They were at it again.
Sonata closed her eyes and cut off the muffled shouting with a pillow to her face. Not for the first time, she considered letting it stay there.
She threw the pillow across the room as the rising tumult—it couldn’t be described as anything else—grew too loud to stifle.
Maybe it was a ruckus. Or a fracas.
And soon...
“I’m right, Sonata!” Adagio’s voice.
“No, I’m right!” Aria’s.
And then, in a duet, “You’re an idiot!” when she chose one or the other.
A whole stupid mansion to fight in, and they have to fight in the music— She stopped herself before the train reached the station. Coming in behind it, a full rail of thoughts piled up in her mind, driven by the little her that lived in her head.
Nice job, Mininata. Just what I needed.
She tossed off the covers and turned away from the door. They wouldn’t add her to their screaming match if she was asleep. I can have my own.
Like you could win against yourself, Mininata said, crawling out of the wreckage of her thoughts. Of course she would survive. Sonata rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to ignore the voice.
The opposite wall, paneled in rich, dark wood, still held most of the memories of another person, in a disarray that seemed appropriate for the mess in her mind. But they were the thoughts and dreams of someone long gone from the world.
But they had loved music. Even if she couldn’t remember who they had taken the mansion from, there were dusty album covers, framed, faded photographs of famous musicians, and other memorabilia from the Roaring Twenties.
Will it be another age before I can claim my love of music again? It had been barely a month, but the days seemed to stretch out interminably between fights with her sisters.
And how many days have I had to myself?
“Um…” Tuesday… last Wednesday… “Is that it?” Nothing else floated up through the conflagration of her thoughts’ smoldering wreckage.
How long has it been since we played music in the music room? A number bounded its way out of the last car and fell to its knees, followed by a word that stumbled to flop next to it.
“That long?” she sighed, and set her other self to clearing the mess left behind.
Why do I have to do it?
“Just be quiet about it. It’s noisy enough.”
Noise? Mininata tapped a still spinning brake with a hand-saw. It hummed in her mind, and electricity sizzled along her spine as the pure, metallic note spread through her.
“Don’t... it’s too much like...”
She was crouched over the shards of the record, all thought at reassembling it gone. Slivers of the brittle vinyl dusted her hands. She wouldn’t hear Ol’ Blue Eyes’ audition record ever again. One of a kind, and gone because she had been angry that she couldn’t sing even half as well as he anymore.
She cried until Adagio came in, Aria on her heels, both of them yelling at her, then at each other. Throughout it all, Sonata had pressed her hands into the crumbles and shards that had once been the first memory of a legendary musician.
Eventually, Aria had dragged her away to bandage and clean her hands, muttering and growling even as she poured fire and razors over Sonata’s hands.
All that was left of Ol’ Blue Eyes was the fine tracery of pale lines crossing her palms and fingers.
“I should...” Should what? She prodded Mininata, still hard at work pulling the unrecognizable remains of thoughts from the wreckage of her mind. “Do that quieter, please. I need to think. About…”
About the music room. Hundreds of records still waited to be heard, admired... treasured.
She chuffed half of a laugh. It was absurd. Worrying about the music room while her sisters would be close to brawling in there, and would drag her into it before too long.
The yelling intensified until she could hear snippets even through the solid sound damping of the room.
“It was your stupid…”
“...didn’t even consider my plan!”
The argument rarely changed, and it didn’t matter that she couldn’t tell which voice was which through the thick walls. One blamed the other, the other shot back.
Turn the tape to side B, press play.
“If you had just done what I told you!”
“Oh, don’t even try to blame this on me!”
Repeat.
She reached up to press play. On cue, the voices calmed again, down below the threshold where she could hear them.
“Round and round about. Circling the drain.” At least they didn’t sound like they had when they’d lost the pendants. Those first few fights had been terrible on her ears—and only Mininata’s company kept her from going truly insane. “Maybe they’ll flush one day, and things will get really, really cold. Or is it hot?” The pipes in the old mansion hardly seemed able to decide.
The voices rose in wordless shouts, crescendoed as the door slammed open, then dropped down low again. It wouldn’t be long before Adagio came to ask—tell—her to stand up for herself for once and tell Aria… or would it be Aria this time? They seemed to take turns.
“Maybe if I’m in the shower…” She sniffed the back of one hand, then the palm, and wrinkled her nose. “Stupid sushi.”
You should listen to me. Don’t eat fish and then go to sleep.
“But it’s so good…”
Says the sea monster.
“I’m not a monster.”
Of course, even the rank, fishy smell lingering on her fingers was enough to remind her that it was, in fact, well past dawn. She spent a moment fumbling through the pile of clothes on the nightstand. Ten and change by the clock, and she had yet to get out of bed and make breakfast.
Or find it. Either, or.
Her bathroom was as trashy as her room. Clothes lay scattered everywhere, draped on the sink and over the shower railing, and scattered here and there were odd scraps of clothing she hadn’t remembered owning, but that had become as much a fixture of the room as the lamp standing in the corner.
A bra two sizes too large on the toilet’s tank. A pair of men’s underpants on the ceiling fan. Various other bits and pieces of clothing, some stained, some not.
Probably from more than a month ago. A leftover of the last party they’d held in the mansion.
Probably.
The screaming started again, dwindling to incoherence as she started the shower.
It certainly wasn’t her fault. Let them scream about it.
She almost managed her escape without being noticed, but Aria was stamping through the front hall, kicking a divan on her way to wherever was farthest from Adagio, but she stopped long enough to glare at Sonata.
At least her being there meant that Adagio was much farther away.
Mininata cheered and pulled the whistle on the latest train.
“Where are you going?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going out.” Sonata tried to ignore the glare Aria shot at her. “I just need some air. This place is getting…” She sniffed, her nose wrinkling. “Fishy.”
Aria kept up the glare for a moment longer, then turned her back. “Whatever. Just make sure you get some milk. We’re out.”
And that was it. She was out of the mansion and down the driveway before Aria could think of something else, or Adagio could find her and make her do the laundry, or cook, or any of the other things once done by others.
But she still didn’t know where she was headed, and it hardly mattered. She was out of the house, and hopefully beyond the range of her sisters’ ire until she came back.
“If I come back,” she muttered into the brisk spring wind, pulling the cowl of her hoodie close over her head and stuffing her hands into her pockets. That, too, had been a common thought, growing more so since…
Since music had been taken from her.
She stumbled, kicking at the root that had to have been there, and kept on walking without looking back. The walkways around their mansion, a few miles outside of the city in a once-posh suburb, were cracking and wearing into gravel.
She could remember a time, near fifty years gone, when they had first acquired the mansion. Then, the area around the mansion had been isolated, and even the notion of a suburb had been alien to the residents at the time. Then, the sidewalks had been newly paved, and well tended. Gardens tended by armies of gardeners had spread across the hills, marking the true nobility of Canterlot’s elite.
Now, as she walked along the cracked and weather-pocked sidewalk, all of the once rich houses were either abandoned or long since torn down to make way for clusters of apartment buildings or low-rent housing.
All of the nobility lived in Canterlot proper, and had started their migration soon after she and her sisters had moved in. Their thrones sat in high rise apartments or at the tops of buildings they owned.
