Quiet

by bahatumay

Chapter 2

One of the common complaints Vinyl received about her wearing headphones all the time was that sometimes, she got too lost in the music to pay attention to her surroundings. Far from being offended, Vinyl knew this was true; she just didn't care enough to change it. Music always overruled social interaction. Always.

As she made her way down to her quiet spot, bopping her head along with the music, she felt a spiderweb on her stomach. She swiped at it, trying to brush it off. But it resisted, snapping back on her stomach. Apparently, it was a really thick spider web.

Not wanting to think about the size of spider that could spin such a web—but also keenly aware that she would want to know exactly where it was if it did exist—she opened her eyes and returned to reality.

It was not a spiderweb. It was a long strip of bright yellow crime scene tape blocking the way—and standing behind it, one fairly amused police officer watching her.

She scrunched her eyebrows. This was unexpected. She lifted her sunglasses to the top of her head and slid her headphones back, indicating that she wanted to communicate. She made eye contact, and then tilted up the palms of both hands in the universal ‘what happened?’ gesture.

He jerked his head towards behind him. “There was an accident.”

Vinyl squinted. Then her eyes widened. Her friend—whose name she didn't even know!—may have been here! Would have been here! Her mouth opened, desperate for words that she just didn't have.

But then she saw a flash of yellow, and she was relieved to see her friend, looking shaken but very much alive, talking to another police officer, her hands clamped against her tie. Behind them, another person walked, pushing a gurney that was covered with a black tarp.

Vinyl’s breath caught in her throat. What happened? Was her best friend secretly a serial killer?

She filed that line away under possible future lyrics and waved to get her attention. The other girl saw her and looked a bit relieved. She waggled her fingers at her.

But they must have wanted her to come make a statement at the station, because they gently brought her back to the front seat of a patrol car and drove off. Vinyl pursed her lips and walked away. At least it was the front seat, not the cage in the back, and she didn’t look like she was wearing handcuffs.

But part of her wished she could give her a comforting muffin.

Vinyl stuffed her hands in her pockets and huffed. She wished, anyway. Her skills were in the studio, not the kitchen. Octavia was the one who knew her way around an oven. Lumpy blocks of coal wouldn't help much here, and that was about all Vinyl could deliver. And if she’d had a dollarydoo for every time she’d mixed up sugar and salt, she could buy her a dozen muffins.

Now dejected (and feeling a little off-balance from the combination of this event, the lack of quiet time, the prospect of physics homework looming over her, and the distinct lack of muffins), she turned and trudged home.

---

Flirting with death, ain't it a thriller? / My best friend is a serial killer.

Octavia cut off the last note and looked up. Vinyl was already typing furiously on her phone, so she held up her smartwatch and gave it a quick shake to activate the screen, in anticipation of her text. It didn’t take long to arrive.

>Loved that crack on ‘friend’! You nailed it!

Octavia curtsied, which looked oddly out of place in the loose pajamas she wore. “Why thank you,” she said, her natural accent back in place. She stepped outside the soundbooth. “Is that all?”

Vinyl tapped rapidly. >I think so. Have to check the mix, but I think that’s it for vocals. Thanks so much!

“Of course! You know I'm happy to help.” Octavia ruffled Vinyl’s hair affectionately. “So what was the inspiration behind this one?”

Vinyl shrugged.

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “I hardly think that's true,” she prompted.

Vinyl shrugged again, hoping she looked innocent. Her much more extroverted step-sister would have taken any opportunity to try and push her into being more social, and she didn’t feel like having that conversation right now (or ever, if she was lucky).

But Octavia seemed to know there was more to the story, and she wasn’t leaving without an explanation. She sauntered over. “Such a good song this will be,” she mused. She leaned in, looking at the screen.

Vinyl knew that she had no experience with her DAW and knew there was more coming, but she was determined to push through. She should have just lied, said it came to her while she was daydreaming in class or something harmless like that, but she wasn't that good at thinking up stories on her feet. Her creativity was like a cat. When it struck, it struck hard; but it seemed to spend most of its time asleep at the keys, pretending to ignore her. The music had come fairly quickly, in just a matter of days; but it had taken her the whole walk home yesterday to even finish the first verse, and the chorus didn't come to her until halfway through lunch today. Which she'd promptly scribbled down on a napkin.

It hadn’t even been her napkin.

Octavia smirked, ready and willing to take things further. “Ten green bottles, sitting on the wall,” she sang. “Ten green bottles, sitting on the wall, and if one of those bottles should accidentally fall-”

Vinyl let out the loudest huff she could (which came out like a quiet, raspy sigh) and grabbed her phone. The last thing she needed was that earworm stuck in her head while she was working, and Octavia could and would sing multiple renditions. >Fine. Met a girl at my quiet spot. She found a dead body there yesterday and had to go talk to the cops. Happy?

“Very.” Octavia sat back. “A girl, eh? Is she nice?”

Vinyl nodded, thinking of the muffin.

“Do you think I'll meet her someday?”

Vinyl glowered at Octavia as she poked her phone screen harder than necessary and sent the message without needing to look at the screen. >I am trying to work here.

Octavia chuckled as she read the message. She stood elegantly. “Very well, but this isn’t over,” she warned.

Vinyl rolled her eyes.

---

Octavia lounged on Vinyl’s beanbag chair, reading her English assignment. At least, she was trying to; she vaguely realized that she had reread the same paragraph a few times and hadn’t gotten anything out of it. She knew she should be sitting at the table, but she was getting really sick of this story, and surely a little comfort wasn’t too much to ask.

Especially since Vinyl was out right now and so the coveted beanbag would be hers for the foreseeable future.

Her watch buzzed with a new text message. Glad for the distraction, she raised her wrist.

>>They’re bulldozing my quiet spot!

Octavia sat upright, the book falling to the side. She dug her phone out of her pocket and quickly typed a reply. >What??? Why? 😫

>>City is doing it I guess it's to avoid a lawsuit

Octavia bit her lower lip. The thought of just sitting in silence and not doing anything didn’t appeal to her in the slightest, but Vinyl loved it. As much as she enjoyed teasing her, that aspect of Vinyl’s life was off-limits; her quiet spot was holy ground to her. >Vinyl, I'm so sorry! 😥

Vinyl didn't respond for a while.

Octavia scratched her chin. She should make her something, right? That would help? What did she have that was fast? Cookies? Those tasted best after chilling—though they had never managed to keep the dough around that long—but she doubted Vinyl would mind.

>>I'm going to drown my sorrows in cheap cheeseburgers, you want anything?

Alright, she had calmed down enough to eat. That was a good sign. She typed her order—the same salad she typically got—and tapped send. She pushed herself up, mentally running through her ingredients list. The cookies would make a nice surprise, but she didn’t think it would quite make up for the loss of her quiet place.

Well, she’d manage, right? She’d just be spending a little more time in her soundbooth. Nothing wrong with that.