blindspot // ethan morgan [ON HOLD]

<three>

"Hi," I smiled, sitting in the seat next to Benny. It was my luck that we both played the saxophone.

"Hi," Benny replied suspiciously, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "You're Erica's friend?"

"She gave me a tour yesterday," I explained.

"You're in my spot," a kid standing in front of my stand said.

"Find a new spot," I said quickly. The kid rolled his eyes but gave in and found a new spot.

"Why are you sitting by me?" Benny asked, finally looking directly at me.

"I'm Caitlyn," I said, sticking my hand out for a handshake.

"Benny," he said, shaking my hand.

"Erica told me," I replied, dropping his hand. "Your friend is cute," I looked over his shoulder at Ethan, who was emptying the spit valve of his trumpet. Not his cutest moment, I'll admit.

"Ethan?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"He's not your type," Benny laughed, turning back to look at me.

"And what exactly is my type, boy-that's-known-me-for-10-minutes?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Benny scanned the room and pointed at a boy sitting behind the drumset, "Maveric Jones. Football team captain, 6'4", dumb as a rock, but pretty."

I watched as he pretended to smash his drumsticks on the trombone player's head in front of him. "What makes you say he's my type?"

"He's everyone's type," Benny squinted. "All the pretty girls fall for him."

"Are you saying I'm pretty?" I laughed.

"Like you don't know it," he rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for the compliment anyway," I joked. "Wanna be friends?"

"You wanna be friends with me?" Benny asked.

"If you can keep me away from brainless jocks like that," I said, pointing over my shoulder at Maveric, "Then absolutely I do."