My Tourniquet
|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~| CHAPTER 4 |~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|~*~|
West Island, Orb, Fall CE 71:
The students hustled around, struggling against one another to enter their classrooms. One such student was a raven haired girl grumpily bumping through the students. She didn't care if she hit them or not. But she did care when she rounded the corner and into another student. Landing hard on her ass, she straightened up to glare at the other fallen person. Actually, it was a guy…the newish guy. The one who transferred from another school just last year. Up close, the girl admitted to herself he wasn't bad looking at all. Chocolate brown hair and deep amethyst eyes…he was a catch. No one really knew much about him. Throughout the classes he remained silent. Occasionally she saw him writing in a black notebook…the same notebook that had fallen open on top of their combined pile of papers and books.
"I'm sorry," he immediately said in a very quiet voice. She said nothing and starting gathering her things up. In a slight of hand, she pushed the notebook between the pages of her large notebook and stacked papers on top to better hide it. As she sorted the mess out, she pushed random papers of his into their own pile. It seemed to work, as he never asked for a certain notebook. The girl stood up abruptly and walked past him with only a "Watch it next time."
Once out of sight, she pulled the book out and opened it, curious eyes scanning its words. They were lyrical poems from the layout of the dark text. They were sad words, full of surprisingly familiar emotions. Most were untitled and just scribbles. Maybe only a forth of the pages held fully written poems. The rest were just words poured onto a page. She flipped to one random piece and read through it.
The bell chimed its monotonous tune, starting the next period, jarring her from her reading. Slamming the notebook shut, the girl wandered down the now empty halls, ducking once or twice to avoid a teacher. She scoffed at the various classrooms busy with class. One door in particular she ducked to avoid the small window before hurrying down the halls. Honestly, she had no idea where she was wandering to. Anywhere but class. A sound drifted down the vacant halls to her; drums and guitars. She stalked to the music rooms. Hardly ever in use by classes, the band practice rooms were more for karaoke, individual practice, or even storage. She always thought it strange that of all schools, the low class n' trashed Nishi Public Academy held quite the music lover collection. Hell, there was even an audio visual class that was the only real popular class in the school.
But it wasn't always like that.
She heard the stories of how Nishi was a prestigious academy. The rumors say a student run organization started in NPA caused some serious trouble, thus tarnishing the school's reputation. The school's funding was dropped and no longer attended the greatest competitions and festivals in Orb. The students decided to throw their uniforms away the next year. Nishi's golden years were now long gone. The school the girl entered in freshmen year was a mess. But it didn't matter. It was only high school.
The teen quietly entered the room where the music was coming from. It was a good song. Vocal-less and raw but nonetheless invigorating. Three familiar students were playing without noticing her. The girl on the drums was familiar from first hour. Straight jet black hair just past her shoulders with side sweeping bangs framing her sharp, flushed face: Deanna Ross. The goth girl was normally the left alone type.
Flanking her to the right was a boy more than just familiar: Paul Day. Smart ass playboy and there you have it, Paul in a nutshell. He had hit on her one too many times. And been slapped that many times and more as well. But she remembered him more from their middle school years. Paul the head bully (and he normally got away with it) and rumored street gangster. The shaved head, tattoos, and clothing seemed to attest to that rough lifestyle.
The third boy was just as familiar to her as Deanna was. The two were inseparable. No name came with the sight of his scarred face but she had heard it of course. A thin mark cut across the corner of his left eye nearly two inches. Again, he was just another familiar face from middle school but not one she bothered with. His eyes were focused down on his bass, playing behind Paul and his guitar.
With nothing better to do, she hovered in the doorway, listening to the music. Every now and then, Paul threw in random, incoherent vocals. Surprisingly, he didn't sound too bad. Finally the drums faded out abruptly. Deanna looked over to where her classmate stood silently. Finally the boys caught on and noticed her as well. Smirking, the one girl audience gave a short wave.
"Hey," she said. "Not bad for a trio of lost causes."
Paul lifted the strap of his guitar from around his neck. "Skipping again, Amy?"
"Of course. What's it to you, Day?"
"Nothing," he said. "What are you doing anyway?"
"Nothing really," Amy said. "I heard you guys playing and decided to check it out. It was good, for a single bass and guitar. I didn't know the badass bully even played guitar."
Paul shrugged. "Took it up seventh grade, I think. What do you do?"
