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"Fuck, I’m bored," Brad complained from his perch on the cement wall.
Adam continued to listen to the music blaring in his ear from his iPod, acknowledging his friend by flinging a balled up sheet of paper in his direction. "You’re always bored."
"What’s this, a love letter?" Brad caught the ball and unwrapped the crinkled paper eagerly. "Ew, algebra."
"Did you honestly think Adam would waste a love letter on you after what you did?" Drake inquired with a pretty pout designed to attract Adam’s attention. Instead, the pout gave Adam one more reason to regret their ill-advised hook-up.
"He’s certainly not going to waste any on you, sugar," Brad drawled in a kitten-soft tone.
"Go fuck yourself," Drake said, turning outraged eyes toward Adam.
"As tempting a proposition as that is, I’ve already entertained myself in that manner today." Intent on memorizing his audition song, Adam ignored their exchange. But it was hard to miss Brad shifting on the wall with clear interest. Adam raised a quizzical eyebrow and Brad gestured toward the end of the tables in their section. "Fresh meat."
Adam glanced at the slouching figure in a red hoodie, carrying a large instrument case. Instantly dismissing the faceless figure, Adam turned back to his music. "He’s a baby and he belongs with the band kids."
"This one time at band camp indeed," Brad muttered. "Don’t look now, but Baby is headed in our direction."
"God, can’t you ever shut the fuck up? Nobody wants the narrative stylings of Brad," Adam said irritably. "And he isn’t even remotely your type." He got to his feet and arranged himself against the end of the table, waiting for the kid to reach them. The red hoodie covered up most of his features save for a pair of bright, brown eyes. On the other hand, Adam revised his opinion about the kid’s age – he was probably older than he had looked and he was definitely better formed than his baggy clothes made it seem, but Adam still felt like a giant next to him. "What do we have here? Someone forgot to tell Little Red Riding Hood not to stray from the path to grandmother’s house." His tone was not unkind, but there was a purposeful distance as well. Adam had long ago eschewed encouraging familiarity, knowing that it inevitably led to contempt and tears.
"Funny, somebody told me that grandmother’s house was this way," the kid drawled in a soft, melodic voice. It was similar to the accent that Brad affected when he was feeling particularly catty, but unlike Brad’s accent, there was no artifice. The smooth, natural sound slid down Adam’s spine, leading to an unexpected shiver. The boy set his huge case down and pulled down his hood, revealing dark, spiky hair and a pretty mouth. In truth, he was gorgeous, but Adam had a feeling that he didn’t see himself that way. "Does that make you the Big Bad Wolf, giant teeth and all?"
Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep down inside Adam at the sly comment, but he suppressed the merry sound, letting his teeth flash in response. "All the better to eat you with," Adam said lazily, hearing Brad and Drake snicker in the background.
The boy flushed with understanding, but his eyes were clear and steady as he continued to look at Adam. "And other things, I guess."
It was Adam’s turn to feel off-kilter and he found himself glad that the table was supporting his weight. "Can we help you?" he asked brusquely, trying to take back control of a conversation that had somehow gotten away from him.
His tone did not dissuade the kid from staring at him. For some reason, he didn’t seem offended by Adam’s abrupt change in subject. "Actually, yeah, I’m looking for Adam Lambert. Someone told me that he has lunch in this part of the school."
"Of course he does, silly, this is where all the musical theater kids eat," Brad said. Adam sent him a quelling look.
The guy smiled at Brad, unafraid of his claws. "I’m sorry. We just moved here recently so I’m still learning the hierarchy of the school. My name is Kris, Kris Allen."
The polite tone surprised all of them; most of the kids they knew didn’t believe in courtesy or friendliness. Adam tried not to let the kid’s – Kris’s smile distract him. "So what do you need him for, Kris, Kris Allen?"
"I’ve heard he’s the best singer here," Kris explained earnestly.
"You've heard correctly," Drake snapped. "But that doesn't explain what you need him for."
"Down, boy," Adam said in an undertone, irritated by Drake's possessive comment. "Being the best singer here is a matter of opinion." Adam worked hard to tamp down the note of pride that entered his voice.
"It's a performing arts school," Kris reminded him. "You have to be amazing to get in here in the first place."
"Is that why they let you in, sweet cheeks?" Brad asked, lounging on the cement wall and peering at Kris.
