Rock-And-Roll Eyes

Chapter Two

Two days later, Vincent got a call from Oscar. The two of them agreed to meet at Oscar's place with the rest of the group and go over a few numbers. Right then, I knew, Vincent was in the group. Oscar had all but told him he was in. I knew it would be official, and soon. Vincent was too overwhelmed with his excitement to think of anything else.

"I get to write with someone else!" Vincent exclaimed, "I've always wanted to write a collaboration."

I pouted, "Does writing with me not count?"

"You're a poet, Lia, not a musician. There's a difference."

"Technically not. Songs are just poetry put to music," our friend, Benedict Houghton, explained.

We had known Benedict for going on two years then. I had met him on the bus one morning and introduced Vincent to him the next day. Benedict was my age, but we were all in the same year.

You can't put a label on a fellow like Benedict Houghton. He was many things all shoved into one person. He was emotional yet solemn, cheeky yet serious, loving yet angry. He was many things all at once. Most of all, he was friendly. He had his moments where everything seemed to make him angry and nothing could make him happy, but even then it was impossible not to like him. Even strangers like Benedict. He was always there to help his mates and always ready to smile when you felt like frowning.

I used to think of Vincent and me as The Dynamic Duo. We were The Batman and Robin of Bristol, The Bonnie and Clyde of our neighborhood, and we had been since we were kids. When we met Benedict, we became the Terrific Threesome. The Three Musketeers in a town in desperate need of a pick-me-up.

Benedict, like most lads in that time period, had the teddy boy style. His dark brown, nearly black, hair was slicked back and up, almost as if the wind had done his hair for him. It emulated lvis' hairstyle in being much too big for Benedict's body. He always had intense dark eyes, even when he was fifteen. Those intense eyes immediately softened the second he saw someone he liked. Every time he looked at Vincent and me, I could see the side of him hardly anyone else saw. Benedict and Vincent went around with the same leather jackets and slicked up hair. The two boys looked so similar to each other, people thought they were the siblings rather than Vincent and me.

"Thank you," I told him, "And, I can play instruments."

Vincent huffed, "Fine, I finally get to write a song with someone that isn't my sister."

"That's better."

Vincent grinned. Benedict and I exchanged looks and sighed. Vincent often got over excited, he and Simon were similar in that way. Even at that moment, I was legitimately worried he would do something daft.

"Just don't embarrass yourself," Benedict said.

Vincent glanced at him, "How would I do that?"

"I don't think there's time for me to list it," I replied, "Don't freak out like you're doing now. He's a person, not a celebrity."

"And don't trip," Benedict added.

"I don't trip."

"You do."

Vincent frowned. He glanced at his watch and his face instantly became brighter, "It's time!"

He leaped up and hurried into the house. We had been sitting on the front steps of our house, watching the world go by. Benedict was supposed to be over for a few hours to hang out with us, but Vincent had other plans.

When he came out, he had his guitar and a notebook of songs. Papers stuck out in every which direction, and some of them even threatened to fall out. He grinned at us and said, "See you later, fellas."