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The chatter inside the grey walls around me comes to an end when my bandmates and coach disappear through the door, waving at me as they do so.
"Kurt!" One of them calls my name. I turn toward the sound in an instant. "The key's on you, yeah?"
I dangle the key lanyard, hoisting the metal up to catch their eye. "Gotcha."
"Thanks, Kurt! Goodbye!"
The door slams shut. Clank.
The hum of the air conditioner replaces the sudden silence, which really didn't cross my mind during practice. We must've played loud enough to drown out the noise.
I stare into space.
Man, the mood turns as grey as the walls—back to how it was when my sneakers squeaked against the carpet before the club meeting started. No one else around. Makes the tiredness surge over me. Now that I think about it, I want to yawn so bad... and it indeed escapes from my mouth. A nap sounds tempting right now, but my guitar is not yet put away.
C'mon, Kurt. Don't fall asleep in this room; you've got things to do! You can immediately crash all day at home after this. It's Friday, after all, and it's almost the holidays.
I massage my sore shoulders—I think I shredded my guitar too hard earlier, on top of drudging through a brutal school day before this meeting. Well... as usual.
As boring as it is, let's get to packing.
My eyes wander around until they lock on the drum kit. My eyebrows arch a little as I catch someone sitting on the side, which is... Dave. What is he doing here? He’s still scribbling in his notebook, his brows knitting together every few seconds ever since the other drummers took over the kit. Today belongs to them, so I imagine Dave seized the chance to do something else instead. But it has been long.
By the way, let me introduce you to Dave—he's one of my bandmates. A second-year, somehow a good ten centimeters taller than me. Just like his height, don't underestimate his drumming skills, he is... what our band needs, y'know? Last time our band competed, our coach chose Dave to sit behind the drums, and he absolutely killed it.
He can pump a heartbeat into any song.
Accepting Dave into the band is like hitting the jackpot. And getting to play with him in the competition? I feel so lucky that I got to do that. I even left Krist, who is my ex-bandmate and an alumnus, jaw-dropped when I showed him the recording of our entry.
...Wait. Now that I'm in front of Dave, I gotta ask him something.
"Hey, man." I wave at him, making my way to the drum kit. It seems like my sudden move makes Dave flinch—his pen stops mid-stroke.
"H—hey, Kurt!" His head snaps up to meet my gaze, grinning sheepishly. "What's up? You haven't gone home?"
My expression deadpans. "Yep. I mean, nope,"
I let out a low, amused chuckle. "M'kidding. Who would you be talking to if I had already gone home?" Dave looks tense, so I hope this can ease him up.
He wheezes. Perfect, just as I hoped for. "Dude—you look intimidating with that face! Got me scared for a sec, man."
"Nah," I shake my head, "don't be. M'not trying to actually scare you."
"Okay."
"I should ask the same thing of you, though. You're not heading out yet? You'll be late for dinner, y'know."
If I'm not mistaken, I remember Dave telling me on the road to the comp that he can't wait for his regular dinner with his mom. (It was comp day at that time, so she would cook him special dishes. Man... I'd kill for a family like that.)
"I know." Dave nods, as his face buries in the pages again. "But, I gotta jot something down real quick..."
He goes right back to writing. The quiet scrape of pen against paper accompanies the low hum of the air conditioner.
I shrug. "Okay..."
I sway the key lanyard, the metal jingling louder and faster as the keys collide until my fingers still.
"What are you working on, though? You seem real serious doing it. Is it... homework?"
Dave stops writing, looking up at me. "No way, dude. I wouldn't be this serious if this were homework."
"M'sorry. But—the room has to be locked soon after I pack my stuff. Unless..." I tilt my head teasingly. "You want to return the key instead? Y'know the key's on me."
"No!" Dave squeaks, his voice cracking slightly, "I still got chills from the teachers!"
In moments like this, those are reminders that he just became a sophomore. With that thought, I can't help but let out a fond huff.
"Aaw." I lean just a fraction, mock-whispering, "You don't want to try?"
Dave bites his lip, his face suddenly burning as his head ducks. "It's your responsibility, man. Why would I?"
Well... he's right. So I let it slide. Poor Dave. "Alright, alright."
"You're curious?"
"Won't deny it."
"It's not a diary, but it's pretty personal. I remember when we played your song, and I got," Dave glances to the side, "inspired by it and I think it's—" his gaze widens as if he just realizes the depth of the words. Dave facepalms with a loud "SMACK!", muttering curses under his breath. He forgets to cover the red on his cheeks, though. How endearing.
"You think it's what?"
"It's, uh..." Dave trails off, swallowing hard.
A heavy silence drags over us, clearly rattling Dave as he scrambles for an answer until his mouth opens to slip it off.
"It's good, alright? I consider your lyrics poetic, too," he peeks up through his hair. "Happy?"
"Okay—thanks, um..."
Ah, Dave. You caught me off guard. And that pleading face doesn't help either—it's like you're asking me to stop coaxing that reaction out of you, too. But I think I'm not going to stop. Again, you're too endearing.
"I got lazy with the lyrics, though. So... I get it that you're writing a song?"
"Yeah," Dave mumbles into his collar, finally lowering his hands. "But I don't think it's as good as yours."
"How so? I don't mind if you show your writing, y'know."
I hope I don't sound too eager to see his writing. I don't want to pressure him. Although, if I'm going to be honest, I do want to see it. What does a song written by a young prodigy like him look like? Don't know why; a songwriter's thirst to seek out more spring of inspiration, perhaps? He might not be comfortable enough to share his work with me, on the other hand. We're... just bandmates, after all. And I'm aware of my resting face—I might be really that intimidating. But I'm not sure if I want Dave to think of me that way.
