Accepted into a prestigious music program at the College of Music, Allie moves in with her older brother Khal, her mind adrift with thoughts of cello practice and keeping her chair in the school's world renown Orchestra.
But Khal hasn't been comple...
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Khal was right, I didn't know whether I could handle it. I was completely out of my depth when it came to the alternative scene. Yeah, sure I'd been to a gig or two back home but that was always to watch a friend's band and then leave almost immediately after. What was I supposed to wear? A glance in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall of the newly acquired bedroom told me that my current attire wouldn't cut it. Leggings and a t-shirt that read "Straight Outta Azkaban" would stick out like a sore thumb in a club. The usual wouldn't do either. I didn't think I had a shitty sense of style but for the most part, my dress-code screamed orchestral-chic, if such a thing existed. So I found myself rummaging through the closet I had just packed until I found something that I could dress down in order not to look like I was headed to the symphony. A door shut somewhere downstairs. That probably left me with maximum ten minutes to get ready. I don't think I've ever dressed that quickly before. There was even a moment for me to put on some mascara and lipstick. Inspecting myself in the mirror I decided that the braid didn't work so I undid it and shook out my hair so it fell in waves down my back. Not too bad considering, I thought taking one last look in the mirror before heading downstairs to jump in a complete stranger's car.
Brody wasn't one to say much, and neither was I, but that didn't make the silent drive to Cambridge any less awkward. So I took to staring out of the window, trying to take in this city that I would now become accustomed to calling home. It was weird thinking of Boston as home. The last time I'd been in the city was I was fourteen, that was ten years ago. It was also the last summer I spent with my dad and Khal before I convinced my mom that I needed to stay in Seattle in order to be closer to my music teacher so I could optimise my practice time. Since then, my relationship with my father had dwindled to short phone calls on birthdays, Christmas and the occasional like or comment on Facebook mostly on my dad's part. Khal usually flew to Seattle every chance he could but it soon became clear that Boston was his home. Even though we technically grew up here, I didn't have much attachment to the place. When my parents finalised their divorce and my mom whisked us away across the country I couldn't be happier to get far away from my father who had ruined our perfect family. Despite the fact that my mom would never speak ill of my father, even as an eight-year-old I had known that he was the one who fucked up tremendously. Khal however, had always had a greater attached to our father. I think my mom knew that somehow Khal would find his way back here, so when he received a scholarship at some private school she'd agreed to let him live with my father with the condition that he spent every vacation with us.
We pulled up and parked in front of a dodgy looking building just as dusk fell. As Brody began to haul his guitar and amp from the back of his truck I asked whether there was anything I could help him carry. He simply motioned with his head at the backpack on the back seat of his twin cab. I picked up the bag, deducing that it was probably his effect pedals, and slung the straps over my shoulders before following him up the stairs and into a smoky room where the rest of the band had already set up for sound check.
The blue-haired vocalist rolled her eyes at the sight of Brody, "And His Majesty finally decided to grace us with his presence."
Brody merely glared at her and grumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like "Piss off."