The gardens were all gone except for a very few so overgrown with weeds they might have been part of a post-apocalyptic movie set. Like that one… The giant ant one that had filmed in their mansion. The film crew had fought with each other so much that the movie missed every deadline, and was massively over-budget, all while Sonata and her sisters provided the soundtrack for the behind-the-scenes, real life drama.
Sonata remembered sitting in the theatre watching the black and white, obviously fake giant ant trampling people, and laughing. But the movie had been a flop.
Not that it mattered. The money—and power—had served them well since. And that horror movie that they lured in afterwards, once the money had run out, as it always did.
Memories faded, and the titles of those and a dozen other movies, a hundred other parties, a thousand victims… their names were gone.
After a few decades, everything that didn’t stand out faded into little more than vague notions. Soon, the memory of those gardens would be little more than a dim impression so weak it might not have been at all.
Just like everything else.
Except for music.
She could still remember the sonata she had sung at the very first Grand Galloping Gala. The reason why she had been invited, the other guests, and the outcome were all gone more than a thousand years, little more than a fly buzz heard from a mile away.
But the song remained as clear and crisp in her memory as the day she had sung it. She could even pick out the instruments that had accompanied her in the memory, known which was out of tune and precisely how long one had lingered on a note for a hair too long.
But the players were dust—not even impressions of ponies in her memories.
Her musings carried her well into town, her feet following a path she had no more conscious memory of taking than she did of the reason they were on Earth. But she continued on, resigned to the inevitable. She would have to go back there some day and face the music.
She would have laughed if it had been a happy thought.
Mininata did laugh, and pulled the chain on the small whistle of the freshly repaired train of thought.
Sonata ignored her. Face the music. Right. She snorted.
A few blocks later, she caught the strains of someone’s car radio blaring something truly terrible. It thumped and buzzed, with odd harmonies that spun up and then down, sounds that no instrument had ever made.
But it was music. She recognized the symmetry even with the oddities, odd though they felt to her ears, and she stopped to lean against a light pole, listening to the distant rhythmic rumble.
It was beautiful.
Spring Break! Be careful everyone.
“Spring Break.” Sonata snorted a short laugh at the sign in front of the school. “Yeah. Spring’s broken. It’s still cold.” Or is it? She tugged the jacket more tightly around her and turned aside from the broad white sign before the display could cycle through again, to show the winners of the Battle of the Bands again.
All seven of them, playing in a concert in the school gymnasium later. Even that girl everyone had said was supposed to be from another world. Twilight Sparkle? No, not her. Sunset Shimmer. She was the one.
She took my music away!
Her blood boiled, raging through her head in a discordant thrum until her vision dimmed. It was all she could do to keep from screaming.
Always the weakest sister. Always the one who got made to do things, to follow one or the other. Usually Adagio. Her own sister, singing to her in the night, singing away the fears, the tears. That’s how it started. A song to soothe, and then a song to suggest... a song to push.
A song to command.
Mininata began to sing, the soothing lullaby sung so long ago that the memories around it were as far gone as her first gala. Then another, and another.
Around her, the wind sighed, hushed, and cooled the heat in her head.
Mininata’s voice faded for a moment, then began a different song, a wordless counterpoint to the dominating aria at climax of the duel of songs. Adagio had sung it long ago in a duet with Aria, but the why of it was long gone.
She remembered every song, good or bad, as though the players were in her head. She sighed, feeling the tension fade away as it always did at the sound of her sister’s voice. It would do her no good to hold onto it, and it never had.
Just let it go.
She turned, watching the silent performance play out on the video screen. The seven girls playing, singing, each of them smiling. The roiling in her heart faded as she watched, recognizing in them the happiness she had felt when she made music. Magic or not, it was something she envied their ability to do.
“Stupid school. Stupid Aria and her stupid milk.” She realized abruptly that she was fingering the place where the amulet had lain, day and night, for longer than she could remember, and snatched her hand back to dash the tears away. “Stupid amulet! And stupid Adagio and her stupid, lame plan!”
When the last words left her, so did the last of the tension behind her eyes, leaving her standing there on an empty sidewalk, staring at the video on loop while the wind grew into a blustery gale with the clean, cool scent of pending rain.
A sign fluttered on the front of the building, flipping an image of a guitar back and forth out of sight. Going up to it, she saw it was a poster for guitar lessons, with all of the tags hanging down below it still, and the name scrawled in an artful flourish at the bottom was Flash Sentry.
“Pft.” She almost turned away from it, to go to the grocery story and get some milk for Aria, but stopped mid-stride, the poster fluttering still in her peripheral vision.
You could get milk. You could go home now. You could just keep doing the same thing over and over again until the end of time.
She walked up the steps to snag a strip from the bottom, and halted again, her fingers holding one corner of the poster up. She ripped it down instead and stuffed it in her coat pocket.
The date for the lesson was yesterday. It was already too late. Everything would just continue on as it had. Forever.
But maybe she could dream. Maybes were better than nevers.
She didn’t head straight for the store, or back home like she was supposed to. Instead, she sat on the steps of the school, leaning against the railing and staring into the bush-lined park sitting kitty-corner across the street.
The wind picked up and the clouds grew darker, turning noon into dusk, and promising rain if not a thunderstorm. A cold rain, too, judging by the wind. She sighed again, stuffing her hands deeper into her jacket pockets, trying to ignore the piece of paper that might have once been an answer.
To what question, not even Mininata had an answer.
“They’ll yell at you if you get sick.” It was true, and it had happened before. They hated taking care of her, and foisted it off on anyone they could coerce. Now, though…
A gust of wind, growing stronger and then slackening off, brought a strain of familiar music to her: a guitar. She clutched the paper tighter in her jacket, and pulled it out and stared at the guitar.
The wind tugged at it a moment longer, pulling the sound of the guitar off the page.
Then it was gone, and the wind that had come from the park faded.
Need something to do this Spring Break? What about free guitar lessons! Acoustic or electric. One day only.
Flash Sentry.
The wind grew once more, carrying a whole chord this time before fading again. It was enough for her to know who was playing, and she folded the paper back up, smoothing the creases, careful of the fragile strips.
Not his band, but that was clearly him playing the music in the park.
She was walking across the street before she really knew what she was doing, or what she was planning, the poster still clutched in one fist. She was at the entrance before she thought about who else might be there—people who might hate her for what she had tried to do.
It wasn’t a large park, just an encircling hedge closing off a row of benches and a pristinely manicured lawn. A blanket lay, covered with leaves, to one side of the sole occupied bench.
Flash was alone, lying with one leg slung over the back, the other on the ground while he cradled the guitar against his chest. He plucked out a slow, melancholy melody in time with the wind.
It wasn’t a song, she realized as she shuffled forward, glancing back at the entrance to the park, drawing farther away faster than her feet seemed to be moving. The music was his feelings. He was just playing to play, and creating the melody on a whim.
His eyes remained closed, and his fingers stilled on the fretboard. She halted, breath caught in her chest, willing him to continue. And when he did, she took another step, and another, until she was standing a few feet away.
He stopped again as the wind faltered and fell silent.
She sat down in that moment, settling cross-legged as quietly as she could, and waited, letting the sound of the wind fill her, and the distant rumble of thunder, still too quiet to be real.
He started playing again as the wind rose into a howl, his right hand dusting over the strings while his left glided back and forth over the frets. Notes drifted up, slipping through the wind’s sigh and the still unheard rumble in the distance.
