you wanted to give her something special… By the way, you got a favorite?" I offered, trying to help my new friend. We're friends? Weird. I guess we are… Joan smiled at me.
"Yeah, like for her birthday… But, uh, let's see… I like "It Could Be You" and "Skin"… Ooh, but Let Me Fall's good too…" Joan chirped excitedly, humming "Let Me Fall". I chuckled lightly, feeling amused and remotely normal for once. Then the speakers came on.
"Will Jude Harrison please report to the office? Jude Harrison, please report to the office."
Oh, crap. I made a face, shutting my locker and turning to Joan, who nodded, waving.
"So, you have Quinn next hour, right?" She implored, sounding hopeful. I nodded, grabbing my things to go to the office. Joan nodded, smiling, giving me a thumbs-up.
"Cool, so, see ya then, okay?" She called out as I walked towards the office. I nodded, waving back at her before hauling ass to the office. Is this about my skipping history?
Hmmm. Well, I guess there's only one way to find out, right? So I went down to the office. The secretary obviously recognized me, and nodded to the vice principal, who walked forward, taking my arm and leading me out the door. We walked out of the school slowly, and I felt puzzled. Was somebody going to give me a ride to the studio or something? Was I being arrested?
"What's…" I started to stay, but the vice principal clamped a hand over my mouth.
"There's been a mishap with your car. You are the owner of a red convertible, correct?" The vice principal asked politely, waiting for a sign from me. I nodded, rather annoyed, suppressing the urge to hit the vice principal, who immediately led me over to my car, removing the hand covering my mouth.
There lay the remains of my formerly red convertible. It was banged up a bit and had been keyed almost beyond recognition. The passenger side window was broken, and a rock was on the seat. My jaw immediately dropped, and, finding my keys, I pressed the button to pop my trunk. I had two of my guitars in there (neither of them being the really nice ones… As if I would bring those to school). I debated for a moment which to pull out, but I grabbed both of them, figuring that way I'd be prepared if there weren't any amps in the music room. Then I carefully removed everything from the front of my car, put it in the trunk, and shut the trunk. I made a mental note to ask Tommy for the number of a good mechanic when I got to the studio.
But then a look came over the vice principal's face. Later I was to find out that the vice principal had been listening to a walkie-talkie, and had just found out something rather unfortunate about my locker, but I'll get to that later. So, once again, I was grabbed and dragged back in school, struggling to keep up with the vice principal. And then I felt my phone vibrate. I yanked it out of my pocket, flying down the halls after the vice principal.
"Helloooo?" I wavered, seeing my locker. I was breathless and tired and late for class.
"Jude, honey, heard about you and Tommy eloping… Could you tell us about that?" Yet another annoying paparazzi tabloid reporter who's got it all wrong and just believes whatever they hear.
Skidding to a stop and nearly falling over in front of my locker, I saw what was spray-painted on it, and an unholy fury ran through me. Slut, it said, in bright, dripping, red letters. I decided to take out my revenge on the reporter first. After all, I was much angrier at them.
"What the hell! I am not married! I am sixteen for crying out loud, and it is illegal for a sixteen-year-old to get married without parental consent, which I can tell you right now, neither of my parents would give! Who feeds you idiots these lies, and why on Earth do you believe them? Are you all just that stupid! And besides, I've only had one boyfriend… Shay! You think I'm just gonna give up on any other guys and marry myself off this early? Not when my supposed groom gets to date anything that moves and I get stuck with Shay, the cheating asshole! Besides, like Tommy's a marrying type! I'm not even out of high school yet! I can't even get a driver's license yet! Now, I'm gonna get this call traced and then I'm gonna give my lawyer your number, and we can talk about a lawsuit, 'mmmkay?" I snarled, absolutely furious. Then I hung up the phone, throwing it back in my pocket and forgetting to turn it off.
I pivoted to face the vice principal, feeling my anger rise. "You'd better write this down. Because what I have to say is gonna be important, so you'd better listen up," I stated in a cool, icy tone, which was made harsher by the angry undertones. I continued on, not having the patience to wait for the teacher to get a pad and a pen and write this all down.