Kris shrugged self-consciously. "I like music." His comment was awkward and seemed a little insincere, a fact that Adam must have betrayed with his expression because Kris straightened up and gestured at the case next to him. "Music is another language. In a lot of ways, it's a better way to communicate than words."
"So music is about making connections?" Adam asked, more than a little aware of the fact that this kid had done more to rattle him than just about anything. From catching his unguarded expression to putting his own feelings about music into words, it felt like Kris had ripped him open to examine his insides.
"Especially emotional connections," Kris agreed. "With a friend or with an audience – it doesn't matter as long as the music speaks of something deeper."
"As long as you get laid," Brad said, looking at Adam with a cunning little smile.
"Not all of us make music because we're attention whores." Irritated, he glanced back at Kris, but the boy's attention had transferred to his notebook lying on the table for all to see.
To his great surprise, Kris reached for the notebook, pausing before he touched. "Do you mind?" he asked, almost instinctively looking toward Adam. Bemused, Adam gestured, watching as he concentrated on the music. "Is this your normal key?" When Adam nodded, Kris held it out and asked him to sing a few lines. Once Adam sang a stanza, Kris pulled a pencil from his pocket and scribbled out notes, rearranging the melody line. Generally, orchestra musicians were terrible singers, but the quick rearrangement of the notes showed that Kris had more depth than Adam would have expected from someone who purported to merely like music. Smiling, Kris handed the notebook to Adam. "You should try it this way."
He felt the weight of his friends' intrigued expressions so he hummed the melody experimentally before he launched into a full scale assault on the melody line, his voice automatically making the adjustments Kris had suggested. By the time he reached the end of the stanza, he felt like his understanding of the song was far fuller than it had been before. Drake's standing ovation and Brad's lazy smile of approval seemed a distant in light of the brilliant smile on Kris's face as he came back to Earth. "You're a genius," Adam blurted out.
"An idiot savant if you will," Brad added with a smirk.
"And you're an idiot," Adam said, but Kris just laughed with surprising good humor. "Where did you learn how to do that?"
Kris shrugged again in that understated way that felt both familiar and unfamiliar to Adam. "I like to rearrange songs when I'm bored and sometimes I'm just trying to make a difficult song work for me."
"You sing, too?" Adam said, warming even more to the kid. Apparently, Kris was the living definition of "good things come in small packages."
"Uh-oh, you have competition." Drake's sly comment slithered between them, reminding Adam that his friends were on the edge of pushing him to say something unkind to them.
With a violent shake of his head, Kris was quick to dispel the notion. "No, I don't sing that well at all. I doubt anyone except you does."
"He does have good taste then."
Adam glared at Brad. "What did I already tell you about your commentary?"
"Shutting the fuck up," Brad retorted with a wink at Kris. "He likes the quiet ones, kid."
Kris smiled vaguely at Brad, a far cry from the beaming ray of sunshine he had sent in Adam's direction, and Adam was pleased to realize that Kris's interest in Brad was far more cursory than Brad's interest in him. He looked at his watch and leaned over to pick up his instrument case. "I really should be going."
The pang of disappointment in Adam's gut forced him to ask, "But what about what you came for?" Kris had never finished telling them what he needed Adam's voice for and insatiable curiosity demanded that he find out why. There was also the little matter of being unprepared to let the guy go, slipping back into the mass of orchestra musicians and anonymity.
"I think I got the answer I was looking for," Kris said gently. Stunned, Adam watched as Kris reached over to touch the bracelet on his arm. "Thank you for letting me hear you sing, Adam. They're right, too. You are the best singer here."
Adam captured Kris's fingers before they left his arm. "How did you know?"
Smiling, Kris pointed at the sheet music which had Adam's name on the top of it. "And after hearing you, there's no way you could be anyone else since the universal opinion is that Adam Lambert is the best singer. No one could top that."
"In more ways than one," Brad sniggered.
Adam held his callused hand for a moment longer, feeling the electric energy throbbing underneath the innocent touch. "So all you wanted was to hear me sing?"
"Yes and no. I wanted to hear you, but I also wanted a chance to see if you might be the lead singer my band is looking for." When all three looked immediately at his case, he chuckled, sending vibrations into Adam's hand from the rumble of his body. "I play guitar and piano as well," he clarified. "The viola thing is strictly for school."
