A/N: I AM REALLY HATING TODAY!
BadFaith: Thanks for the review, it rocked. It really bums me out that this story was taken down, seeing as how I had like...fourty/fifty something reviews for it, and now they're gone...lost forever in cyberspace. There were some really awesome reviews too! But, anyhow, I'm hoping to get all the chapters that were taken down up today, and the chapter that I was posting (when I found out this story was taken down) up. So...I'd really appreciate if everyone tried to review for every chapter...but if you don't want to...sniff...sniff...I'll understand...
ENJOY!
Chapter 2: Good Girls Want Good Boys
Summer checked her reflection in the mirror. Then double checked. She took a deep breath, before doing a slight twirl. She couldn't resist. She had gone shopping with Eleni and Michelle the other day, and found the perfect skirt for the Friday night occasion. Rippled black, flitting out in soft uneven layers. It matched her slightly off the shoulder, long sleeve powder blue blouse magnificently. She slipped her shoes on, pausing to adjust her lip gloss and flip a misplaced curl back where it belonged, before skipping down the stairs to the entryway.
Summer's family wasn't incredibly rich, but fairly well off. She knew richer people that attended the academy. Eleni and Michelle for instance, who couldn't understand why Summer had to opt for buying only the fairly pricey skirt she now adorned, instead of binging like mad at every store in the mall. She left with one bag, the two blondes left with about seven each.
When the doorbell rang, chiming the arrival of a guest, Summer panicked. He was here. He was here. He was here. This was really happening. Kyle Emerson was really on her doorstep. Kyle Emerson really wanted to date her. Kyle Emerson was here. She waited a good moment before striding towards the door. Never appear too eager, had been someone's advice once in regards to men. She swung the door open, a sweet smile gracing her features. She frowned.
"What do you want?"
The blonde leaned in the doorway, smiling disarmingly and crossing his arms over his chest. He had still yet to change from their school uniform, though the sleeves were rolled up and his shirt no longer neatly tucked in. A few of the buttons at the top were undone, and his vest was gone.
"Well, hello to you too. I need help," he told her pertly.
Summer rolled her eyes, readying to slam the door in Freddy's oddly smug face. He leapt forward, placing one hand on the quickly closing obstruction, the other holding firmly to the frame.
Neither had spoken about the kissing incident at Dewey's apartment. In fact, both did a fairly good job of completely forgetting about it. It wasn't real, so it might as well have never happened. It seemed almost fuzzy now, like a dream. To Summer at least. And everything was normal between the two, nothing altered, changed, or distorted by the little event. And that was all that really mattered, right?
"What do you want?" she pressed, insistent on an answer.
"You're smart right? Well, let's say there was this little mishap, a total and complete accident…"
Summer tapped her foot impatiently, "Freddy Jones, what have you done this time?"
"I just need to know if it was a felony and…and…why are you all dressed up?"
"Ugh!" Summer cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "Have I not mentioned to everyone before that I have a date with Kyle?"
"That's tonight?" he questioned, completely innocently. Though that smirk, on his lips, betrayed a more devious intention in his appearance that night. Summer narrowed her eyes at him, this time the one to cross her arms over her chest, though in a more enraged than laid back way. He wasn't here for help, and he didn't have the desperate and guilty look in his eyes of one who'd just committed a possible crime.
"For the third, and final time, what do you want?"
"I was bored, in the neighborhood, and wondered what you were up to. Do we have a gig coming up?" the change of subject was so abrupt and sudden, Summer had to repeat the sentence in her head to comprehend it. How he got from A to C, completely skipping B altogether, was beyond her.
"Only our biggest competition each year," Summer gritted, "Junior Battle of the Bands?"
After the School of Rock's stunt in the fifth grade, namely sneaking into the Battle of the Bands with less than honorable tactics, concocted by Summer herself, a Junior Battle of the Bands was put on two years later. It brought the schools of the state together in heated competition. School of Rock, though obviously far superior to most of the opposing bands they faced off against, were now forced to battle it out against those in their own age group. Unfortunately, that meant Dewey couldn't perform with them anymore. Tomika took up lead vocals, often times with Zack. But being on stage wasn't the same without Dewey up there alongside them, so the band always relished playing their other gigs, at clubs and parties and whatnot, able to be accompanied by their mentor and oldest member, a fact that had to be respected, even if he did have the youngest mentality.
