Strings | s.m (✔️)

Chapter Three

(Pic to the side be what she's wearing. No purse tho.)

I hate my doorbell's sound.

Of course, I hate it even more when I know who's ringing it.

I decide to let my mother answer, as I stay in my room for the last few seconds, checking myself out. Against Aaliyah's wishes, I was wearing a white-ish-tan sleeveless top, and black leggings. Along with my shirt, I had a grey/black/white patterned sweater. I was wearing these round earrings that had fake diamonds on them, and black flats. As I was about to rethink my makeup decisions, I heard a bunch of voices all talking joyfully, and Mom calls my name out.

"Ari! Come on!" I shake my head from the sub-thoughts and start my way walking down the stairs. And thankfully, I didn't trip. When I get downstairs, the first person I lock eyes with is Shawn. Well he looked different. As fast as I saw him, I turned my head away to look at Mrs.Mendes, and smile.

"Belle! You're looking stunning as usual!" She says, as I hug her. Shawn makes a weird face when she says my name, and for just a moment I wonder why. Oh yeah. To him I was still Ari. I then shake hands with Mr.Mendes, and then have Aaliyah jump onto my back.

"Hi Spider-Man." I chuckle, and I hear her laugh. She then jumps off me and does this "oops" face.

"I just remembered I was wearing a dress." She says, tugging on her side braid.

"Well it's pretty." I reply. And I was being honest. She was wearing a light pink dress that went down to her knees, and blue flats, similar to mine. Aaliyah bats her eyelashes and curtsies, making me laugh. She was a right case.

We all walk to the dining room and sit down, attached to our own conversations. Shawn, of course, was sucking up to my parents, and sadly, they were taking the bait. Not to mention how proud his own parents were.

Ugh.

Aaliyah continues to talk about how happy she was, and I smile. I start to think about my private violin lessons, and how I had to turn in a video on Saturday afternoon.

Wait.

Today's Saturday.

I gasp as my eyes widen, and Aaliyah stops talking to see what was wrong.

"I have to record myself playing a song, and send it to my teacher. It's literally due today at 7:30."

Aaliyah gets up and starts walking to my room, as I follow her. It probably should have been her following me to my room, but my house is practically hers.

"Ari, where are you going?" She asks, and the simple word I say makes her question no further.

"Violin."

I then proceed to walk upstairs and into my room, seeing my black canvas case set on top of my desk. I hoped it wouldn't be out of tune, because turning on an annoying sound for a minute is not the best when you have guests over.

So as I unlock and unzip my case, I cross my fingers that I won't see a loose string.

Thankfully, all the strings seem to be okay, so I put on my shoulder rest and tighten my bow, as Aaliyah grabs my violin and starts mindlessly plucking.

Oh no.

It's not that Aaliyah pulled out the strings. She's 13, not 3. No, at this exact time, my bridge has to be bumped. (A/N: the bridge is basically that one thing that holds up the strings and keeps them in tune.)

Well, I guess that means the tuner goes on.

Before I turn the tuner on, Aaliyah walks downstairs and clears her throat, as I hear her announcement.

"Please excuse the extremely irritating sound you are about to hear."

She couldn't be any more accurate.

After I tune my violin (which was pretty embarrassing), I grab my iPad, go on camera, and sit down, my music across from me.

Aaliyah presses record as I start speaking.

"Arabella Stone, age 17." My introduction is brief, as I then focus on my music sheet, and play. It was a piece from Swan Lake, a real sad one. But no tears were in my eyes. My eyes were filled with concentration, and failure was not an option.

Aaliyah smacks her hands together wildly as I smile and turn off the camera. I have to admit, I think I did good. But good is never enough. There's always room for improvement.

I start to pack up my violin until I hear Aaliyah make an "oooo" sound.

Uh oh.

"What's this?" She asks, and I gasp when I realize she's holding my songbook.

Do I write songs?

Yes.

Do I sing?

Yeah, no.

And I'm not trying to be one of those snobby people that are really good at singing but always say they suck. Those people need to get a grip. When I say I don't sing, it's for a good reason. I'm not bad at singing, I'm average. And when I say that, I mean if I sang a duet everyone would be complimenting the other singer, not me.

Yeah.

But I do enjoy writing songs and poems. To myself of course. Last time I ended up showing a song to a "friend" they copied it, gave it to the choir teacher, and the choir sang it in their concert as my "friend's" song, not mine. (A/N: this actually happened to @writing_reader )

I tried sticking up for myself. Saying it was mine. But that was back when I was a nobody. And nobody believes a nobody.

"Give it to me!" I demand, and Aaliyah gives me a devious smile, only meaning one thing.

There was no way she would give it to me.

I reach over to grab it but she pulls it away, which causes me to jump onto her in pure fear that she might start reading a song.

That's when the unthinkable happens.

The door opens as Aaliyah throws the notebook to whomever opened the door, and I get up to get it from them.

Until I see who it is.

Shawn is holding my songbook, his eyes staring right down at the words scribbled furiously onto the paper.

Oh no.

Before he can read anymore, I get up fast and rush over to him, pulling my notebook out of his grasp and giving him a look of disgust mixed with hurt. If that's even a thing.

I then turn around and walk over to my drawer, Aaliyah giving me an apologetic look instantly. Of course I forgave her, I doubt she knew it was Shawn. After I shove the book away, I finish packing my violin as Shawn stands there in silence.

I stand up and stare him straight in the eye showing no emotion, as he looks away, not able to take the heat.

Not surprising. He couldn't handle our friendship anyways.

He stares at Aaliyah, then at me, and says two words.

"Dinner's ready."