A Not Fan Fiction

Chapter 2: Song writing

That day, I walked outside with Parker to his car, and he drove us to his house.  When we got to his mansion, he parked the car and we raced each other inside.  Parker beat me, opening the door and slamming it shut in my face.

“Parker,” I yelled through the door.  “You better open this door right now, or I’ll break it down!”

There was no response from the other side of the door.

“Ca-caw!”  I was startled, and at first thought it was Parker being his regular weird self, but when I turned around, I saw what it really had been; a huge crow.  I’d never seen a crow that big before.  And it just sat there, perched on the fence.

It was just looking at me like a creeper.  Was that normal?  No, I was just freaking myself out.  It wasn’t even looking at me, I bet.  But still, I turned away as it spread its wings to fly away.  Suddenly, I shivered, realizing how cold it was.

“Parker, let me in!”

“Say please,” I heard him call out to me in his accent.

“Please,” I muttered.  Then, the door opened and I ran inside.  “Creepy bird out there,” I told him as I stepped inside.

“What?”  He looked outside, but the crow was gone.  “Lexi, there’s nothing out there.”

“I know.  It left.  But it was there, I swear.  It was a biggest crow ever!”

“Bigger than my penis?”

I blushed and smacked him in the shoulder.  “I wouldn’t know… but I’ll guess yes!  Way bigger!”

“Whoa.”  He looked shocked and confused.  “That’s a big bird.”

“Shut up.  Forget I said anything, Park.”

“Okay.”  He shrugged it off and I went into the kitchen and opened the cookie jar, which was full of chocolate rather than cookies.  I pulled out a handful of mini candy bars and removed the wrapping on one, popping it in my mouth.

“So, what are you thinking?  Piano or Guitar,” Parker asked from the doorway.

“Huh?”

“For the song.  Piano or Guitar?”

“Guitar.”

“Okay, cool.  Let’s go get started.”

We went up the stairs to Parker’s room, which was just like any other teenage guy’s room; messy, covered in old pizza boxes and clothes, and smelled pretty bad.  Another word you could use to describe it was disaster area.

He held the door open for me to enter, but when the stench of month old dirty laundry hit my nostrils, I shook my head and insisted he grab his guitar and we go to the loft to work.

When he did so, we walked to the couches and chairs in the loft and we sat down, him on the leather sofa, me on the black recliner chair.  “So, sing the first bit again,” he began.

I sighed and repeated what I’d sung for him earlier.  “Life’s been kind of boring…”

“Okay, just the first line,” he said to stop me before I continued.  He thought a moment and then played a chord, picking the strings weird, but it sounded good.  “An E minor maybe?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.  But speed it up a little, maybe?”

He did so, just a little bit faster, and I thought it sounded perfect.  I smiled at him.  “Perfect.  Why don’t you just repeat that through the whole verse?”

“Sure.  Maybe add in a little bit, switch to another chord here and there?”

“Sure.  But keep the verse simple.”  I peeled the wrapper off of another chocolate and ate it, letting it melt on my tongue.

“Okay, so I’ll play, and you sing, and we’ll see how it sounds.”

“Okay.”  I did as he said, smiling, pleased at how it sounded.

“…This is no fairy tale.”

“Okay, so the chorus,” he prompted.

I frowned.  “Okay.  Here it goes.”  I took a deep breath and sang:

“The first line; once upon a time

There was a boy and a girl

And they ruled the whole world.

But then you said goodbye,

And she hurt and she cried

Wishing that she could just make up for that fight

Wishing she could change

That day you walked away

That day you walked away

The way you walked away…”

He sat for a minute, thinking again.  Then, he put his fingers on the strings and strummed quickly, once, twice, three times, and then hitting it for a beat.  I sang along, clapping when he hit for the beat.

“That’s perfect!  You’re a freaking’ musical genius, Park!”

“I know.”

The rest of the week went by slowly.  We worked on the song every day after school, but other than that, life was pretty boring.  We were planning on recording it on Saturday.

But now, it was Friday, and I was sitting in Parker’s car on the way to the airport to meet Harry.  His parents were in their own car, meeting us from work, the coffee shop they own together, “Our Style”.  It’s cheesy, but their coffee is organic, and crap.  People are into that nowadays.  Besides, when people found out the Styles were Harry Style’s parents, business boomed.

Parker and I were singing along to the radio, which was currently playing classic rock, a Beetles song.  It was an hour-long drive to the airport from his house, which was where we stopped immediately after school.

When we got there, we parked at terminal A and as we stepped out of the car and began walking towards the entrance to baggage claim, when we heard a bunch of creams coming from inside the airport,

“Found him,” Parker muttered in my ear.

[A/N: what do you think?  I know it’s short, sorry!  The next one will be longer, though, I promise.  Thanks for reading, please vote, comment, and keep reading!]