"Franky!"
Franky ignored his cousin's calls, flipping through his Arban's book. Right now, triplets were more important than whatever Bryce wanted.
Franky Bacon, due to the fact that his parents had disappeared some years earlier in a mysterious incident involving a tuba, a pair of drumsticks, and a conductor's baton, now lived with his cousin Bryce, who had instructed him intensely in the art of French horn. Even though Franky was just a sophomore in high school, he and Bryce were almost equally matched in skills. He had all the dorky charm of Elijah Wood, just with a good deal more pimples and less stunning eyes. But hey, what can you do?
"What're you doin' out here, Franky? Bryce is callin' ya."
Franky hadn't noticed the arrival of an old, beat-up station wagon in the park parking lot. He recognized the voice, and his head shot up immediately.
"Guy!" Franky shot up and after the giant of a man stepping out of the car, the speakers of which were blaring "Smoke on the Water". "What's up?"
Guy towered over Franky and his cousin by at least 8 inches, maybe more. He had the weirdest goatee thing on his face, but looks didn't matter when you had skills like Guy's; in the city, he was known as Guy the Wiz. He could play almost every instrument known to the modern world, and then some. Guy was a force to be reckoned with.
"Aw, nothin'. The usual."
"What's up in the city? What're they doing out in the world?"
"Ha, bet you're about the only one here who gives a damn. I'll get to that...uh...well, we'll talk later.
"So this party, it's going to be big?"
"Duh."
"Oh, right. This is Bryce we're talking about."
Franky nodded, seemingly in thought. "You know...Bryce has been acting really weird lately."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Like...he shuts himself up for hours on end in the computer room. Sometimes, I can't hear a sound except for typing and mouse-clicking, but other times, he'll be practicing. And it doesn't sound like his regular French horn. It sounds...I don't know...higher, I guess. Louder. I'm not sure."
Guy tried not to look too concerned. "It's probably nothin'. I'll talk to him though." They both paused. More thinking. "Here," Guy said suddenly, "come 'round the back here. I've got something t'show ya."
Franky curiously followed Guy to the back of the hatchback. Guy popped the lid.
"Holy crap!" Franky was staring at a huge assortment of pyrotechnics, all colors, shapes, and sizes. "Mark and Perry are gonna have a field day!"
"No, not those. I'm talkin' about this case."
"Oh. Big deal. It's a case."
"Oh, just you wait." Guy now popped the lid on the case to reveal...
"Oh my God! That's the most beautiful horn I've ever seen! Shiny..." Franky stared into the super-polished, silver glory of a new French horn. "What's it for?"
"The jazz band decided at the last minute the needed a French horn player, and I volunteered. I decided to get this just for the occasion."
"Brasswind catalogue?"
"Ebay."
"Of course. Hey, you don't mind droppin' me off at Sam's, do you? He needs moral support when he's stalking Rebecca."
"Ha ha, sure. I'm gonna run over and see Bryce after that."
Guy tapped on Bryce's apartment door. Tents and food and other such things were being set up in the parking lot; Bryce had made sure everything was clear for his party.
There was a sudden faltering of notes, a pause, and, "What the hell do you want? Mom, if it's you, I won't go to college if you keep nagging! Either way, no more visitors, prying neighbors, or annoying relations!"
"What about old high school friends?"
There was a short falling of footsteps, and Bryce opened the door.
Bryce looked quite similar to his cousin, though his acne had cleared up years before, and he wasn't quite so charming. But we'll forgive him.
"Guy! Hey, I didn't know if you'd make it or...what?"
"Since when is your range so high?"
"I...well, I've been practicing..."
"Right..."
"Well, come in, come in! We've got some catchin' up to do! Here, let me take that." Bryce took Guy's jacket and threw it over a chair as they entered. "You want anything?"
"What've you got?"
"Root beer and...let me check..." Bryce shuffled back to the kitchen. Shouting back, he said, "Uh...half a beer, five six-packs of root beer and...more root beer."
"I'll take root beer." Guy escorted himself through the living room and into the kitchen, but not before noting, with some curiosity, large stacks of what looked like applications and brochures. Guy sat down in an aged, retro chair, and Bryce handed him a root beer. No sooner had Guy lifted it to his lips than there was a violent rapping on the door.
"Bryce Bacon!"
Bryce choked on his root beer and flattened to the wall. "I'm not here!"
The rapping continued for a few seconds before it abated and the sound of someone pounding down the steps outside was heard.
"I'm fed up of 'concerned' family members hanging around my door all day. They're not concerned for me really; they just want to know if I'm going to be a stay-at-home looser my whole life." Bryce sighed a sort of defeated sigh. "I gotta get outta here, Guy. I wanna see the city again. I wanna here the symphonies and see all those weird, art house type films we don't get to see here.
"I want a vacation...a really, really long vacation...that I plan on not coming back from..."
"So you're going through with it? You know, I know a guy who knows a guy who can still introduce you to his friend crack."
"No, no..."
"Franky's not going to take this well..."
"I-I know...I thought about taking him with me...but he's old enough to take care of himself now...and I really don't think he'll want to leave anyway, not in his heart, at least."
"That's deep."
"Yeah, I thought so too."
Dusk had fallen, and Guy and Bryce sat on the steps of the apartment, watching the party get under way, and blowing bubbles. A butterfly fluttered from Bryce's wand. "This is so gay."
A stunning replica of the Mona Lisa floated from Guy's. "Yeah, but it's better than smoking, and it's fun."
Bryce put his bubble clumsily aside, and they spilled all over Mark and Perry below. Perry cursed loudly. "Guy, this party is going to kick ass."