Freddy released the door, running a hand through his gelled hair and studying the chipping paint on the doorframe. He didn't like the answer, and Summer stood, with bated breath, awaiting the complaints to follow. Complaints that never came.
"So this is where you actually live?" Another abrupt subject change. One she didn't approve of and couldn't find her voice to reply to. That was right. Freddy had never actually been to her home. Each band member had everyone else's personal and contact information. Just in case. In case of what, Summer demanded of herself, suddenly harboring regret towards the seemingly harmless and self-implemented system now that she was staring Freddy Jones down on her porch.
The Joneses were massively rich. In fact, before the divorce, the Jones family was number twelve on the list of richest people in America, almost at eleven. Freddy had probably never been to Summer's neighborhood or one like it in his life, even just to breeze by in a brief passing-through car ride. It must be odd for him, Summer decided, to look at a suburban home. It must seem small to him, dirty even, poor and ransacked. Of course, her house was none of those things, but to someone who'd lived in giant mansions cleaned daily by paid domestics, and hung around high society Country clubs, well, Summer could only imagine how it must appear to him.
"No," Summer drawled cynically, "Our real house is in Bel-Air, I'm just visiting." Freddy looked away sheepishly, running a hand over his neck and standing awkwardly.
"What's with the attitude?" His question hung empty in the air. Both were well aware, he already knew the answer to that one.
"What do you want?"
"You said you weren't going to ask that anymore," Freddy pointed out. Summer pursed her lips, scowling. He sighed, "Nothing. I was in the neighborhood, that wasn't a lie."
"Doing what?"
"There's a record shop a few blocks from here I like to browse, that alright with you?" Freddy replied, sounding quite miffed. Summer moved to smooth out her shirt, brushing a black curl behind her ear, and the motion caused Freddy to pause and take in her image. He hadn't really looked at her, when he first arrived.
"Why are you all dolled up?" he blurted out, and received a cold glare.
"I told you, my date with - "
"Yeah. But why get all dressed up for that bast -"
"If there is no other reason for you to be standing on my doorstep, I think I've had enough visiting for the night," Summer cleanly cut him off. Freddy frowned, but nodded.
"I'll see you later then," he muttered, turning to leave.
"Um…Freddy?" He paused, turned back to glance curiously at the fidgeting young woman, "Do you really think I look nice?" Her eyes were wide, bright, and hopeful. She was nervous, he could sense that, and obviously feeling self-conscious. She desperately needed him to approve of her appearance, that much he discerned, but he wasn't sure why.
"Positively gorgeous," he supplied, and she smirked somewhat. The statement sounded sarcastic, and less truthful than it actually was, but she didn't mind.
"Good-night," she returned, shutting the door quietly as he trailed the rest of the way down the walk.
Freddy frowned, stopping partway down the street to study a piece of hardened gum on the cement. It seemed a foreign object to him. He hadn't gone to the record store that evening, and his lack of carried purchases should have been more than enough to enlighten Summer to that fact. He couldn't walk into a store without buying half the merchandise, and that went double for a record store. He had money, or more precisely, his parents had money and he liked to use it. Lavishly so. He had been in the neighborhood, that bit was true. Wandering around aimlessly. At first he'd thought he was going to the record store, but then his feet had brought him to that small cul-de-sac, that, if it weren't for that tall, stately brown house, he wouldn't have noticed as anywhere out of the ordinary. And an unsettling fact settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd set out for Summer's house, in the very beginning. He'd reached a new low. He'd lied to himself.
The reason for leaving his house, or more precisely, not even going there, Freddy knew, was simple. His father. When his parents had divorced, in his tender youth, his parents had made an agreement. His mother would have custody until he reached adolescence, when a father-figure would be more necessary in his life, according to his psychiatrist. If his mother hadn't stably remarried by then, full custody would be turned over to his father. Evidently, his mother had yet to remarry. She hadn't even started dating until Freddy was out of the house and moved in with his father. She had visitation rights, as well, that she never used. She probably had her reasons, but Freddy could only draw one conclusion. His own mother didn't even want him.
