Gone.

Chapter 5: Lights Up

"Ken told me you've been writing with Harry Styles," Patrick said, strumming lightly on the guitar. I sat on the piano bench, watching his hands move expertly across the neck as he strummed. I could hear the apprehension in his voice, but he didn't look up, making me wonder where he was going with the statement.

Patrick and I had known each other since 7th grade science, our shared love for music bringing us closer together. Patrick was the first one to come up with the idea of starting a band, playing small gigs at underage parties and open mics when we were allowed in the bars. He was the one to thank for the success that we had found.

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"Hey!" Patrick said, jogging over to me, waving, another boy sauntering up behind him as he made his way to me.

"Hey, Pat," I said, sitting on my front porch steps, the wood hard against my bottom. It was a fall evening, the breeze biting at my fingertips as I played with the hem of my jacket.

Pat let out a deep breath as he stood in front of me, seemingly exhausted from the short jog he took to reach me. I watched the other boy, his hands in his pockets and a beanie covering his hair. His head was ducked down, like he was trying to avoid the breeze that had started to pick up again, dead leaves dancing around his shoes as he walked.

"This is my buddy, Kurtis" Pat said, gesturing to him as the boy made his way to stand next to him. "Hope you don't mind if he tags along."

"No, definitely not," I said, offering a smile to Kurtis. His eyes were a deep brown, a few freckles dotting across his nose, which I assumed was from the summer sun that had disappeared a few weeks before. "Nice to meet you, I'm Lana."

"Nice to meet you, Lana," Kurtis said, offering his hand to me. I took his in mine, surprised by the gesture. His warm hand enveloped mine and I felt the nervous flip of my stomach echoing throughout my torso. His deep set eyes pierced into mine, my heart starting to beat faster as he dropped my hand gently, sticking his back into his pocket. 

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"Just one time," I said, plucking at a few of the piano keys, "but we're meeting today to write too."

"You think that's a good idea?" Pat asked, still not looking up at me. The tension was palpable, making my neck and shoulders tense. I swallowed and took a deep breath, still gently pressing the keys in front of me. 

"What are you trying to say Pat?" I asked, putting my hands in my lap. I watched him continue to strum the guitar strings, his head hung low. His eyebrows furrowed and his shoulders lifted as he sighed. 

"You don't need him to write," he responded, finally looking up at me. His eyes were sad, defeated. "I don't see why you need any more pressure on you."

Maybe he was right. Maybe I didn't need Harry to write. This was all Ken's idea anyway. Being associated with Harry Styles would bring popularity to our music, but it would also bring rumors and crazed fans. 

"I know," I said, looking back down at my journal on the music stand, the song I had written with Harry on the page. We had flawlessly worked on 2 songs together, the time escaping us quickly. It wasn't a matter of if we would work well together, but what masterpiece we could make together. 

I heard a gentle knock on the door, the squeak echoing in the room as it opened wider. I saw Harry peer his head in, looking at me for permission to enter. His eyes were confused, seeing Pat sitting across the room with his guitar, like he hadn't expected company.