The Space In Between

Prologue

Spring 2015

Emery

I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the start of senior year and the spring leading into graduation, my life was hit with a blast of nuclear proportions.

Now, standing here in the aftermath, I’m trying to make sense of it all and coming up empty.

The summer of 2014 came and went the same way the last five or so have always gone, and honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to be much different when I went back to walking the halls of Greenville High in September.

Sure, I was about to be a senior, which meant I would be one of about two hundred or so kids running the school, but if there’s one thing that the entire world seems to have not gotten the memo for, it’s how unimportant all of that is to me.

So with an uneventful summer behind me, and what was sure to be the longest year of my life on the horizon, I prepared to spend another year under the radar. Watching as the same idiots annoyed the freshmen and the cheerleaders did everything in their power to exert their dominance while I stayed in the background aiming my lens in their direction to document it all through pictures for the yearbook and school paper.

Here’s the thing.

I wasn’t one of those ugly ducklings you read about that the popular guys use to make themselves look like even bigger jerks. I wasn’t even unpopular or a wallflower. I just had more fun taking pictures than I did being part of the drama that four years of high school is guaranteed to create.

At least I was until a new guy stepped out of a Crown Vic on the first day.

It’s always a guy isn’t it?

An ordinary girl on the fast track to any school of her choosing, a long career as a photographer in her future, always seems to get tripped up by the guy.

The guy in question, or if you’re into formalities like names—Christian Cayne—is not like the others.

I know, I know. All the girls say that too. Thing is, I really mean it.

My guy…he’s different.

He’s also the guy that in a few months, despite how much I love him and how deep we’re in this thing together, is going to be off limits.

You see, Christian Cayne isn’t just a guy. He’s not even some guy I met the first day of senior year and later fell in love with.

I wish it was that simple. It would make what’s gotta come next a whole lot easier.

Christian Cayne is a lot of things to a lot of people, but in a couple of months, he’s going to have to be one thing only to me.

My step-brother.

But to get to where we are now, you’ve gotta fully understand how we got here to begin with.

So sit back and let me tell you the story of my life, or with the way it feels right now, what could very well be the end of it.

Chapter One

September 2014

Christian

You know what blows?

There’s a lot honestly, but being woken up at the crack of dawn on the first day of summer vacation just to be told you’re moving, pretty much takes the gold.

I didn’t have anything going on that this news messed with—other than what I think was a pretty wicked dream—but when you’ve spent seventeen years in the same house, surrounded by the same people, places, and things, it’s a sucker punch to the gut when you’re told it’s all going to change.

Truthfully, I was expecting this about four years ago, and when it never came, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d be living in the haunted house forever.

It wasn’t always like that. My house used to be a happy place. Bright, upbeat and full of life. It was only after my mom got sick and my dad took a leave of absence from the force to take care of her that it turned into the way it is now.

Yeah, you heard right. My dad’s a cop. A fact that for the first few years after I started school made me a narc. Sometimes, when people are feeling especially jealous, I still am one. Whatever. I’d rather be a narc than the one sitting in the back.

But wait. I’m getting off topic.

As far back as I can remember, my mom was a heavy smoker and because of this, caught colds faster, had sore throats that lasted forever, and experienced other aches and pains more than the average person. It never seemed to phase her. At least it didn’t until the one time she couldn’t kick it and took her concerns to the doctor.

That was the day everything changed, and the start of what would eventually take her life.

Lung Cancer.

For years after she was diagnosed, we stayed by her side, powerless to do anything but make her as comfortable as possible. Watching as she quit her job as a first grade teacher, ending up confined to her bed because she was too weak and sick to do much else. At least we did until her permanent bed became of the hospital variety and then, months later, a casket six feet under.

June 21, 2010.

The day the music died for the Cayne family, and the period where I expected my dad to finally break and move us out of the house that was smothering us in memories.

A move that never happened.