It took her several moments to realize that he had stopped, and another minute to open her eyes.
He was looking at her, a faint curl tugging at his lips, his brows lowered.
“What do you want?” he asked, his tone harsh. “I’m not going to fall for your tricks again.”
She flinched, the poster crinkling in her lap where she held it still in the brisk wind. No train was waiting at the station, and Mininata laughed in the far distance of her mind. No help there. She shrugged, instead, and told the truth: “I heard music. I like music.”
“Duh.” Flash rolled his eyes. “You used it to enslave us. Again.” He stuck a finger against his head. “Only, I remembered it, this time. I don’t know what’s worse. Knowing what you’re doing and thinking it’s right, or not knowing what you’re doing, and not remembering.” He thrummed a blistering, sharp chord and closed his eyes. “Go away.”
She sat there, listening to him play. The notes came harsh and quick, and hung in the air without being smoothed away. Instead, he drove them harder, harsher with plucks to the frets, and each one sent a painful jolt through her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. His fingers halted, smothering the last note into a premature flat twang that set her teeth on edge. “For what we—I did to you.”
He started again without saying anything.
“I love music,” she said.
He grunted, but didn’t stop plunking away.
The wind picked up, and the rumble of thunder it carried was no longer imaginary, threading through the wind’s whispering song and the melody he hammered out on the guitar, growing harsher and angrier by the moment.
His brow furrowed deeper and deeper until he slammed his hand down on the fretboard. “Why are you still here?”
She recoiled from the smack, losing her balance and tumbling back. Her elbow hit the pavement, and she scrambled to her feet, backing away, flicking her eyes between his and the guitar. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry?” He flung himself up, and caught his jeans’ cuff on the back of the bench. The rest of him kept moving, and his guitar flew up as his arms windmilled wildly.
She dove for the instrument, catching it just before it hit the ground, grinding both knees against the harsh concrete as she slid to a stop. Numbing needles of brief pain lanced up her legs. She cradled the instrument in her arms while tears gathered in her eyes.
Flash righted himself with a growled curse and a tug at his pant leg, and glared at her. “Give it back.” He thrust out a hand, fingers beckoning.
“Can I try playing it?”
“No,” he said, flat and harsh. “You don’t deserve to play it. You haven’t…” He trailed off, his eyes focusing on her left hand, then her knees, and the poster clutched against the side of the guitar. “You think you can control us again with your music? We’re onto you!”
“No! I can’t even sing anymore!” She held the instrument closer to her. “I just love music. I’m sorry. I just wanted to listen.”
“You…” He gritted his teeth and flung himself back into the bench. “You think apologizing is going to take back what you made me say? You think it’s going to heal anything? Do you think I won’t remember knowing it was right to say what I did to Twilight? To Sunset? Can you take it back?”
“I didn’t make you say anything!”
“No? I know I wouldn’t have even thought it if it hadn’t been for you and your… whatevers.”
“Sisters.”
He blinked at her, his mouth open. Finally, he shook his head, his eyes flicking to her knees again. He swallowed. “What?”
“They’re my sisters.”
She bent back over the guitar, shifting it so that it tucked against her like she’d seen him do on stage. But then her elbow was out of place and she couldn’t reach the strings easily.
Flash snorted, rolling his eyes.
She tried a different way, settling her forearm more comfortably on the body. She could reach the strings, but her wrist started aching after just a few bawdy twangs.
“You’re holding it wrong. That’s an acoustic, not an electric.” He held up his hands to demonstrate.
She fumbled briefly with the poster and the guitar, then stuffed the weather stained paper back in her jacket and imitated him. He was right. It felt right, holding it like that, with her elbow perched at the widest crest of the body. She let her fingers fall to the strings, her other hand on the neck while the body rested on her lap.
He shook his head after a moment and folded his arms across his chest. “You and your sisters made a mess of everyone.”
“I know.” She plunked the A string, feeling it buzz against her other hand. It wasn’t out of tune, precisely, but it wasn’t perfect. “I, um…” She stilled the note, stroked B, and stilled it, too. “I just wanted to have fun and sing.”
He shook his head, looking away towards the darker bank of clouds barely visible through the trees, past the edge of town.
“I love music.”
“Yeah. You said that.”
“Sorry. This is fun.” She studied the knobs, then stroked her fingers up the frets to touch the tuning knobs.
“Don’t touch those. I’ve got it the way I like it,” he growled, then nodded when she settled back down. “You said you wanted to have fun… Why?”
Sonata shook her head, drew her fingers back down the frets while she plucked one, and then the next down the line of strings. None of the deepening notes held an answer, but all of the notes were off by the same minute bit. Maybe he wasn’t off, but she was.
Why? Mininata shrugged. Why did you do anything?
“Because Adagio wanted it.”
“Because Adagio wanted it,” he repeated, his eyebrows going up. “Why would you…” He shook his head, brows coming back down in a taut scowl. “Just give me the guitar. We’re done.”
“Please let me try again!” She shrank back, clutching the guitar to her chest, looking up at him, trying to smile, failing, and settled for not bawling as the sidewalk ground into her knees.
His eyes flicked to her legs, and he frowned, but waved a hand at her. “Fine. Try again.”
Something simple. The wind rumbled through the trees, and a flash of light played over the distant cloudbank. Something quick. She tried to plunk a simple harmony on the strings, the same slow harmony he’d been playing when she arrived, quickened by her thudding heart.
He was wincing when she stopped, shaking his head, but didn’t say anything.
“I love music,” she said again, halfway folding herself over the guitar. “But I can’t make it anymore. See?” She tried again, but the strings felt alive under her fingers, rebelling against her wish. The music in her head stayed there, her fingers too stupid to pull it from the instrument.
Finally, she stopped, laying her hands over the fret and bridge to still the noise she was making.
“I’m sorry.” The tears came then, and she let them.
He watched her for a long moment, his eyes drifting down to her legs, then back to her face. He held out his hand again and said, in a soft voice: “Give it here.”
She held out the guitar, surprised when he didn’t snatch it from her.
“You’ve got your fingers almost right.” He flipped it around and resettled it on his lap, putting the fingers of his left hand just so on the fretboard, cradling the neck in his palm, and strummed the chord she had tried. “It takes practice.”
She blinked away the blurriness. “It does?”
“Yes.” He hesitated, fingers tightening around the neck, then thrust the guitar silently at her.
“Really?” She reached out to touch the guitar, stroked a finger along the length of the neck. “I don’t know if I can. Adagio hasn’t been able to…”
“Does she have a teacher?”
“Well… no. Not that I know of.” She sighed loudly, slumping back to stare up at the cloudy sky. “But Aria says I would miss the bus if I was already on it.”
He eyed her for a moment. “Your own sister?” He scratched his chin. “Well… I suppose I can see it. My two sisters bicker all the time. But,” he said, holding up a finger, “sisters are still family. Can’t you practice with each other?”
She shrugged, fiddling with her jacket’s zipper as she settled back to sit cross-legged again. “We just sang together. We didn’t really practice, like, ever.” Her hand crept back up to touch the place where her amulet had been. She snatched it back when he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Now, we can’t even do that without screaming at each other.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but jerked upright when a raindrop landed on the back of his neck. He stared up at the sky, sighed, and stood up, tucking the guitar under one arm. “Perfect.”
