Cat and Mouse | m.c.

Chapter 5

“I still want a donut.” Michael loudly complained. Mouse ignored him. “I want glazed donuts.” He repeated, a tone louder.

 

“Aren’t you going to find Ashton?” Mouse asked, feeling more than slightly aggravated. “My lesson is right here.” She pointed at the door of the practice room they stood in front of.

 

“I don’t feel like finding that dumbass anymore.” He shrugged. “I rather hang with you.” He peeked into the window of the room. “There’s no one here though.”

 

“Mr. Bartley is probably late. He’s like that sometimes.”

 

“Then I’ll hang with you until he gets here.” He said, pushing the door open and ignoring her protests. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you play.” He sat himself on the piano seat, scooting to the left and patting at the empty space, gesturing for her to sit down. “I want to hear you play something.” He declared.

Mouse sat down and lifted her hands to the keyboard, her fingers tracing the keys. “Only if you play something.” She said, pressing down on the A key.

 

“I can’t play piano.” He said, shifting his gaze to the guitars that stood on the other side of the room. “I can play guitar though.”

 

“Fine.” She agreed. Mouse was curious as to Michael Clifford’s skill on the guitar and how he would look like when he played it. With many years of piano under her belt, Mouse had come to observe that everyone had their own unique way of playing. Some people tapped their foot subtly to the sound of the beat. Some conducted their upper bodies to be carried away by the current of the music. Others did the little things; like a little jump of their fingers when they were lifted from the keyboard or when they dreamily smiled at the keys as their fingers wove a musical story, the latter being Mouse’s favorite. It was beautiful to see people become fully immersed into the sound of their playing and she wanted to see how Michael looked like when he was immersed in that kind of beauty too.

 

Mouse lifted her right hand to the keyboard starting off with a simple chord progression. Both hands instantly slammed down on a chord thereafter, jostling Michael. Mouse giggled at his startled reaction, her hands jumping across the keyboard. She could feel Michael’s gaze burning into her and she wondered what he thinking.

 

Most people would think that she would feel extremely anxious when playing in the company of another but it really was the opposite. Piano was only thing she could truly feel confident in, no matter the situation at hand, and the only thing she could truly feel comfortable doing. She dropped her hands to her lap, ending the song. Mouse turned her head toward Michael, waiting for him to speak.

 

“Wow.” He breathed out, his face breaking into a grin afterwards. “That was so amazing. Just...wow.” He made a little chortle of amusement at himself. “Like, seriously. Look at me. I have no words.” Mouse’s cheeks burned from his praise. “Now I understand why people call you a piano prodigy. What song was that?”

 

“Cat and Mouse by Copland.” She replied, shielding her face from his gaze. Michael always looked at her in some kind of way that made her feel giddy inside yet still made her want to shrink into a ball from embarrassment. He looked at her with a sort of fondness, like she was adorable, special, or something. But that was impossible wasn’t it? Maybe he just looked at everyone like that and it was just her imagination cooking up stupid things to boost her self-esteem. She didn’t even have friends so how could she have someone that actually liked her?

 

Michael had a confused expression, his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t know who that is.”

 

She kept her eyes on the keyboard, her hands still laying on it. “Nowadays, most people don’t.” She said, slightly disappointed. It was true after all. People weren’t appreciating classical music anymore and it’s now become more associated with the kind of the music the stereotypical grandma would listen to.  

 

“Oh. Well,” he said awkwardly, getting up to grab a guitar, “it’s my turn to show you my tunes now.” Mouse lit up from his words, shifting her hands to underneath her legs as she watched him settle himself on a plastic chair and lifting his guitar onto his lap. She waited in anticipation, studying his form closely.

 

He strummed a chord, carrying on to play a catchy tune that had Mouse tapping her fingers against the leather fabric of the piano seat. Mesmerizing was not enough a word to describe Michael when he played. He looked like a free soul to her, rough, hard, and rebellious mainly with the image his bright red hair painted and yet when he looked up at her with his pretty green eyes and softly smiled, everything immediately felt contradictory to Mouse. A paradox. That’s what Michael was.

 

And then he ended his song. Everything felt too quick for Mouse and she wished to hear more from him. “What song is that?” She asked, mirroring his question before. He scratched the back of his neck almost nervously. “It’s my own.”

 

“You compose songs?” She asked, surprised.

 

“Yeah. I’m in a band actually. We’re not that good or famous yet,” he said thoughtfully, ”but I guess...we’re something.”

 

“Do you have more songs?” There was so many things she didn’t know about Michael and everything she learned seemed to surprise her more and more.

 

“Yeah. But that’s the one I’m composing right now because Calum always writes all of our songs. It’s my first own song so I want it to be like special, meaningful or something. I got the chorus and the bridges down but I can’t seem to think of anything good to write about.” He talked more, growing more confident from her eager questions.

 

“It was really good.” She commented, a fluttering feeling in her stomach when she saw that smile light up his face. “Really?” She nodded enthusiastically in answer. His smile only seemed to grow wider and the fluttering feeling in her stomach rapidly increased.

 

A rampant knocking startled them both, prompting them to both jump out of their seats. Mouse turned to look at the doorway where Mr. Howley, her piano teacher, leaned against the doorway smiling at the pair. “Is this your friend Mouse?” His eyes twinkled with a knowing glint.

 

“Y-Yeah.” Mouse choked out, stuttering. “Michael, come on, you got to leave. He’s my piano teacher.” She whispered to him loudly, flashing him a look. Mr. Howley wasn’t supposed to see them and if he mentioned even Michael’s name to her mom, she was down for a long lecture.

 

Michael gave her a confused look but got up anyway.“I guess I’ll just go find Ashton then.” He made his way out, waving bye. “Bye Mouse.” She weakly waved back.

Mr. Howley settled on the plastic chair Michael was occupying before, dragging it across the tiled floor next to the piano.

 

“Mr. Howley can you-” Mouse started, about to ask him to not tell her mom about Michael as a favor.

 

“It’s okay Mouse. I won’t tell.” He said, taking out a Liszt book and flipping through the pages. He stopped at Liebestraum No. 3. “I’m glad to see you socializing. I don’t have to worry about as much anymore.” He pointed to the piece, lifting it up on the stand as Mouse sat surprised at his words. “Now, try and sight read this.”