But Summer's house, of all the houses in the world, was a doozy of a place to end up. She didn't live nearby Freddy, in fact, he'd been walking nearly half-an-hour, silently cursing himself for not passing that damned driver's test yet, and his father, for not letting him have a car until he got the damned license. Eventually, however, the chill night had effected him and quieted his mind, guiding his steps towards the lovely Hathaway abode. He had expected something…something…more. But he didn't know what. He realized, staring up at that small two-story Ranch style house, he knew so little of Summer outside of school and the band. He'd always imagined Miss Prestigious lived as luxuriously as the next Horace Green Prep school snob. It was a shake of reality, those tiny, practical homes. There was no needless space, no unused rooms, no hulking shells as empty as those who resided in them. Freddy thought for a moment, he might like to live in a house much like those that lined that cul-de-sac.
And then suddenly, it all seemed to fit for Summer. For some reason, she seemed like she belonged with those houses. In fact, she was one of those houses. She didn't flourish or flaunt herself, much like those houses. She wasn't extravagant, lavish, or overdone. She was simplistic, while outspoken, and outgoing, she easily shifted into the background of the crowd. It made her such a good manager, not wanting to shine in the spotlight, but easily the driving force of the band. She was strong, and supportive like those houses. Almost…cozy.
Freddy had regretted ringing the doorbell as soon as he heard its muffled song inside the house. He thought of turning to run, to flee. But the door swung open, and there stood Summer. The smell of the house was what hit him. It smelled so…so…lived in. It painfully reminded him of his own house, which only ever smelled of ammonia and alcohol and sometimes sex. But Summer's home smelled of heat, stale potpourri, popcorn, lasagna, mothballs, burning dust, and, oddly enough, clover. He hated it. He immediately hated it. Because it was unfamiliar, strange, and an Eden he couldn't enter.
What do you want? Four times Summer had asked Freddy that question, and four times he had danced around it with lies and half-truths. Mainly because, he didn't know.
No. That wasn't true. Freddy knew what he wanted. He'd wanted to stand on Summer's porch and ring her doorbell. He'd wanted to pretend that he was picking her up for a date, and not Kyle.
Why? He didn't know. He didn't like her. At least not in that way. He hardly saw her as a girl, let alone, dateable.
No. That wasn't true either. He knew why. Because for once, he wanted to know what it was like, to stand in the cold night air, on the doorstep of a simple and cozy girl, and ring her doorbell and see her rush down, and open the door and smile out, having eagerly anticipated his arrival and spent hours in preparation. He'd wanted to know what it was like, to pick up the good girl for a date. Summer had smiled, when she'd opened that door. Then frowned, noticeably, when she saw who was standing there, basking in the porch light.
Freddy saw a car pull up along the curb of Summer's house. The engine was killed and a dark figure stepped out of the driver's side door. Kyle Emerson. Of course, he had a car and could drive, Freddy thought bitterly. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to stay behind, hide in the bushes or something along those lines and watch as Kyle rang the bell, just to see what happened. Summer would smile when she answered, winningly, and it wouldn't falter or fail altogether. It would stay plastered there, nauseatingly sweet. She would greet him wholeheartedly instead of with a brusque, "what do you want?" Freddy wondered if she would introduce Kyle to her parents, and invite him in. They would sit around the couch chatting, asking him questions. Then, approving of the young man, they would see their daughter off with him, joking about a ridiculous curfew time of ten, then chuckling, allotting for 'whenever' because he seemed like such a nice and responsible young man. He might lead Summer to the car by the hand, and open the door for her and then he would whisk her away on a romantic and sickeningly perfect date.
Freddy shook his head, continuing away. Summer was a good girl. And he was a bad boy, by reputation and self-admittance. And bad boys never got the good girls. The truly pure ones, like Summer, at least. The good boys always won the good girls in the end. Good boys, like Kyle Emerson.
0-0-
Summer groaned inwardly as the bell rang a second time that night. She hefted a sigh, opening the door and half-expecting to see Freddy standing there once more with another outrageous and just as ambiguous reason for coming back. For a moment she couldn't remember if she was supposed to be disappointed or pleased to find Kyle standing there instead. Luckily, she recalled and recovered in mere milliseconds, smiling broadly, though not quite as softly and eagerly as she had when the bell had first been rung. She cursed Freddy silently, she'd wasted her good smile on him.
"Why Miss Hathaway, you are a vision," Kyle exclaimed, and Summer had to giggle, despite the cheesiness of the statement.