"You will find out who has vandalized my locker and my car and you will hunt them down. You will have my locker cleaned off pronto, and I will call a mechanic to fix the car once I get to the studio. Then I will maybe just consider not pressing charges. You will make the people who vandalized my car and my locker pay. They will suffer so badly that they will not even consider attempting another such action. You will make examples of them. And if you don't, then I will take matters into my own hands, and, well, let's just say it will be a hell of a lot uglier for all the parties involved… Got it? Nobody messes with Jude Harrison. Nobody. Got it? Good. Now, you will give me a pass for my music class. Okay. That good? Good," I ordered, fully enraged. It took everything in me to avoid striking said idiot before me. The teacher nodded nervously, writing me a pass for music and running off.
I walked down the hall deliberately, forcing all the anger to drain out of me. Here it was. Room 221. I stopped in front of it, hand on the handle, drawing in a deep breath before I opened the door and walked in. The teacher, who was writing on the board, immediately turned around to look at me. The door hadn't even shut yet.
"Uh, look, Mister… I've got a pass…" I said, trying to explain and hand him the pass. The teacher's face was cold and cruel, eyes narrowing at me.
"Well, if it isn't Mrs. Little Tommy Q.," My teacher sneered, snorting. He reminded me of Professor Snape from Harry Potter currently. Only the fact that it didn't really seem like he was mean to any of the other kids. Just me.
Well, that and the fact that, well… Mr. Travis Quinn, which I noticed was written on the board… To be blunt, he was hot. Freakishly, amazingly, wonderfully hot. I'm talking completely on the level with Tommy here. Yes, that hot. So I'm guessing he's pretty young too.
It kills me, because he's my type too. Older (I really should not like older guys, but I always do), a brunette with gel issues, tall, sort of tan, prominent cheekbones, muscular, musically-oriented. Of course, I just sort of described Shay, Jamie, and Tommy… Which is rather scary, and pretty sad, to tell the truth. Well, there's the eyes. He has green eyes. Kind of like Sadie, except not. His are darker, sort of greenish-gray. But I swear, all the evil people in my life have green eyes. Sadie, this teacher who already hates me, and Eden. Joy.
Anyways, what am I doing, waxing on about how my teacher looks? Yeesh, as if I need to get tangled up with another older male. I should date a younger guy. Yes. But I'm kind of sorta dating Tim, who definitely is older than me, and who thinks I can drink. Yikes. I'm gonna have to sort that out with him sometime.
So, when he said that line about me being Mrs. Tommy Q., about half the class snickered or glared at me. Okay, more like all the class. Naturally, I was rather pissed.
"Sorry, I had some problems…" I explained, handing him the pass. Snorting and shooting me a dubious look, he grabbed the pass from me.
"I'll bet you do," He retorted, ripping the pass in half, "However, you'll find that I don't accept excuses…" It was then that I realized that he really was out to get me. I blinked, stunned.
His eyes bored into mine, and there was such bitter hatred in them that I could scarcely stand to keep his gaze. A smirk spread across his face, and I knew I was in for trouble. "Miss Harrison, I know I'm attractive, but could you please stop staring at me like that? I mean, we all know you're into older guys, but I think eight years is a bit much, even for you…" He replied coolly.
I could feel my jaw drop and my face flame up. And behind me, I heard the catcalls of dozens of idiotic classmates. Mr. Quinn looked awfully pleased with himself. It was then that I knew I was the one who would have to put him in his place. "That makes it sound like you're considering it," I retorted, sneering back at him. Mr. Quinn looked surprised for a second, and then looked rather pissy. The class got real quiet then.
"What, Harrison, is Little Tommy too little for you?" He snapped acidly, voice filled with venom. I cannot believe he just said that. And jeez, channeling Shay! But, ugh. Can teachers do that? Make blatantly sexual innuendoes?
"I wouldn't know… Seems like you want to, though. It's a shame though. He's kind of seeing someone already," I pointed out haughtily. His eyes widened for a second, and it seemed as if the rest of the class had realized what I had just insinuated about Mr. Quinn's sexuality. Mr. Quinn, predictably, looked less than amused.