Sonata stood up, following a few feet behind him as he stalked off away from the direction she had come. “It’s raining. How is that—” She halted at the glare he shot her.
“It’s not perfect.” He snorted, tucking the guitar tighter under his arm. “If the strings get wet…” He hiked it up higher, covering it as best he could with the open flap of his jacket. “If any of it gets soaked, it could ruin it.”
Ruin it? Sonata hurried to catch up, stripping her jacket off, and snatched the guitar from under his arm. The first instrument she had touched since losing her music, the first she had thought about playing since forever.
She wrapped her jacket around it and handed it back to him.
He stared at her, but accepted the jacket wrapped bundle as the rain started coming down harder, cold against her shoulders and soaking her to the skin within a few steps.
“Come on,” he grunted, shaking his head and breaking into a sprint. “Idiot.”
Flash settled the guitar in the back seat of his car and jerked the passenger seat back into place, motioning inside with one hand.
Sonata leaned in to look around the dark blue and brown interior, the leather seats, the dark panelling with polished chrome bordering, and then at her soaked, drab blue skirt and dark pink tee, getting more soaked by the second. She put a foot in, hesitant.
“Get in!”
She jumped inside, squeaked on the leather seat, and yelped when Flash slammed the door.
A moment later, Flash jerked open the driver’s side door, threw himself in, and yanked it closed. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, and rain drummed down on the car’s roof. He started the car and turned up the heater.
He was scowling out the window as he stripped off his soaked jacket and tossed it into a pile of miscellany on the floor. She huddled deeper into her seat, shaking as the cold retreated ever so slowly.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, well, what was I gonna do? Just make you stand outside?” He shook his head, still not looking at her. “I’m not a monster.”
“I’m not, either.” She shuddered as a trickle of cold water ran down her back. “I’m soaked.”
He eyed her for a moment, shook his head with the hint of a grin tugging at his lips, and reached back to snag a patchy towel from a pile of clothes and rags on the back seat. “Here. Sit on this.”
She leaned forward, shivering, as he helped tuck the towel under and behind her. “Thank you.”
His only answer was a grunt and a fleeting look.
A few minutes later, she was feeling warmer, but she was still more goosebump than smooth skin, and the wet tee and her bra weren’t getting any warmer. She plucked her dark pink tee and wiggled, readjusting the soaked padding of her bra. “Gah! Itchy, itchy. I hate wet bras.”
Flash flicked a glance at her, then jerked his eyes away. “Yeah… Uh… keep your shirt on, okay?” He flicked a finger at her knee. “You’re bleeding, too.”
“Oh.” Sonata prodded her thigh, just above the knee, and hissed as cold pins prickled their way down her leg.
“I’m sorry you got hurt, but I’m glad you caught the guitar.” Flash crossed his arms over his chest, facing the wavy sheet of water juddering down the window. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay. I get hurt a lot. Adagio says I’m a clutz.” She looked up from her knees to catch him frowning at her. His face went blank after a moment and he turned away. She studied his face in profile, wondering at the reason for the frown. “Is the guitar okay?”
“Should be.” He twisted around in his seat, jerked her jacket off and ran a hand over the guitar. He didn’t toss the jacket in the pile, but held onto it. “Little damp, but if I dry it off quick enough, it’ll be fine.”
“Where’s your case? Don’t guitars come with cases?”
“Little sister stole it. It’s probably somewhere in Southern Nowhere by now.”
“Why?”
“How should I know? Probably for her batons and pom-poms.” He shrugged and cranked the blower up a few more notches, still too quiet to overcome the rushing rumble of the rain and thunder pounding the world around them. “Should get warmer soon.”
“Good.” She brushed fingers over her scraped knees, gasped, and sucked on her lower lip until the surge of fire down her leg faded.
“Is it bad?”
“Um.” She prodded the edge of the scrape, and another trickle of blood trailed down her calf to disappear into her sock. “It hurts.”
“Then stop poking at it. Idiot.” He brushed a hand over his knee, winced, and shook his head. “Sorry. I know how much that can hurt. There’s, uh, some tissue in the glove box, and I’ve got some first aid stuff in the trunk.”
She looked past him at his window. She could barely make out the buildings across the street. Driving waves of rain made them appear and disappear as though she were watching it through the waves.
“I’ll get the first aid later,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest again and closing his eyes. “Clean up, please. You’re making my knees itch.”
“Thanks.” She opened the glove box, spilling out a wad of flyers nearly identical to the one she’d plucked from the school, each with a different date. She picked through them until she found one with tomorrow’s date on it. “Can I take—”
“No. Leave those. I’m done.” He snatched the flyers from her, leaned over to fish around in the glove box and pulled out a soft pack of tissues, and stuffed the papers back in. “Here.”
“Sorry. I just… I want…” She shook her head before Mininata could find her way through the storm in her mind. She didn’t need the distraction.
But I wanna— Sonata cut off the intrusion with a sharp prod to her knee. Mininata’s voice retreated immediately.
Flash reached up and flicked on the interior lights. “I don’t think we’ll be able to drive anywhere soon.”
She plucked a handful of tissues from the pack and bent over to delicately brush away the dark speckles of grit and the single shard of rock.
“So...” He unfolded his arms, re-folded them, and finally jammed his hands into his pockets. “Why did you come out to the school?”
She shook her head, focused on cleaning the fine grit from the long cut left by the shard.
“Sorry.” He leaned his head against the window, one hand drifting down to touch his knee.
She glanced up briefly to see him watching her, his face a mask of… something she didn’t know. “Sorry. I know it’s grossy.”
“Grossy?”
“Blood. Aria hates blood. Adagio teases her with steaks sometimes. Wait. No, it’s icky. Not grossy.”
He sighed. “Do you ever make sense?”
“I dunno.” She hissed and clutched her knee as a fresh trickle of blood joined the rest in her sock. “Stupid rock.”
Flash rubbed at his knee again, froze, and grumbled something unintelligible. He yanked a control under the dash, snagged his soaked jacket and darted outside with it draped over his head and shoulders.
Chilling air swept in, carrying the clean smell of fresh rain with a hint of ice. The storm’s roar intensified until it seemed she could hear every drop splattering against pavement, and every flash of lightning came brighter, the following thunderclap more immediate.
Sonata shivered and shrank in on herself, hugging the heat closer. Rustling noises came from the back of the car, as well as muffled curses before the car shook.
Flash was back seconds later, without his jacket, and ducked inside with a small blue box. The storm again became a muffled wash of white noise.
“It’s not much.” He popped it open and rummaged around inside. “Just some basic stuff. You know how to use it?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The box was as simple as he said, just a few items all jumbled in together, all of it generic brand. But there was gauze and a tube of topical cream.
“Can you help me with this, please? I can’t see my knee that well.” She handed the box back to him and plucked what she needed, bending back to her knee to smear cream into the injury. “You asked why I was here… I had to get away from the mansion, that’s why I’m here.”
“Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes. “Mansion.”
“Hey,” she said, prodding his shoulder with the tube of cream. “If you can fall in love with a pony princess from another world, I can live in a mansion.”
“I did not fall in love with her.” He sighed, juggled the box and scratched at his chest. “I—it doesn’t matter. Just clean up.”
“Okay.” Sonata settled in, gritting her teeth while she cleaned up the scrapes with the tissues.