Amy walked over to the piano and began playing a simple piece, while humming in a low tone for a minute. When she finished, she spun around on the bench and faced the trio again. "I play and sing, though I haven't sung in a while."
Paul smirked and leaned on the piano over Amy. "Not bad. You busy tonight?"
Amy gave a sweet smile before slapping him across the face. It threw the young man off balance only for a second. He never learned.
"Damn…not again."
"What do you sing?" Dave inquired, ignoring Paul.
Amy shrugged, "Depends. Why?"
"Dunno," he replied. "You don't seem like a teeny bop type. More like rock."
She smirked and said, voice dripping in sarcasm, "Did my clothes give me away?"
"Hey, Paul," Dave said, picking at his bass's chords. "How about we play that one song, number 3, was it? She can try an' sing to that."
"Oh great," Amy said while Paul nodded, retreating with his red cheek. "I'm the world's greatest lyrics-on-the-spot girl. But go ahead and play a round so I know what it is."
She listened at the three started up together and played a smooth, unchanging tune. About thirty seconds later the song stopped. Amy thought for a moment and nodded. Paul counted them in quietly and the three began again, fingers picking nimbly at the guitar strings, matching the beat of Deanna's steady tempo with Dave at his side.
Once she found the beat a few seconds in, she slowly sang. "I tried to kill the pain, but only brought more. I lay dying and I'm pouring crimson regret, and betrayal." She trailed off and then the music stopped. Paul whistled.
"Nice," he remarked. "The lyrics weren't too bad, either. Sure you're not interested?"
She grinned. "Thanks. And not a chance, Day."
"Whatever. They're cool."
Once more, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. The three sighed and cleaned up the room. The two guys set the guitar and bass into their worn cases while Deanna stashed the drum sticks before packing her music into a thick folder. Amy said nothing as she turned and left. The next class was literature with the dullest teacher ever. Amy trudged along through the hall. Her black messenger bag bounced against her hip with each slow stride. Most of the students were chatting and bustling to the next class. Finally, when the hall split into a four way, she stopped, leaning against a corner.
She simply just watched.
Watched the people walk around. Watched as some acted like idiots or gossip about their hair and makeup. A smart few spread word about a pop science quiz or new project. Each individual just going about their day. Nothing important to her. Once more, the bell rang. But instead, Amy just turned around and leisurely wandered down the hall. Once or twice, she ducked behind a corner until a teacher passed by unaware. She at least learned something in middle school. A few minutes more and she was slipping out the school door into the crisp fall air.
Amy drew her thin jacket around her. Just another wasted day.
Heavy clouds choked out any sunlight from the island. As the wind blew the pouring rain, Kira meandered down the sidewalk, not paying any mind to the thinning crowd of students just outside of the school grounds. He never did. As Kira walked, his mind drifted back to middle school. Often he thought about calling his old friends or even visiting. But something always held him back.
He treaded down the sodden sidewalks and alleys until he finally reached his house. The same aroma of his mother's cooking mixed with the moist air as he walked inside. The living room was dead silent while the kitchen was lit up. The woman stood at the kitchen counter hacking vegetables into pieces for a stew. When the door clicked shut, she looked back over her shoulder.
"Oh, you're home," she noted. "How was your day?"
"Same as always," Kira replied monotonously, walking towards his room. "I'll be doing homework."
"All right," came a quiet response.
Kira shut the door and flipped the light switch. He dropped his pack at the foot of the bed and collapsed on the soft piece of furniture. For some long moments he simply lay on his bed, staring into nothingness. With some effort, Kira finally pushed himself up to unload his backpack. Textbooks, a binder, pens and pencils…
The teen frowned and looked through everything once more, then once more again. He began thumb through the binder just in case. Frustrated, he slammed the poor binder on his bed with a silent curse.
His journal was gone. He just hoped that if someone found it, that they didn't connect it back to him. The last thing he wanted was to be on a first name basis with the alleged psycho of a counselor.
Amy slammed her door shut and locked it. She pulled the notebook from her pack before throwing it to the floor. This time, she started from the front page and read her way through the crinkling pages. Her eyes kept picking through the lines until they were finally gazing on familiar words. As she slowly read each letter of the poem, an equally familiar melody came to mind. She softly began to hum it aloud, the words echoing in her mind.
It just felt so natural. Just like a time years ago that, in the end, resulted in absolute failure. Yet, despite that, an old creeping feeling came back to her, one she almost forgot about.
A slam on her door jolted Amy from her thoughts, soon followed by, "Amelia! Get out of there and do your fucking chores already!"