"Detention, Miss Harrison." That was rather predictable.
"What, Quinn, couldn't think of a good comeback?" I said mockingly, feeling a smirk spread wide across my face. "What's it for?"
I think on some level, I already knew what it was for. But that didn't stop Mr. Quinn. "Insubordination," He answered, not missing a beat. He was such a know-it-all. I have never met a more conceited, stuck-up, self-centered, snobby, arrogant person. And I live with Sadie, work with Tommy, dated Shay, and hung around Darius a few times. Ugh, he is so infuriating!
"That's funny, Teach, 'cause you haven't even asked me to do anything yet," I drawled, feeling bored, and humming a Clash song in my head. I swear, Quinn's face almost turned purple. Amusing.
"Sit," He barked bossily. I shrugged, walking over to Joan and sitting next to her. She nodded at me approvingly, and suddenly, knowing I had bested this teacher, I felt much better about myself. Oh, and I'd be skipping detention today too. For the studio.
The room was in complete and utter silence for a minute, before Mr. Quinn picked up a electric guitar, which I noted, was already plugged into an amp. I thought he was mellowing a little, but I didn't think he would give in this easily. And I was right. He didn't. He cleared his throat, sat down in a chair, and started to talk once again.
"This is Studio Level Music. This class is for students who are looking for a career in the music business and would perhaps like to know how to get in said business. Or maybe you just like to practice playing. Whatever, that's cool. But, as this class is for professionals, I will expect a little more out of you. So if you think you can get away with slacking off, you've got another thing coming…" He paused here, looking intently at me before continuing, "Now, let's see… I'll be teaching you mostly techniques, but we'll also go over the ins and outs of the business, as well as do some brief units on songwriting, composing, lyrical analysis, a performance artist research product, managing, producing, mixing, and demo-making/auditions. The first thing we're going to work on is the audition. Right now, each and every one of you will sing a song for me, original or otherwise. I'll give you some constructive criticism, and, well, that's that."
Somehow, I had a feeling I was going to wind up going first. But, as usual, I was wrong, wrong, wrong. No, it was Mr. Quinn who went first.
In the few minutes where he was getting the music and tuning and setting up his guitar, I turned to Joan, confused.
"What'd I miss?" I asked in a whisper. I was dead if he caught me talking. He hated me already and I really didn't need to push it.
"Well, he went over the rules… We're supposed to call him Travis, apparently," Joan explained in a quiet tone, also looking nervous.
"Like he's going to let me call him by his first name," I snorted to myself, slouching in my seat. A moment later, he began to play a song and I straightened up in my seat. Suddenly, I recognized the tune… all too well.
"I drift away to a place, another kind of life. Take away the pain, I create my paradise… Everything I've held has hit the wall. What used to be yours isn't yours at all…" My new enemy started to sing. A few students turned to look at me, but quickly looked away, seeing the look in my eye. I'll admit he had a good voice, because he does. But what he was doing… Was not good.
"Falling apart and all that I'm asking… Is it a crime, or am I overreacting?" He continued, shooting a look at me, much as I had at my father. But he was singing this song all wrong. It had emotion, but it was all anger. There was no sadness.
The electric guitar made it a much different, edgier song. It wasn't the song I had written. It was a mere mockery of my song. Here he was, making fun of a song that I'd spent hours working on… Where did he get off? "Oh, he's under my skin! Just give me something to get rid of him! I got a reason now to bury this alive… Another little white lie…" My inconsiderate asshole of a teacher continued, strumming away without a care in the world.
"So, what you had didn't fit among the pretty things? Never fear, never fear… I know now where you've been," He drawled on carelessly, his tone sarcastic and mocking. I grew to hate his voice more and more by the minute. Oh, yes, his voice I would always remember. And not in a good way. At all.
"Braids have been untied as ribbons fall away… Leave the consequence! My tears you'll taste…" Mr. Quinn (there's no way in Hell I'm calling him Travis) chanted, anger filling his tone. The anger was not unlike my own anger, but it was pointless and stupid and there was no pain behind it. His singing was physically making me ill.
