Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to Jonathan Larson.

She lived in a gigantic white house with green shutters. He faintly heard the sounds of drums. He knocked on the door hesitantly.

A boy, probably thirteen, answered. "Who are you?"

"A friend of April's. Is she here?"

"Yeah. Gosh! I can't believe she has a boyfriend already! April! Somedude is here for you!" he yelled.

April burst through a door that looked like it led to the basement. Drum sticks were tucked into her belt loops. "Thank you, Andrew," she coolly said to the boy. "Come on, Roger." She brought him down into a huge, finished basement which was her room. The walls were painted midnight blue and were covered in posters of various bands. Black nail polish and bottles of hair dye littered her dresser.

He gasped when he saw her setup. There was a huge drum kit, fit to be played by a professional rock band. There was a keyboard, 2 basses, and 3 guitars, along with a saxophone, trumpet, and violin sitting on a table.

"Shit, April! That's fucking amazing!" he babbled.

She laughed at him. "Yeah, it's pretty sick. Okay, um, I'll give you a beat and play whatever." April sat behind her drums and first started with a steady beat: bass, snare, bass, snare, bass, snare. Roger began with a chord progression, then progressed onto a wailing version of "Musetta's Waltz."

She stopped drumming the third time through the Waltz. "Roger, what is that shit?"

He stared at her, confused. "What shit?"

She got up and picked up one her guitars and plucked out the song. "That shit."

"It's not shit!" he said defensively. "It's Giacomo Puccini's 'Musetta's Waltz' from the opera La Boheme."

April burst out laughing. "I never took you as a classical music snob! No wonder your old band was called 'Waltz'! It all makes perfect sense! It's the only shit you can play!"

He scowled at her. "No it's not! I can play… other stuff."

"You're so cute when you're mad. But okay, Mr. Big Bad Rocker, prove it."

He gulped. "Prove it?"

"You heard me. Prove it." She started the same bass, snare beat and Roger attempted to solo, but always came back to playing the waltz, or something that sounded a lot like the waltz.

"You're pathetic!" she snickered. "And I was expecting a real jam session, not some classical music piece played over and over by an amateur guitarist."

That stung him really hard. "Okay, April. If you can criticize me, let's see what you can do!" he challenged.

"Pick an instrument!" she commanded cockily.

"Uh… guitar."

She laughed again. "Fine, Rog. Be prepared!" She picked up her Fender Strat and played Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven", which turned into a huge solo, then turned into Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here." She triumphantly put the guitar back on its stand and smirked at the shocked Roger standing in front of her with his mouth open. "Happy now?" she asked.

He couldn't even respond, he was so shocked and embarrassed for challenging her. She walked right over to him and kissed him on the cheek, which made him seem to regain his senses somewhat. "You're even cuter when you're shocked." She winked at him. "Anything else you want to see me play?"

"You're fucking amazing! That was the sickest thing I've heard since the Who concert I saw two years ago!"

"Thanks for the compliment. It's quite an honor to be placed in the same category as Pete Townshend."

He grabbed her and pulled her close to him and softly kissed her lips. She was a little shocked, but she returned it. After they pulled away from each other, Roger said, "I've wanted to do that since this morning."

"I kind of figured." She went to her desk and grabbed two cigarettes and a lighter. "You smoked?" she asked as she lit up.

"Not compulsively, but yeah, occasionally."

"Want one?" she offered.

"Sure." He grabbed it as she lit it for him. They sat on the couch, smoking in silence.

After they had both finished their cigarettes, April grabbed his hand and led him back to the setup. "Okay, I want you to play a bunch of chords, and I'll solo. Then, I'm going to teach you how to do it."

As much as he tried, after his "lessons" with April, Roger always went back to the Waltz. April groaned. "Seriously, if I heard that again, I'm going to throw up! It's so annoying! Once is fine, but not every time you play!"

He stuck his tongue out playfully at her. "Let's call it a night. I've got to make my 1:00 curfew or my parents will flip!"

She smiled and sighed. "Alright, pretty boy front man. We'll get together over the weekend, right?" she asked hopefully.

He grabbed her face and in his hands and kissed her on the tip of her nose. "I have to work tomorrow, but maybe tomorrow night, okay?"

"Of course!" She reached up and kissed him, then hugged him tightly. "I'll see you tomorrow night then?"

"Sure, April. Good night, babe." He grabbed his guitar and jacket and slipped into the night.

There you go! Okay, coming up, Mark and Maureen!