The dirty tissues sat in her lap, piling up as they got soaked through. The bleeding was slowing, though, and most of it was diluted with water dripping down from her hair.
“Let me…” He reached out, touched her hair, then gathered it up gently and pulled it back, a firm set to his lips. “Just try not to get any blood on the leather.”
He likes his car clean. It is cleaner than your room. And he’s nicer than your sisters.
“Maybe I can’t live in the mansion anymore.”
“What?”
“Oh…” She shrugged and stripped a pack of gauze. “Can you help me with this? I’ll hold it still. Just wrap the—”
“I know how to wrap a knee injury.” He rolled his eyes, grimaced, and covered it by ripping off a strip of sports tape with his teeth.
She saw. “Oh. Sorry.”
“I used to skateboard a lot.” He tapped her leg, just above the knee. “Put your leg out. This is a lot easier—”
She straightened her leg before he could finish, still holding the gauze in place with one finger. He wrapped the tape twice around her knee, over the top and bottom of the gauze patch.
“How’s your other knee?”
“Better. I didn’t get a rock in it.” She plucked an adhesive strip from the box. “I think this’ll do. Thank you, Flash.”
“Um… Sure. You’re welcome. Sonata.”
The rain lightened, leaving the car quieter. Flash didn’t reach for the steering wheel. He was still shivering.
“You can put my jacket on. Or… make it a blanket.” She plucked at the sleeve where it stuck up over the center console. “It’s probably not your size. But it’s warm. And mostly dry.”
“No thanks.” He shrugged. “I’ll get warm.”
“Yeah. Your car heats up a lot faster than my room in the mansion. Well, during the winter, I mean.”
He studied her, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers. Finally, “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really do live in a mansion?”
“Yep. Big ol’ scary place. Well, not so much scary as…” Long, dark hallways filled with cobwebs, rooms where the power flickered in and out on a whim and the vents blew cobwebs about like solid fog, disused closets with more cobwebs than space. “Well, scary.”
“Why?”
“Because of all the spiders. I hate spiders. They stay away from my room, though.” She mimed smacking one with a shoe. “Back, foul spiders! Back, I say!”
He snorted a laugh. “Sorry. I meant why do you live in the mansion if it’s so scary?”
“Because Adagio wants to. I don’t think she minds spiders. She scares them, I think. Do you have someplace to dump these?” She gestured to the pile in her lap, looking like the dessicated remains of a snowman on a horror movie set. “That is an awful image…”
She rearranged them, trying to make the mees of bloody tissue in some sort of semblance not like a grisly snowman murder scene in miniature, failed several times while he watched, one eyebrow lifting higher and higher. Failing to do that, she balled them up.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to make it look less like a horror movie. See? Bloody snowball!” She glanced at Flash’s lap, winced, and covered the ball with both hands. “Oh… no. That’s worse. Poor snowman.”
He shook his head, snapped the first-aid box closed, twisted around to fish a plastic bag out of the pile and dropped it in her lap. “Here, before you try sculpting it. You’re like an insane jumping bean.”
“There are different kinds?”
Is there an angry jumping bean?
“I think Aria is one of those,” Sonata murmured.
He blinked, looked outside, then back at her. “Uh… Do you talk to yourself a lot?”
“I’m not talking to myself. Am I?” Mininata remained silent on the matter. “I might be. But how else could I tell who was talking? Sometimes it gets too noisy.”
Flash scratched his head, staring between her and the lightening rain outside. “Just… what do you want with me? Why are you here?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have something evil to do? Steal candy from a baby or something?”
“I told you. I had to get away from the mansion. Adagio and Aria were shouting and they were going to drag me into it and yell at me, then yell at each other some more... and there’s no music there anymore. Just some records, and a lot of weeds.”
“Oh.” Flash’s voice came quieter as he settled back in his seat. “You were running away?”
“Getting milk, actually. Aria said we were out. I wanted to leave before they dragged me into their fight, but then Aria told me to get some milk.”
“You were running away.” He rubbed at the light blue stubble covering his chin for a long moment. “Do you always do what your sisters tell you?”
“Yeah. If I try not to, they make me.”
“How—” His eyes went wide, and he swallowed. The light filtering in through the rain cast his features in a greenish tint. “T-they make you? Like you made us? But you’re their sister!”
“Yeah, it’s kinda sucky sometimes, like Taco Tuesday. I really, really wanted some tacos, but Adagio and Aria said no.” Her stomach rumbled as she remembered the imaginary smell of tacos, all spicy and tangy, with just enough crunch to make things interesting. “But they always look out for me, because I’m not smart enough…”
If you would listen to me, then it wouldn’t be so hard! Mininata tooted a whistle in her head.
“Listening to you hurts.” Every time she had listened to that little voice, Adagio had slapped her down. She tuned out the little fragment and focused on the rain, pressing her forehead against the window. The cold, at least, was real, and the rain drumming on the roof helped muffle the noise in her head.
Flash closed his eyes, turning his face away. “Sorry. I didn’t know my voice was that bad.”
“Not you.”
Flash gave her an odd look, one eyebrow raised. “Who, then? Yourself?”
Sonata shook her head and turned her face into the window until she couldn’t see him even in the corner of her eye. Only, she could still feel his eyes on her, feel his presence in the car.
They said you couldn’t have any tacos.
“But then I found out Taco Tuesday didn’t have any tacos! They were right, see? I would have been disappointed. They kept me from that.” That was a good thing. She didn’t like being disappointed. “They care about me.”
Do they?
“I don’t think they do.” Flash cleared his throat and settled a warm hand on her shoulder. “The point is, what did you want to do?”
“Eat tacos?”
“Here I was, thinking you might actually be serious for a moment.” He slumped back into his seat, drawing his hand back to thump against the steering wheel. “My mistake.”
She placed her hand where his had been, her fingers cool and damp, and sighed. “I don’t understand. I am serious. I wanted to have some tacos. I was hungry, and they were so tasty looking on the poster.” She fiddled with the fringe of the towel she was sitting on. “Did you mean something else?”
“During the battle of the bands,” he grunted. “What did you want to do?”
“Sing. And we did.”
“That’s not... Okay. Fine. You wanted to sing, and you did.” He leaned towards her and jabbed a finger at his head. “But did you want to hijack our minds?”
“Oh. Well, Adagio wanted to make you all mad at each—” She bit her lip, remembering how angry Flash had been. He was probably still angry at her. But he cared. Why? “Well, I liked the magic I got from it... and it was nice to be almost myself again. You know, like I could almost feel what it was like to swim in the ocean again.”
“Right. Siren. Almost forgot.” His eyes drifted along her legs, his cheeks growing brighter until he closed his eyes and rubbed at his knee. “And after?”
“Well, she wanted to go back to the mansion to see if she could put her amulet back together. She wouldn’t even let me stop to pick up mine.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You wanted something, they stopped you. They want something, you do it. Do you see the pattern here? Adagio wanted you to control us, you did it. Aria wanted milk, you decided to do that instead of running away. Where would you—” He cut off with a shake of his head. “Did you want any of it?”
“Well, yeah. And I liked it, too. Y’know, the magic and the music.” She touched a finger to her knee, winced, and folded her arms under her breasts, fingers digging in under the bra strap, keeping the itchy elastic band away from her skin. “I don’t know about the whole hijacking your minds thing. I just did what Adagio wanted. Like you said.”