I could fell the bile rising in my throat, and fought to suppress my disgust. It was painful to watch this. To see him sing my song, something I'd invested a part of my soul in, with such disrespect. He was treating it like some kind of jingle. It wasn't a jingle.
"Falling apart and all that I question… Is this a dream, or is this my lesson?" He went on, shooting me another look, taking a brief pause. Was this supposed to teach me something? Maybe the ills of doing covers? If this wasn't my song, I might actually like what he's done with it. But it is my song. "Oh, he's under my skin! Just give me something to get rid of him! I got a reason now to bury this alive! Another little white lie…"
"I don't believe I'll be all right! I don't believe I'll be okay… I don't believe how you've thrown me away! I do believe you didn't try! I do blame you for every lie! When I look in your eyes, I don't see mine…" Quinn sung on, voice getting progressively louder. In some ways, his version reminded me of my own. But in others, it made me wish I'd never wrote the damn song. And here it was, coming back to haunt me. All my own feelings, reversed and edited for class view.
"Oh, he's under my skin! Just give me something to get rid of him! I got a reason now to bury this alive! Another little white lie…" My teacher crooned, eyes closed. I desperately wanted to sing along then, to try and rectify what he had done to my beautiful song. But I fought myself… I said no, and so I didn't do it.
Here was the significantly shorter guitar solo. Much more electric. Much more charged. But much less raw…
"Oh, my permission to sin! You might have started my reckoning! I have a reason now to bury him alive! Another little white lie…" Travis, I should say, finished with a bang and a killer guitar riff. I'll admit it was impressive. And, yeah, about half the class looked pretty damn impressed. Which I can see, really… I mean, if it wasn't my song and if he wasn't mocking me with every word, sure, maybe I could have possibly, even remotely liked it. Well, I think all the girls (thankfully excepting Joan) were about half in love with him by then.
Naturally, I wasn't. I mean, seriously! I am so fed up with guys trying to sweep me off my feet! I'm not gonna fall for that crap anymore! Because they only wind up leaving you all alone with a broken heart for some blonde-haired Barbie… Wait, I'm just talking about Shay here, right? Right?
Uh oh… I see the way Quinn's looking at me. And it means nothing good. It means, "HA, try and beat that, punk!" It means "I'm going to make you sing next. Without preparation or water or even being able to catch your breath." This time, unfortunately, I was right. His stare taunted me, and I was suddenly fuelled with a competitive fire.
"Miss Harrison, you're up next… Don't do one of your own songs, okay? You've got five minutes…" Quinn posed, smirking. Ugh. I hate this guy. He's the spawn of Satan and Eden… Well, isn't that an oxymoron… He's on the level with Shay for ass-iness. I mean, sure, what Dad did was bad, but hey, at least he wasn't cheating on me… But Mom seems sort of okay with that, as weird as it may sound…
I mean, I did sort of walk in on them making out that one day. I'm not saying I want them to get back together again, because, you know what they say… Once a cheater, always a cheater… I think she's wondering about it too.
I got up hastily, picking up my electric guitar and trusting Joan (with a complex system of nods) to watch it for me. As I plugged in the amp, it suddenly occurred to me just which song would "stick it to the man". I smirked wickedly, pulling a guitar pick from my pocket and starting to strum the beginning chords to No Doubt's "Just a Girl".
- Loren ;
Love you guys and thanks loads for the reviews!
On that note, review!
Anyways, what was up with Jude and Darius making a deal behind Tommy's back? Was she giving him her songs or something? Or Tommy's demos? Or did she give him the papers? I can't remember… Was that a contract or something? And when Tommy said the infamous "There is no "We" anymore, Jude."… Did he mean professional, personally, or romantically? 'Cause I was thinking that meant he was quitting so they wouldn't be a team…
Anyways… Excerpt from the next chapter: "Bet Quincy's never kissed you like that, Jude…"
Ooh, intrigue! Now REVIEW, my dearies!