"I swear, I won't judge you. I'll be glad even, because it won't be just covers and my songs that our band will play."
His face lights up. "You do?"
"Yeah," I nod.
What should I do next? An idea pops into my mind... should I give it a try?
"If you're still not confident... wait here. I'll show you my scrappy stuff."
I grab my backpack from the corner of the room and sit beside him. I unzip it, rummaging around inside before pulling out a notebook. I take his hand with mine on the cover, and we flip through the pages.
"Stop," I order. SHHRRRKKK! A paper is ripped from the pad.
I pass the paper to Dave. "Read it."
He accepts it, diving straight into the lines. When I shove my notebook back, I can't help but notice him running a hand through his brunette hair as he reads. Wonder what's going on through that pretty head of his, since I know that the lyrics are pretty absurd, full of weird images.
I lean in to gauge his expression. "How's it?"
Dave squints at the paper, his eyebrows knitting together. Not gonna lie, I can almost see the cartoon spirals spinning in his eyes. "I'm—I don't know. It makes me dizzy. I probably have to look at it over and over to figure out what this means."
"S'okay." I shoot him an understanding smile.
"Kind of like," he grins, pointing at me, "you being a walking contradiction."
"Ooh..." I throw my hands up defensively with a lazy smirk. "Spare me, cop. You can keep the lyrics, by the way."
"Oh, I will. Thank you."
Dave muffles a laugh, shaking his head. He tucks the paper into his pocket. Glad that Dave can be honest with me. I hope by showing him the work that I don't feel confident about, it can coax him to show his work...
Here is the best part.
"Guess I can show you my work now."
Oh, yes! He tears the page he scribbled the whole time... finally! I pick up the paper and scan his sharp, jagged handwriting. Unlike my stuff, Dave is more direct in what he wants to say. Can feel the rhythm in the lines, too. Guess being a drummer has its own special advantage, huh?
I glance at Dave, who is waiting expectantly for my reaction. Even his legs quiver. "How is it?" He ventures, his voice barely audible over the AC.
"It's good; don't worry about it. The words have their own rhythm, and—this is not a bad thing, by the way—I can make out the meaning easily. Not the kind of thing that I write, but I like it."
Dave's gaze widens with hope. "Really?"
I wink as a sign of approval, and a massive wave of relief washes over his face. "Thank God!"
"Can we do this again sometime?"
"Yeah, sure. Kind of a lyric exchange or something?"
"You can call it that. Wanna do this every two days?"
"Yep."
Now that our little bubble pops... snap back to reality.
I case my guitar and toss my pick beside it, while Dave stows his drumsticks inside his backpack. We head out, and I lock the door. Our footsteps echo down the empty hall as we amble side by side.
I'm hoping that I'll talk with him a little longer somehow.
"Kurt?" Dave chimes in. He hits a bullseye right on my wishful thinking—dang.
"Mm?"
His gaze darts to the ceramic floor. "You want to, uh," he rubs the back of his neck, "have a sleepover at my house? We have a few days off, so..."
Hey—that beats bugging Dave at school just to talk to him! I didn't even have any plans for the break anyway; there's no way I'm saying no. Plus, this means I get to hang out with him the entire holiday. But I need to head home to change clothes and pack up my things first. After all, my mom and Dave's mom are pretty close, so asking for permission will be an easy task. "Good idea. Can I come over tonight?"
"Of course! I'll ask my mom to prepare dinner for you, then."
Mm... I wonder how it feels to eat dinner with the Grohl family.
"Thanks," my arm slips casually around his shoulders, making him jump a little. "Accompany me to return the key first, will ya?"
"I thought you were brave enough to do it on your own?" Dave nudges my arm.
"Psh." I playfully roll my eyes. "You're the one who said you get chills from the teachers."
"Aaw..." Dave wails, throwing me a look of pure, theatrical betrayal. "Not again! Then why?"
"I..."
I glance ahead—we're right outside the teacher's lounge already. We stop in our tracks. I nudge Dave with my elbow and nod toward the heavy wood, gesturing for him to knock. His forearms instantly shoot into an "X" shape over his chest, his brows knitting together in a frantic frown as he mouths a desperate "No!!"
"Uh-uh," my index finger wags back and forth right in front of his nose. "I'm assigning you this as a senior, Dave. Chop, chop."
Dave snaps right back, whispering, "That's your duty; don't provoke me!!" Then his hands clamp together like he’s praying to me instead, mouthing a desperate, "Please??"
Fine.
Time for the secret weapon.
I unzip my backpack just enough to flash the edge of a vinyl sleeve—the rare, imported punk record we both spent weeks obsessing over. My eyebrows rise, silently asking: Want me to bring this to the sleepover or not? Dave gasps, his jaw dropping as his gaze darts from the record to my smug face. He lets out a breathless groan, slumping down in defeat. Oh, finally.
Stepping forward to the heavy wood, his head snaps down to glare right at me.
"Coward," he mutters.
I just laugh, the sound slipping out before I can even help it.
Dave delivers a sharp, clean knock on the lounge door. No reply yet. It seems like we must wait for a moment until a teacher lets us in.
“So...” Dave turns to me. “Recalling my question earlier. Why do you want my company to return the key, Kurt?”
I look at him, drinking in the moment. His honey-brown eyes fit the warm tones of the golden hour, you know? His attitude, too. So inviting, so warm.
"M'just... wanting to have you around. Y'know?"
Hope that he gets what I'm saying. The playful spark between us melts away; our gazes soften into something quiet and steady. When a wide smile paints itself across his lips, the amber light catching the warm crinkles at the corners of his eyes...
I'm certain that he does.
"Me too, Kurt."