"Hi, Kyle," she greeted airily, while reaching for her coat. She took a moment to take him in. He was tall, well-built, with neatly combed brown locks, and deep set blue eyes. He was keenly dressed in a khaki colored pair of slacks and a light yellow button down shirt. The collar was neatly pressed. His well rounded nose and thin lips were pulled into a boyish grin. He had a slight tan, and a wholesome clean-cut look about him. He was perfect. She smiled at the compliment, pulling her coat on and he moved forward to help her. This only intensified her smile.
"Where are your parents?" he questioned, glancing into the dark house. Summer had turned all the lights off in anticipation of Kyle's arrival.
"My mom is out," she answered shortly, "Are we ready to go?"
"Oh, definitely," Kyle told her, slipping an arm over her shoulders, much to her satisfaction, and leading her towards the car, "I was just kind of hoping to meet you parents, give them a good impression of me. But maybe some other time…" Summer smiled. Was that a hint that there would be more dates to follow this one?
They slid into Kyle's car, a dark blue Mustang, the top rolled up. Summer quickly buckled her seatbelt, and Kyle revved the engine, turning out of the cul-de-sac and driving down the road.
"So, where are we going?" Summer asked, her voice painfully high-pitched. She was trying to sound calm and composed, despite how her heart was pounding and her anxieties raging. Was it okay to ask where they were going, or was it supposed to be a surprise?
"There's a nice little café I wanted to take you to," Kyle answered, turning onto a major street and weaving into traffic.
For a long time, neither spoke. The silence was disturbing to Summer. She stared out the window, watching the cars pass and searching her empty mind for something to say. At school, she talked to Kyle about their class and their assignments and it all seemed so easy. But sitting in his car, that she noticed smelled of vanilla and coconuts, talking about schoolwork seemed a little out-of-place. She thought of bringing up basketball, as Kyle was on the school team, but she didn't know anything of the sport. All she knew was that she was bad at it, and that it wasn't wise to play opposing teams whose members had long nails and a tendency to scratch. She wondered if she should wait for him to speak first, but, as it wasn't in her nature to let someone else take the initiative, she threw that idea out the window.
Kyle tapped the steering wheel, before reaching forward to turn the radio on. Low music streamed out, and Summer chewed the inside of her cheek. Easy beats backing an obviously pasted together voice slipped from the speakers. The lyrics were catchy, and the two-sentence chorus seemed to comprise the entire song.
"I love this band," Kyle commented, moving to turn the volume up, before hesitating. He glanced to Summer, who was pressed into her seat, her nose scrunched at the noise pounding from the radio. This group was not a band, she mentally remarked, the music was all thrown together on a synthesizer and corporate suits probably bought the lyrics off some unknown. The singers didn't even play their own instruments, there were no instruments to play. Just computerized rhythms. But she didn't mention that to Kyle.
"No, I like this song," she lied, "Well, it sounds good, anyways. I really don't listen to the radio much." Kyle looked surprised at this, glancing her from the corner of his eye.
"You don't listen to the radio? I thought music was your thing," he gawked, and Summer shrugged awkwardly, "Aren't you part of some band…"
"School of Rock," Summer informed him quietly, "And I'm not really a part of the band. I'm the manager." She paused, feeling her heart thump. That's right, she thought, you're not really a part of the band. Aren't you kind of useless to us? Was that how they all felt?
"Are you kidding?" Kyle spoke up, startling Summer somewhat. For a moment, she'd forgotten he was there, "The manager is the band." Summer couldn't help but smile at that, no matter how untrue she felt it was.
"That's sweet," she commented, "But I can't play an instrument, I'm not the greatest of singers, and I really don't have an ear for music…how am I the band?"
"You seem to doubt how important you are as a manager," Kyle stated and Summer looked flabbergasted. She opened her mouth to dispute the statement, clamped it shut again. She didn't want to talk about how important she felt she was, because it would immediately bring her to thinking how important everyone else thought she was, and then straight to how important was she really. Kyle strummed his fingers against the wheel, "Tell me about the band." Somehow he sensed a change of subject was needed and Summer was grateful.