You’ve always done that. She frowned, one hand drifting to the hollow space where her fingers wanted to rest on the gem. As always, she found only bare skin.
“And after?” Flash’s eyes dipped to her chest, then jerked up again. “Like, now. What do you want to do right now?”
I want to play guitar, Mininata said, and in Sonata’s mind, she played a perfect note, pure and so sweet she could taste it. She continued playing, the same slow solo that Flash had performed, every note more real and precise than any guitar, or player, could ever achieve. Only, it wasn’t the same. This solo followed the same tempo and structure, but it matched the storm outside instead of the fitful wind Flash had played with.
A voice in her head began to hum, quiet enough she almost didn’t hear it, older than her memories, and so sad Sonata wanted to weep for its loss—not Mininata’s nasal whine, but familiar…
Burbling silence like the ocean depths filled her mind as the humming stopped, bringing Mininata’s solo performance to a quivering stop.
Song filled her mind again, a memory of song from so long ago that even her first gala felt recent. She remembered the same voice singing to her at night, the waves above providing muted accompaniment as she fell asleep. The oldest song she could remember, a mother’s song—her mother’s lullaby.
I want you to create music, it said.
“I do, too. I want that.”
“Want what?”
Thunder rumbled distantly, rolling over her and carrying away the lullaby like it had never been.
She would be in trouble for not coming back right away. Adagio would be angry. Aria would yell at her. Things would go back to the way they were. It hadn’t been so bad. She would just have to—
The car lit up as though daylight had returned for an instant, burning away everything else in her mind. She had to get home.
She was halfway out of the car when Flash yanked her back in and slammed the door shut. The head-splitting crash of thunder drifted away, rumbling in time with her ragged breathing.
“Are you insane?” Flash held her by one wrist, hard enough that she could barely move her fingers, his knee braced on the center console, making him hunch over to hold her still. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his ragged breath against her face, and close enough that he could see past her eyes to the void echoing in her mind.
“Go away,” she whispered. She closed her eyes so he couldn’t see that she was empty inside. Not even Mininata was in her mind anymore. There was just her. “Let me go!”
“No.” He shifted, and some of the pressure on her wrist lessened, but she still couldn’t pull free. “Sonata, I’m sorry. You’re not insane.”
“How do you know? I don’t even know!” She willed him to go away so she could return to what was waiting for her, but the thundering rain and a crackling strike farther away drowned out her plea.
“Sonata?”
Please! Tell me to do something.
Her only answer was the white-noise roar of the downpour and the distant rumble-flash of thunder and lightning. She opened her eyes to see him still watching her, his wide blue eyes so close she could see flecks of color in his irises, could see the worry behind the reflection. He was worried about her—but he couldn’t be. No one worried about Sonata except Mininata.
“Sonata?” His voice was very soft, so soft it hurt to hear. “Are you crying?”
“It’s just the storm.”
“No, it’s not.” He leaned back still holding her arm firmly. He watched her, his eyes not empty like hers felt. “Is it really so hard to say what you want to do?”
“I want...” Silence thundered in her mind, and thunder rumbled outside. She looked away, to the park obscured by rain, and grabbed the wrist holding her in place. “Let me go. I need to—”
“Need to what? What do you want?”
She pulled at his fingers, tried to pull her wrist away, tried to push him away. He was stronger. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Forget them. Stay here for now.”
She stopped trying to pull his hand free, but she didn’t let go of it. He was warm, and real, and he cared. Even if he didn’t like her, he still cared, and she wanted him to keep caring about her.
Is it so bad to want that?
Strong, calloused fingers touched her chin, warming her freshly wet skin. She resisted at first, but his hand slid under her chin and his fingers brushed against her neck, bringing more warmth, and guided her to look him in the eyes.
“Look at me.”
She did. He had bright blue eyes, both of them staring into her, and blue stubble was just starting to dust his chin. She touched a finger to the bristly patch. He didn’t move away.
“Tell me. What does Sonata Dusk want to do?”
“I want to learn how to play the guitar.” The roiling silence in her mind vanished, leaving her with regular silence. She slumped back in her seat, but kept her hand on his.
“Good.” He let go of her wrist and patted her hand. “That’s a good thing to want.”
She beamed a smile at him and settled herself against the towel-covered seat again, one hand playing with the fraying fringe peeking out from under her thigh. If she could make music again, maybe she didn’t need Mininata to sing to her. She could—
She couldn’t play, not yet. Her fingers tightened on the fringe as the memory of how badly she had mangled such a simple melody came back. But Flash was a teacher. Or he’d tried to be. She lifted a leg to bump the glove compartment and turned her attention to him.
Flash was trying not to be obvious about watching her, but he was, not leering like some might, but seemed curiously thoughtful all the same. The fingers of his left hand drumming against his thigh stopped as he caught her eyes with his. He blinked first and rubbed his eyes.
“Do you think you could teach me? I know you said you were done, but I really, really, really want to—”
“I was gonna offer anyway.” He grinned, shaking his head, and patted his knee. “But I want you to do something for me, too.”
“Anything!”
“I need your help apologizing to Twilight.”
It wasn’t long before they were on their way, the rain having petered off into a steady, lingering drizzle that felt like it would last for days.
Sonata cradled the guitar across her chest, slowly rubbing the dry cloth scavenged from the backseat over the sleek, varnished finish. Her first lesson was over, and already she felt better about playing, even holding an instrument. What she’d played couldn’t, even charitably, be called music, but it was a start.
She pressed her cheek against its neck, and watched houses drift by. They weren’t houses she recognized, and the streets they passed had unfamiliar names, driving home how little she had gone out, and how isolated she had been in the mansion.
“You don’t have to hold onto it like that, you know.” Flash glanced at her, flicked his eyes quickly forward again. “You can come over any time to practice.”
“But I might not be able to.”
“You’re not their slave, Sonata, or their prisoner. You can tell them no.” He chuckled. “You can tell anyone no, if you don’t want to do something.”
She nodded.
The road simmered in the rain, and the tires hissed along in tracks left by other cars, never quite filling in again. The way home, to the old mansion, would be boiling.
“I’m glad you didn’t take me back to the mansion,” she said.
He nodded. “Couldn’t really take you back, even if I wanted to brave a creepy, spider-filled mansion in this weather. You didn’t tell me where it was.”
“Oh. Right.” She drew in the fog in the side window, marking out a map of the streets around her home that faded as soon as she stopped breathing on the window. “They’ll be upset, though, that I didn’t come home.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He huffed, not quite a laugh. “And you’re welcome.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “Look…”
Sonata looked out the window. The same small houses, growing smaller the farther from the city center they got, drifted by. Lawns grew shaggier, trees taller, wilder. Even the few people wandering the sidewalks in raincoats and umbrellas became more and more like the landscape—wilder, weirder than she was used to. More colorful.
Flash sighed. “Look, Sonata. I—” The steering wheel creaked, and he frowned, staring fixedly ahead.
“I did look.”
“Uh... yeah. Look, I’m not sure if I trust you. I think I can, but I don’t know. You and your sisters… The school thinks you’re all bad news. You…” The sentence trailed off into a grimace. “I don’t know about you. But I think you’re honest, at least. Can I trust you?”
I’m bad news?
The stoplight ahead turned red. The car slowed to a stop, engine humming loud enough to be heard over the constant patter against the roof. Cars hissed across the street in a steady, slow stream.