Amy glared at the wood, hoping the man behind would disappear into thin air.
"All right! Shit, just leave me the fuck alone," Amy shouted back. She got no reply, which was fine by her. Instead of wasting time arguing with him, she thrust the notebook under her pillow and stormed out of her bedroom. Not like there was much to do around the damn house anyway. She pushed the dishes into the cluttered sink and began running hot water. Not minding the hot water, Amy began scrubbing the grease and slime from the plates, determined to get it over with and move on.
Suddenly, she stopped, hands flushed from the hot water. The sound of forgotten giggles echoed through the kitchen again.
If Amy was anything, it was determined.
"So, where're you from?" The question made Kira jump out of his drowsy state as he promptly stopped. Beside him was the same girl he ran into yesterday. He exhaled a mist of crisp morning air. "What?"
The raven haired girl gave him a look that he couldn't quite pinpoint. Probably something akin to whatever a mix of exasperation and impatience was. She repeated slowly, "Where did you come from? I don't remember seeing you in middle school."
"I went to Artemis Junior Prep until freshmen year," Kira said. Amy balked.
"You were one of those stuck up bastards?" she said in disbelief. "Sheesh. But then again, I guess it makes sense. You don't seem to fit in with the rest of the class."
They resumed walking. Amy kept her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, shivering slightly. Silence settled in for a few moments. At last, she took a steady jump forward with frustration. "Wanna get a drink or something? There's a sweet little café around the corner. That is unless you're the type that has to be to class obscenely early."
Kira frowned, not answering. Without another word, Amy grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him along. As she did, Kira almost stumbled. "Hey!"
The girl didn't relent as she led him to a corner café. He noticed it was one of the nicer buildings, with two sides made of large windows. A flashing neon open light was in the window closest to the door. Over the door was a rustic wooden sign reading, Sleepy Café. When an older couple walked out, the man held the door open long enough for Amy to catchit. Without a word, she went inside with Kira in tow.
Inside, Amy walked straight to her favored spot. With a sigh of content, she practically tossed her pack into the small booth and sat down. Kira sat across from her quietly. A waitress, a woman in her late thirties as least, came over to them.
"Hello, can I get you something?" she asked.
"Vanilla Mocha," Amy said.
Kira thought for a moment then said, "Just a Latte, please."
The waitress nodded and left. Amy leaned back in her seat. Her grey eyes gazed out the window. The street wasn't busy enough to interest her. "I'm Amy Walters. You?"
"Kira Yamato," he replied.
The lady brought their drinks to the table and set them down. When she left, Amy directed her attention to the steaming liquid. After another moment, she opened her mouth to say something but Kira beat her to it.
"Why the sudden interest in making friends?"
She shrugged, sipping from her cup. "Not quite sure myself. I do have something of yours I thought you might want back."
His brows furrowed, wondering what she meant. When she pulled out his lost notebook, he paled. "You took it?"
Shamelessly, Amy smirked. "Oops?"
He glared and snatched back the proffered notebook. "And I'm going to guess you read it, too?"
This time she gave a short laugh.
"What do you want?" Kira asked, frustration beginning to show in his voice.
"I would like your assistance with a little project I want to do," Amy explained, her self-assured smirk never fading. "It would be totally fruitless without your help."
"You have a lot of nerve," Kira shot back tersely. "First you take my stuff, invade my privacy, and now your asking for help?"
The girl sat, unfazed by his apparent distaste for her actions. Instead, Amy replied, "Let's put it this way: help me out and I won't rat you out to the counselor."
Kira froze, gaping at her. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't but then again, she didn't strike him as the sort to make empty threats. "Fine. What is it?"
"I'll tell you soon enough," Amy said. "Let's head for school and go from there."
They both laid down the money for their drinks and left the small café, walking through the streets towards the school. They only had about fifteen minutes before class started. Amy led Kira through the hallways, slipping past certain teachers.
"Is this going to take long?" Kira asked. "Class is supposed to start soon."
"Forget class," Amy retorted. "No point in going."
"Skipping class?" Kira inquired skeptically.
"Of course. I always do," Amy said. "Honestly, Mrs. Dooley is not fit to be a history teacher. I mean, damn, the old hag can't read and she's awful to listen to. Here we are." She opened a door and slipped into the room behind it.
"Shit," Paul cursed, breathing deeply as Amy walked in. "I thought you were a teacher. What are you doing here again?"