As Summer settled into discussing everything about every band member, about their past and future gigs, and regaling Kyle with the tale of how they'd all come together, it became apparent that while talking about being the manager of School of Rock was one thing, talking about School of Rock itself was a different story all together. Everything spilled out, every little moment, every relationship she'd made. She talked about Michelle and Eleni, and how they'd already been fairly decent friends before but the band brought them closer together. About Katie, the quiet shy girl turned bassist, that was quickly becoming one of Summer's best friends. About Gordie, and Marco, and Lawrence, and Tomika, and Zack and Leonard, how close she'd come to all of them. How the band had opened these otherwise secluded individuals. About Alicia and Marta, who'd seemed intimidating at first with their good looks and open nature. About Billy and his flamboyant personality and even more flamboyant styles. About Frankie, whom Summer would have been too scared to speak to had the band not formed and revealed his friendly, laidback demeanor. And Dewey, who encouraged them all to be themselves and stick it to the man, no matter what form of adversary the man appeared as.
Though, for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to talk about or even mention Freddy. Maybe she was still mad at him for their fight the other day even though they had both semi-apologized, or perhaps the 'practice session' between them was suddenly jolted back to her memory, or possibly she didn't consider herself as close to Freddy as the other band members, or it was even conceivable that she was worried Kyle would react badly towards the notion Summer worked alongside Horace Green's notorious 'bad boy'. For whatever reason, she made a mental note, not to bring him up. Eventually she eased into telling Kyle stories of their misadventures as a band, easing into the narrative, smiling at remembered jokes and moments that had seemed bad at the time but were hilarious now.
"…our last gig," Summer was saying, "Had to have been the worst. We were playing at a club, and a lot of things went wrong. Tomika had a sore throat, and then lost her voice! So we were short a singer. However, I'd had Marta learn Tomika's part as well, just in case, and she covered decently. The house amps were horribly low quality. Fortunately, we'd recently used our band savings to buy two new ones of our own. Zack broke a string, and we hadn't thought to bring extra guitars. Luckily, the roadies had brought extra packages of string. However, Zack had to take the time to restring and retune the guitar completely. And then Dewey got a little drunk, and we had to drag him out of the club to the van. But they put on a great performance, even got an encore, which they gave, even if the money-grubbing club manager refused to pay us for it.
"In the end, I've made an addition to the roadies' equipment list to bring extra guitars, should the emergency arise again. I'm also thinking of taking Dewey to an AA meeting," Summer giggled slightly at that, "I don't think he'd go for it, though. He'd probably insist that Freddy needs it more than…" she trailed off, and her hand came to her mouth in surprise.
Kyle eyed Summer quizzically, evidently trying to place the name, but she was saved from giving an explanation when they pulled into the parking lot of the café. Kyle parked the car, and they silently exited. He opened the door of the restaurant for her, and nodded to the host. It was a small café, fancily done. Little tables for two were dotted here and there surrounded by the iridescent glow of candles and the natural beauty of wildflower designs.
"It's so pretty in here," Summer commented to Kyle. He smiled, obviously glad she approved, and slipped an arm around her waist as they followed the host to their table.
Kyle pulled the chair out for Summer, helping her remove her coat, and pushed the chair back in as she sat before taking his own seat. The host laid out their menus, nodded to them, and turned to leave. Daintily, Summer peeked open her menu, glancing at the different items listed, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the high prices.
"Don't look at those," Kyle told her, putting a hand over the column of numbers, "Tonight is your night, order whatever you want. Don't let a little thing like price deter you. I want to give you anything you want." Summer smiled, flattered. "You look really beautiful tonight." She blushed, the color in her cheeks enhanced by the glow of the firelight.
"I'm still surprised you asked me out," she admitted quietly.
"Why wouldn't I?" Kyle questioned, appearing shocked and slightly peeved at the notion all at once. He took her hand in his own, and she was pleasantly startled by how soft and smooth it was, "I'm still surprised you said yes."
They were interrupted as the waitress came up to the table. She smiled pleasantly, noting how cute they were, holding hands.
"My name is Carolyn, I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
"A Sprite for me," Kyle told the woman, allowing a loose smile to shift his features, and never relinquishing his hold on Summer's hand.
"And for you, miss?"
"Um…" Summer was thoughtful, looking at the menu, "An ice tea please."
"Of course. Are you ready to place your orders now, or do you need a few more moments?" Kyle looked to Summer, then back to Carolyn.