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Can you trust me.” She watched a car slow to a stop on the other side of the street, the driver barely visible through the rain, but she could tell there was a passenger, too. Were they having the same conversation?
“Can I trust you not to just use me?” he asked.
More cars drifted by. Sonata’s fingers drifted over the strings, plucking away in time with the soft humming in her head. Or the engine’s rumble. A flat note shivered from the guitar, and she trembled with it.
She lifted her head and stopped playing as the car started to move again. “I want to learn how to play guitar from you.” Her fingers rested on the quivering strings, stopping them. “I want that from you. Is that using you?”
“You’re doing something for me. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” She plucked out a soft, very simple melody as the car continued on, the one he’d taught her to build up muscle memory for playing.
The farther outside of Canterlot Flash drove them, the houses grew newer, larger, but they kept the same exuberant colors as the city. The painted fronts of the houses and the few, scattered lawn ornaments stood out even through the rain, and the lawns lacked the weeds and patchy spots of the houses around the mansion.
“So, wait, this was your idea.” She tore her attention away from the neighborhood passing by to prod Flash’s shoulder. “Are you using me?”
“No. Not any more than you are. Not any more than any of these people are, when they help their friends.” He flicked a finger at the houses passing by in slow procession. “Friends…”
“I’m not your friend, am I?” She wanted him to say no. Or yes. “Can I be your friend?”
He kept his eyes on the road, rubbing his thumbs over the wheel. “It’s not that easy. You hurt me, Sonata. You made me hurt someone I liked and someone I dated. When I saw you today I saw the person who made me say things I would never, in a million years, say on my own, and it made me so angry I wanted to yell at you.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well…” He sighed. “I believe you, what you said. I can see it in how you are, and I can’t hate you for being that way. But I still need to hear it from you. Can I trust you not to do anything to hurt me or my friends?”
“What if my sisters try to make me—”
“Then you need to stand up for yourself. Do you want friends, or not?”
Sonata turned her attention back to the outside, and the houses going by, now reminiscent of the mansion, but growing less so the farther they went out of the city.
She and her sisters had lived in that mansion for so long that it seemed there were no other places she could live. The houses here radiated peace and a sense of family. Families were everywhere she looked: a scooter left in the rain, swingsets peeking up over a fences, other toys and signs of them dotted a few lawns. There were even a few garages standing open where a mother or father sat, watching the rain come down and their car pass by while children sat in their laps.
It was the opposite of what she and her sisters had fostered everywhere they went. It was friendship and harmony and love.
Wouldn’t it be nice to see what it’s like?
“Yes.”
“All right.”
An hour later, or so the clock on the wall in the living room said, Sonata was showered, dried, and had her hair twisted up in a towel. She was dressed in blue pajamas decorated with rainbows and teddy bears. She plucked at the fleece clinging to her chest and hips, then crossed her arms over her exposed belly and leaned against the entryway to the living room.
Or family room. Something like that. Den, maybe. A moment’s study of the furnishings—done in muted greens and creams—said it was a down-to-earth family’s common room. Den, she decided.
“Nice family room,” she said. “Er… Den.”
“Living room.” He looked up from contemplating a portable phone, blinked, and studied her for a long moment, eyes drifting over her. “So… I see my sister’s clothes didn’t quite fit.”
“When you said sister, I kinda pictured older sister. Y’know, like… bigger.” She motioned to the straining bust and low-riding waistline with a finger. “I feel almost naked.”
“Sorry. Never really thought I’d need to guess what size clothes my sisters wear.”
“Yeah…” Sonata fingered the straining flannel neckline. “I’m a little bigger than my sisters. I’m not as, um, active.”
“I’m just glad they fit you at all, and that they were in the clean laundry.” His eyes lingered where her fingers drifted before he flushed, jerking his eyes away. “I am not digging around in any dressers.”
“Could you, please? I think you got me your older sister’s pants, because they almost fit, but the panties and bra—”
“No! It was weird enough getting them out of the dryer!”
Sonata raised a finger, but Flash slashed a hand through what she had been about to say.
“And no, you’re not going to dig around in them either. Just deal, okay?” He fingered the phone again, turned it on, then off again. He looked up after a moment, at the ceiling. “Your clothes are in the washer. They’ll be dry in a couple hours.”
“Maybe I could wear some of your—” She gulped down the rest when he shot her a glare, quickly turned away. “Nevermind. They’re really not that tight. I mean, look, you can barely see my belly button.” She tugged the pajama top down and sucked in her belly. “See?”
His eyes lingered on her exposed stomach, drifting up to her face, then away again. “Yeah. I see.” He tossed her a green-striped blue blanket.
“I’m plenty warm… I just don’t want to sit around in clothes that feel like I’m about to pop out of.” She pulled the blanket up to her chin, covering her stomach, and hugged it to her. “And you don’t seem to like looking at me.”
“Is that…” His eyes flicked to her, and away, brow furrowing until he frowned and met her gaze. “It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
“You are pretty, don’t get me wrong, but you’re distracting that way. I am male, and you’re female. Don’t tell me you don’t understand why that’s important.”
“I do. I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t try to at least steal a peek. Most guys do. You didn’t even try to look when I was drenched.” She remembered all the looks she had thought were at the mark on her chest, but maybe they had been at her chest. “Well, you did look, but you seem embarrassed by it.”
“You’re very… you don’t act like most girls, do you? You just say what you mean. Well, let me say what I mean: a lot of guys would hoot and holler at a girl in a wet t-shirt, maybe try to cop a feel. Not me.” He tapped the phone against his palm, frowning at the space over her shoulder as his cheeks heated. “A year—heck, a month ago, I might’ve been one of them. I don’t like being like most guys anymore, I guess.”
“What happened?”
“Eh.” He turned his attention back to the phone, his cheeks glowing briefly. “I guess I grew up. Or something. I mean… you are nice to look at… I’m not gay.” He brushed his hand through his hair and sighed. “I’ll get you some of my clothes… probably shoulda done that in the first place. Just didn’t think you would like wearing guy clothes, I guess.”
He was gone for less than a minute and handed a wadded up bundle of clothes to her. She fingered the t-shirt on top, the same one he’d worn during the last bout of the battle, or one just like it, his band’s logo emblazoned on the front and back. They smelled faintly like him.
“They’re clean, I promise.” He put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle push back the way he’d come. “You can use the bathroom to change. First door on the left. I’ll be in here.”
“You didn’t have to wash my clothes,” she called through the open door before stripping out of the too-tight top and bottoms and picked over the bundle. Maybe she ought to tell him the panties and bra were still in his bathroom.
Or not. Maybe he wouldn’t want to know I was going commando.
Other than the band tee, there was a long-sleeved dark gray shirt. Both were tight around the chest and loose around her shoulders and arms, but the boxer-briefs and sweatpants were only a little tight in the hip and actually fit.
“Your clothes were wet and grimy.” He gave her a long look when she came back out, his eyes lingering on her chest and hips, then darting away, his cheeks fairly glowing, but he coughed and met her eyes. “I would be a poor host if I didn’t.”
“How did you get them anyway? I put them on the counter, and the other clothes were there when I was done showering.”
“The, uh, outside door doesn’t lock, and you left the inner door open. I meant to leave the clothes on the vanity, but I saw your clothes through the crack…” He scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, glanced at her, and sat up straight. “You aren’t mad?”