"And you have a band?" Adam asked encouragingly, finally letting go of Kris's hand.
"It's not much. A few of the guys and I get together and practice in my garage. We haven't set up any gigs because we haven't found a lead singer yet."
"I could . . ."
"No, you couldn't," Kris contradicted immediately. "You weren't meant to front a garage band that plays covers in pizza places and bowling alleys. You're going to be a huge star someday."
It was perhaps the most flattering compliment that anyone had ever paid to Adam. He dreamed of being the next Madonna, someone who could reinvent himself every year if he wanted to with stadiums full of fans screaming his name. "And what do you want?" Adam asked, interested in Kris's answer and feeling as though something important rested on his answer.
The faraway, dreamy expression on Kris's face told Adam more than anything else, but Kris answered anyway. "I want to perform my own music for a living. I don't care about who hears me – I just want to keep playing for as long as I can."
"You write songs, too," Adam said with a little bit of wonder in his voice. Somehow, he knew that Kris's music was amazing without having heard any of it. His talent for rearranging music probably translated well to writing songs that were more than competent and he seemed versed enough in voice and instruments to know how to bring out the best of his own limitations.
"They're nothing special," Kris said quickly.
Adam shook his head though. "You have to be amazing to get in here," he repeated.
"I made it past the selection committee because I can play the viola," Kris interjected.
Certain of the answer, Adam said, "What song did you audition with?"
Kris grinned, acknowledging Adam's quiet rebuke. "I spent forever on it though."
"It doesn't matter," Adam said. The committee liked people with diverse talents in the arts so Kris must have been a dream come true for Simon, Paula, Kara, and Randy. Before Kris could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. "Wait," Adam said as Kris started to move. He grabbed Kris's hand and turned it over, scribbling his number on the back of his hand. "Call me the next time you have a rehearsal. I'd like to hear you sing sometime."
Kris looked at the number on his hand for a long moment before he smiled. "Yeah, okay, I will."
"Maybe you could write a song with me," Adam said before he awkwardly added, "Unless you don't feel comfortable with my voice. I'd understand if you'd rather stick to your own."
With wide brown eyes, Kris shifted the case to his other hand. "No, I think I'd like that. I enjoy a good challenge. Well, see you later."
As he was hurrying away toward his next class, Brad came up beside Adam and put his hand on his shoulder, making Adam jump. "He's not the only one who enjoys a challenge, right?" When Adam didn't answer, Brad turned to look at Drake. "You know, I think he forgot we were even here, sweetheart. What do you think about that?"
"I doubt he did," Drake pronounced in a superior tone. When Adam still didn't speak, he peered curiously at him. "He's just a band geek, Brad. I'm sure that Adam will forget him as quickly as he showed up on our side of the school."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that, D.L. I'd recognize that dumbfounded look anywhere."
"Shut the fuck up," Adam growled, slinging his bag over his shoulder and shoving Brad a little. He tried to ignore the weird feeling of loss that had taken up residence in his stomach, but it was hard to deny the way that he kept the sheet music with Kris's writing prominently displayed in his textbooks for the rest of the day. It was even harder to deny that he felt the phantom weight of Kris's hand on his arm sometimes when he least expected it. Whoever Kris was going to be to him, Adam felt sure that destiny had put Kris in his path for a reason. Maybe it was karmic payback for the shitty way Brad had broken his heart, but Adam had never felt such a strong connection to anyone before. Whether it was love or lust or just friendship, Adam was certain that Kris was sent from a higher power to change his life. At times like this, he almost believed in God.
Still, the weight of Kris's hand and the admiration in his brown eyes was nothing compared to the thrill of joy Adam felt when his phone vibrated less than an hour later with a vital question from Kris about his feelings on Michael Jackson. Maybe that was why he was so quick to wax poetic about the singer, his warmth regarding Kris spilling over into enthusiastic praise of the musical icon. The flurry of text messages that followed did nothing more than illuminate and underline Adam's certainty that Kris was sent from some mysterious power to be an important part of his life. With his jaded friends, Adam's cynicism had overtaken that sense of wonder that Kris personified, but as time passed and his friendship with Kris grew deeper, Adam opened himself back up to the joy of life. He threw himself into feeling everything he could with as much passion and exuberance that he could muster until it seemed like Kris had always been there and he couldn't remember a time when he was dissatisfied with his life.