"A few more moments would be nice," he told the woman, and she nodded, turning to leave. Summer lifted her menu, scanning the many featured items, and trying to decide what she would want. It all sounded delicious. "You see anything worth eating?"
"What would you recommend?" Summer questioned, lowering the menu to smile at her date. He smiled back, his own menu opened before him.
"The pasta sounds good," he suggested, and she nodded. He called the waitress back over and they each ordered.
When they were alone, it was silence again.
"I was really nervous about tonight," Kyle finally spoke up, leaning back into his chair. He had still yet to let go of Summer's hand, and was now stroking it somewhat with his thumb. The motion was soothing.
"Oh?" Summer mumbled, looking to him in a way that said, 'please continue'.
"Well," Kyle mumbled, fidgeting with Summer's hand, staring at it intently, "You're different then any other girl I've ever met." Summer was taken aback by that statement. She said nothing, remaining blushingly silent as her date continued, "You're smart, driven, beautiful…you know what you want in life, and exactly what you need to do to get there. I admire that about you."
"Thanks," Summer finally managed to murmur.
"I guess I was nervous because…well…I would be really crushed if I screwed up my date with the perfect girl." Summer glanced up, his deep blue eyes staring at her now. Her entire face had to be red, she knew it.
"I felt the same," she conceded and he smiled broadly, bringing her hand up to brush his lips against it.
0-0-
Summer was startled when Kyle pulled up into the driveway of a recording studio. She looked at him expectant of an explanation. He simply grinned at her and opened the door to exit the vehicle. She followed suit. After dinner was finished, they'd chatted well into the night, and shared a piece of cheesecake. Thinking the evening was over, Summer had settled into the seat and eagerly awaited arriving home, as she was somewhat drowsy. The hot air blowing from the car AC didn't do much to curve her fatigue. Needless to say, she didn't pay much attention to where Kyle was driving them to.
But now there they were, at a recording studio, and Summer was completely confused. She'd been to one similar recording studio before, when the band was putting together a demo tape. It was a bit more seedy, however, then that clean building with the shiny windows and glossy new white paint job. She trailed behind Kyle, and once more he held the door open for her. She still wasn't sure what was going on.
A man, and three boys, Summer and Kyle's age it appeared, were standing in the front lobby. They perked when they saw the couple enter. Summer didn't recognize any of the boys, so she quickly surmised that none of them went to Horace Green Prep. They were all handsome, clean cut. One was blonde, his hair a shaggy bowl cut, his eyes a shiny blue. Another was tall, black haired, brown eyed. The other was a brunette, with deep brown eyes and a boyish smile. They were all well-built, dressed in loose pants, and button down shirts or collared t-shirts. The man was thin, tall, a scraggily five o'clock shadow was evident, and his greasy blonde hair was pulled slickly back into a small pony-tail. He was wearing a nice silk suit, bright purple and black. A gold watch adorned his wrist, and his eyes were covered in fancy sunglasses.
"Kyle, baby," the man spoke up, "Where have you been? And who is this sultry young woman."
"I told you all about Summer," Kyle said pleasantly, bringing the shell-shocked girl forward, "Summer, these are my friends and band mates. That's Cory," he pointed to the blonde, "That's Darren," the black haired boy, "And that over there is Matthew," the other brunette, "And this man is with the recording company, Mr. Salvatore." The blonde pony-tailed man reached a hand forward, and as though the gesture had woken Summer from a trance, she remembered her manners, smiled, and shook the hand firmly.
"Summer Hathaway, pleased to meet you. Did you say…band mates?" she looked to Kyle in confusion. He grinned, nodding.
"Surprised?"
"Well…you didn't mention anything about…well, yes," Summer stammered. Kyle looped an arm around her waist, taking her forward towards the back, the recording room. The others followed.
"I had a recording session tonight, and I thought, you might be interested in listening," he whispered in her ear. His breath was warm, and it sent shivers down her spine.
"I would love to," she breathed in response. She feverishly noticed the others following. Every time Kyle spoke to her, or touched her, the heat flowed to her face and she felt awkward and strange and alien all at once, and her heart burst into rapid flutters.