“Why would I be? You didn’t try to sneak a peek.” Sonata touched the high neckline of the tee, brushing a finger over the top edge of the pale blue circle just edging over the top. She’d never worn a shirt with such a high neck before, and the feeling of something pressing against where her amulet had lain felt alien. “Did you?”
“Nope.”
“Why? I wouldn’t have known unless you told me.”
“I told you. I grew up. And because you don’t spy on your friends.” He waved a hand at the couch where he’d been sitting. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” She did as he asked, warmth tingling under her fingers, more like the warmth of a summer-sun warmed shallows than the once-familiar deep-sea chill. She dropped her hand back to her lap, and wrestled down the tightness in her throat.
“You’re welcome.” He sat beside her, one hand resting lightly on her knee. “How’s this?”
“Fine. I put a big bandaid on it, like you said I should. It feels better than it did.” She laid her hand on his. When he didn’t immediately pull his hand away, she pulled it away from the still aching knee, and turned it over, studying his hand and all the imperfections and callouses spreading down his fingers, his smoother palm, and the delicate lines tracing the inside, comparing them to her own. “You’re warm.”
“You got hurt,” he said, tracing a finger slowly over the pale scars marking the death of an irreplaceable piece of musical history.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She curled her fingers over the old injury, turned aside from the hurt, from him, and brushed a hand against her cheeks, surprised her fingers came away dry. “Can we do something happy? I’ve had enough sad for today.”
“Can’t have that,” Flash said, patting her hand. “How about giant monsters taking over the world?”
Later, with the remains of a bag of popcorn skittering around the bottom of a bowl, and the end of a cheesy movie about giant ants, the remake of a remake of one Sonata had seen long ago, she leaned her head against Flash’s shoulder, laughing. Flash was growling, smiling, and griping over the ending of The Revenge of the Anti-Ants.
“Why did they have to remake it so the heroes won? That was half of the cheese factor of the first!” Flash folded his arms over his chest, groaned, and tossed his head back. “Just watching them fall over each other to get out of the way was the most hilarious thing ever.”
“You know they did it that way because the director got so mad at the rest of the crew—”
“That he rewrote the ending and didn’t tell anyone. Yeah. It’s, like, cheesy movie gold-plated history.”
“And you like cheesy movies?”
“Heck yeah! Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t like this one,” she said, tapping the DVD case against her leg. “Is this a cheesy movie?”
“Nah. This is just bad. But, if you’ve seen the original, it’s pretty funny just to see how serious they tried to make it.”
“Huh. I did like the original.” She cracked open the DVD case. “So… that was fun.”
“Yeah. It was.” Flash glanced at the clock, reading just after three in the afternoon. Outside, it was hard to tell it was still daytime. The storm had started up again, rumbling and growling, pouring down rain in torrential bursts that rattled Flash’s family home’s windows.
“What next?”
“Well, I’d like to call Twilight.” He plucked the case from her hands and tossed it on the coffee table. “You up for it?”
“Okay.” She twined her fingers together, folding her hands over her stomach and leaning back into the luxurious couch. “I need to apologize to her, too.”
He held the phone for a moment, staring at the keypad, and took a deep breath. “It’s hard, doing what you need to do.” He punched in a number, waited for it to ring, then handed it to Sonata silently.
Two rings later, Twilight answered, her voice obscured by static. “Hello?”
“Hey! Twilight, it’s Sonata Dusk.” She lowered the phone and nodded at Flash, rubbing his palms on his legs. “It’s Twilight, she answered.”
Flash rolled his eyes and motioned for her to keep going.
“Oh…” Distant murmuring came through the static, and only the timbre of their voices said they were different people. Twilight continued, louder. “It’s Sonata. I don’t know—Sonata, how did you get my number?”
“Flash asked me to call you. You know, Flash Sentry. He tried to kiss—”
Flash groaned and signaled her to stop talking, covering his eyes with the other hand.
“Oh. He didn’t want me to tell you that. Sorry!”
“So, why are you calling me and not him?” A loud crack-crash came through the phone.
“Because he said you wouldn’t talk to him. He wants to apologize. So do I. Again, I mean. Oh. To you, not to him. Um. So… he’s sorry he said all those things to you, and I’m sorry I sorta made him say them. He really does like you. Or…” She trailed off as Flash gesticulated wildly, throwing three kinds of ‘No!’ into the gestures. “No? Other you? Oh, that’s right. Flash was seriously crushing on other—”
“Sonata!” Flash clapped one hand over her mouth and made a swipe for the phone with the other. “You’re making it worse!”
Sonata jerked her head away, rolling back onto the couch and pushing him away with one hand. “I am not making it worse. I’m apologizing.” She lifted the phone to talk again. “That can’t be worse, can it?”
“Just give me the phone! I’ll apologize myself.” He lunged for the phone, missed, and braced himself on the couch, stopping just before butting heads with her. “Twilight, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know she was crazy!”
“No, it’s not worse,” Twilight said. She was laughing, the sound muffled so that it seemed she was trying to hold it back. Either that or she was crying.
Sonata hit the speakerphone button before she handed him the phone, and the sound of Twilight laughing—definitely laughter, Sonata decided—filled the living room. “See? She’s laughing. Better.”
“I didn’t tell her what to say! Can you forgive me for saying what I said?” He paused, looking Sonata in the eyes, and smiled. “And can you forgive Sonata?”
“Oh, Flash.” Laughter came through again. “I forgive you. And you, Sonata. You just made my day, but I’ve gotta go. Rainbow’s trying to—Gah!” The phone thumped, and two girls’ laughter burbled from the speaker, almost drowned out by the continuing roar of rain on a metal roof. A few seconds later, the phone cut out.
Flash stared at the phone in his hands, sighed, and switched it off. It wasn’t until he opened his mouth again that he seemed to realize he was almost laying atop her, the fingers of his bracing hand tangled in her hair. He pushed himself away, cheeks flushing darkly.
“I didn’t mess it up, did I?”
“A little.” He held a hand out to her, tugging her back upright when she took it. “But I think it was you embarrassing me that made her laugh. That part went better than I thought.”
“So… She’s happier now.”
“Yeah. She is. I had been hoping I’d had more time to talk to her. Get to know her, y’know.” He smiled at her briefly, then sank back into the couch cushion. “As her own person.”
“Like you got to know me today? Like you told me I could be.”
He chewed on his lip for a moment as he studied her face, and nodded. “Yeah. I did get to know you a little. And you know what, I’m glad I did.” His stomach growled.
Sonata giggled, then her stomach growled, too, and she frowned down at it.
“You hungry? I’m hungry.”
“Yes! I haven’t had breakfast yet. I mean, I suppose a piece of toast is technically breakfast, but then I heard Adagio talking in the breakfast room, and popcorn doesn’t really—”
“Okay, you’re hungry. I get it.” He laughed, patted her shoulder, and stood, offering her a hand again. “Come on. I’ll fix you a sandwich.”
“Flash?” Sonata reached out, barely touching her fingers to his, the question she wanted to ask dancing on the edge of her tongue.
“Yeah?”
“Are we friends?”
“Yeah.” He pulled her up with a firm tug, guiding her towards the kitchen with an arm draped across her shoulders.“I don’t let just anyone wear my clothes.”