Kira closed the door behind them as Amy replied, "I had an idea that you guys might be interested in."
Deanna leaned forward in her seat and laid her drumsticks across her lap. "What?"
"I want to start a band," Amy said.
The room fell silent. Kira stared at the back of her head, gaping as if the raven haired girl had suddenly, for the lack of a better cliché, grown a second head. The bass player shared a long look with Deanna before chuckling. Amy frowned and looked intently at him with narrowed eyes. "Something funny?"
He shook his head, grinning. "It's just that after you sang yesterday, I thought the same thing. It's doable."
Paul rolled his eyes. "Please. I'm sorry, but one guitar and one bass aren't quite up to the task. I think we would need one more guitar."
"Don't forget, I can add piano," Amy added.
"And we can do cool sound effects and record extra parts on the computer," the bassist added with a childish light in his eyes. "Who's he?"
The others seemed to notice Kira at last. Amy spoke, "This is Kira. Those lyrics I sang yesterday were his."
"I knew you didn't make those up." Dave ah'ha'd, then prompted, "Point being?"
"Yes…your point?" Kira said pointedly to Amy, still not quite sure what she wanted from him.
"Yesterday, when they played a short bit for me to sing, the first words to come out were from one of those poems you wrote. And it was great. Those are the kind of lyrics I want to sing."
"But why my writing?"
"A few reasons," she began. Holding up a finger she said, "One, I suck at writing. My highest grade in poetry writing was a D. Two, I'm sure these guys will have more than enough on their hands without needing to write lyrics. And finally, you have a knack for expressing those kinds of deep emotions. So?"
After a moment Kira reached into his bag and pulled out the familiar notebook.
"Why not? I have nothing better to do anyway. Besides, you said you'd turn me in if I didn't help."
She smiled. "Actually, I bluffed on that to make you tag along. I wouldn't go near that crazy woman even to wreck havoc on someone."
"Amy threatening to tattle to someone is the only empty threats she'll make," Paul laughed. Then he froze. "Hey, how about playing the guitar?"
Kira stood rooted to his spot, stunned. "W…what? I don't know much about music."
"I figured that," Paul said in a no-shit tone. "If you're interested, I can teach you to play. Then we'll have two guitars to play. And then you can be more like a member of the group."
Amy's eyes brightened. "So you're agreeing? To make a band?" she asked excitedly. When they began nodding, she jumped for joy. For a moment, she looked like a child who was just promised an extra scoop of ice cream, with her raised arms and bright smile.
"By the way," the bassist said, "I'm Davison, but please, call me Dave."
Deanna and Paul followed suit.
"Paul and Dave, pranksters extraordinaire," Kira replied. "I remember seeing you in class since day one."
The two grinned, obviously proud of their hard earned reputations.
"Now, where do we start?" Amy asked.
"How about where we left off yesterday? It was an awesome start to a song," Dave said.
"See, we wrote down all the music we've made," Paul explained. He laid out multiple manila folders stuffed with white sheets. "So we have songs piled up from middle school. But we need to edit them to fit in an extra guitar and some piano. And matching them with the lyrics is a biggie, too."
Kira and Amy dropped their bags and coats by the rest. He pulled out the black notebook and handed it to Amy. She opened to the first one she liked. "Here's the first song."
"Sweet," Dave said, book marking it with a scrap piece of paper. "Number two, right?"
"Three," Paul corrected as he handed the sheet music to Dave, Deanna and Amy for editing while he introduced the guitar to Kira, using his own black guitar. The chords, adjusting, everything needed for guitar 101 was thrown out in those next couple of hours. No one cared that they missed first and second period.
But they left for lunch, sucked it up and attended the last classes of the day. Eagerly, they met again after school. The guitar lessons and music editing continued. They decided quickly that the piano wasn't working for the first part of the song; they did like a couple of notes during the chorus. Kira had reworked the poem to be more lyrical during lunch and touched them up during his droning literature class.
It was probably two hours after school was out that they left, heading for the Sleepy Café. With warm drinks, the new team just talked. No yelling, no cursing, not even a harsh word. All that passed between the five were old stories and new ideas, which usually overtook most of their enthusiastic conversations. Their cups were long empty and cold before each one finally laid down their money and departed the café. The sun was quickly dropping down to the distant horizon, dying the cloudy skies in pinks and oranges. With a promise to meet the next morning, the group split ways for the night, each feeling more lighthearted than ever.