Summer watched through the soundproof glass as the four boys situated themselves in front of their microphones, headsets in place over their ears. She stared around, recognizing all the buttons and switches on the interface, the big machine at the far wall with its twin rolls of thin plastic tape, whirling around when the whole set-up lighted. The music, a catchy beat mostly produced on a synthesizer, she noted, burst into action. The boys broke into singing, their lyrics pouring out soulfully and harmoniously. Summer found herself tapping her foot, and eventually the words to the chorus were spilling from her mouth as well. They sounded good, she had to admit, even if the type of music wasn't to her liking.
"Good, huh?" Mr. Salvatore called over the low hum of music, and Summer turned to him smiling and nodding.
"I didn't know Kyle could sing like that," she admitted, then blushingly realized, she really didn't know a great deal about Kyle yet other than he liked her, was smart, went to the same school, and made her feel all giddy inside.
"I know. We had to sign him as soon as we heard his pipes," Mr. Salvatore replied, "Our company was putting together a band, and he could both sing and dance and he had the heartthrob look. We put him together, with the other three, and they hit it off good and they sound great together. We're calling them,
Barber Boys. You know, like a barbershop quartet."
"Oh, clever!"
"I'll tell the president you said that. He came up with the name. They're first CD should be out this time next year," Mr. Salvatore continued, "But I'm worried that it'll be delayed."
"Why's that?"
"They recently fired their manager and they're looking for a new one."
"Oh," Summer frowned, looking back through the glass at Kyle and the other boys. Some ominous feeling passed through her gut. As the boys left the small room to rejoin the others, Kyle came to Summer's side.
"What did you think?" he inquired, slipping an arm over her shoulders. She pulled away, giving him a half-hearted smile and heading towards the door.
"It was good," she mumbled, leaving the suddenly crowded studio and heading for the outside. Kyle was quick to follow, leaving his friends chattering behind them.
"Summer, wait, what's wrong?" he called, catching her by the elbow and turning her to face him. Tears had suddenly sprung to her eyes and she glared up at him fiery.
"Tell me…please tell me, that this, tonight, wasn't about you wanting me to manage your boy band," she seethed, and Kyle seemed taken aback. He stepped away, releasing her.
"Who told you that?"
"Mr. Salvatore mentioned that your group was in need of a new manager, and you asked about my being a manager of a band," Summer persisted, "I'm not stupid. I can put two and two together."
"Summer, please listen. I wanted to date you, tonight wasn't an underhanded way of getting you to come here and see my band. I just…I just…I'm not going to lie to you. When I'd heard you were a band manager, I thought about it. But I honestly like you, a lot. Yes, I was going to ask if you'd manage our band…but…" he brought a hand up to wipe away those stray tears falling down her cheeks, then brushing her hair from her face, "It wasn't going to be until later, until I'd thought about how it would effect my chances…"
"You're chances of what," Summer demanded, though her tone had softened considerably.
"My chances of being your boyfriend."
"My…my…"
"Miss Hathaway, I haven't made a secret of how I feel about you," Kyle grinned, a happy gleam in his eyes, "And I truly hope you return those feelings. Please, please, please…be my one and only. I'd say go steady with me, but it sounds too fifties."
Summer couldn't help but smile and blush profusely, as she nodded. He pulled her forward, by the hand, brushing his lips against her own. It was brief, and when they fell apart, Summer's head was spinning wildly.
"So that's a yes," Kyle whispered against her lips, "And now that you're my girlfriend, will you consider being our band manager."
"I don't know…" Summer mumbled, and Kyle pulled away slightly, looking down at her a bit hurt. She scrambled to explain herself, she didn't want to lose her first boyfriend moments before she got him, "I mean, managing one band is hard enough, but two…"
"Summer," Kyle started hesitantly, "I wasn't suggesting you manage two bands."
END A/N: If I remember correctly, this was where I said, "Freddy and Kyle are meant to be complete opposites. Here's Kyle, totally perfect and all that shit, and here's Freddy, the lovable badass. They look complete opposite as well, pretty Kyle with blue eyes, brown hair, tall, and somewhat tan. And here's Freddy (way hotter) with blonde hair, brown eyes, kind of on the white side. Kyle plays basketball and is in a boyband, Freddy doesn't play well with others and is in a rock band." But since the story was deleted, you guys don't get all that fun shit.
Stupid website.
Stupid rules I wasn't breaking.
Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and REVIEW! Since this story was taken down, I lost all those reviews. I would love to get all those reviews back...please...reviews...reviews...reviews for the poor!
THanks for REading.