Instead, I got to watch him drown in his grief by hiding away in his room every night when he thought I was asleep, breaking down and crying. Things he couldn’t show me because of some warped idea that a man breaking down was a sign of weakness.

The reality being, he shook the walls with his pain and taught me that even the strongest people, in an attempt to seem okay, can break when they lose their heart.

So now we’re driving along after leaving our half empty apartment and he’s taking me—in his damn cruiser of all things—to the place I’m going to call home for my senior year, and I’m just wishing he’d turn the damn car around and go home.

I know this isn’t how you envisioned spending your final year, Chris, but I think once we’ve settled in, you’ll end up liking it here.

As he’s talking, I’m visualizing every single time I’ve heard those same lines in a movie or read them in a book. I never took him for the type to do that, quoting cliché lines, but apparently, I didn’t give him enough credit.

What he doesn’t get is, as happy as I am that we’re out from under the memory of my mom that haunted our house after she died, I’m pretty sure I’m never going to like it here.

For the next year though, I’m gonna do a damn good job of faking it.

Grunting my reply, he chuckles to himself and before I can sit back, get comfortable and just enjoy the rest of the ride, he’s pulling the car to a stop.

We’re here.

Greenville High. Home to the Razorback’s football and hockey teams, and what’s sure to be the longest 190 days of my life.

I know you hate this, but will you at least promise to give it a try? he asks the second my hand goes for the door and what is my escape from this conversation.

Not like I’ve got much of a choice.

There’s always a choice, Chris, but it was time.

He doesn’t need to say anymore. I get it. It was time four years ago if I’d been asked my opinion, but whatever. I know the drill. I won’t do anything to make him or myself look bad.

At least not yet anyway.

That’s another thing I didn’t mention with my little replay earlier. I made a promise to my mom the day they lowered her into the ground, and it’s one that up until this exact second in the car with my dad, I’ve stayed true to.

I will not make a fool of either of them. She might not be here physically, but I’ve been through enough church with both sets of grandparents to know that she’s upstairs watching, and I can’t have her seeing me act like a moronic jackass.

The world’s full of enough of those. For her, and even a little for my dad, I want to be better than that.

Maybe if I do it long enough, I’ll eventually stop doing it for them and start doing it for myself instead.

I’ll give it a try.

Thanks. he answers and I swear I see the weight disappear off his shoulders with my compliance. You all straight on getting home?

Yeah, Dad. I got it. We went over all this last week.

Chuckling, he hits me with a final slap on the shoulder and I finally get the breath of fresh air I’m after as I slide the car door open and slip out.

Can’t blame your old man for being concerned.

Actually, I can. If you’re spending all your time worried about me, you’re not gonna be focused at work, and as ready as I am to be out on my own, I’m not a real big fan of being an orphan.

Very funny, but fine. Message received loud and clear. No worrying about my kid.

Grabbing my bag off the seat with a grin, I shut the door and watch as he peels away slowly from the curb, turning only when I’ve watched him drive out of sight. With a sling of my backpack up and over my shoulder, I start taking the first tentative steps toward my new academic home. Straight into the path of an oncoming cyclist.

Frozen in place, only able to watch as the train wreck unfolds in front of me, the person calls out before swerving away, the bike wobbling as it loses balance, until the body tumbles off and hits the ground with a resounding thud.

Son of a b—

As the rest of her statement—the voice easily discernable as female—gets muffled as she buries her face in her hands, my legs suddenly find their footing again and I move as fast as I can, not even concerned about what I’ll find when I do.

Fantastic start to your first day, idiot. Maybe focus on what’s going on around you next time.

As my knees hit the pavement, I lean over the moaning body of the girl that I’m sure once she catches sight of me, is going to kick my ass six ways from Sunday, and pray that the fall didn’t do any permanent damage.

I’m sorry. I run with first, and when I slip my hand out until it finds hers and grip it, bringing her to a sitting position on the ground, I go for broke. I was so busy trying to talk my dad off a ledge, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?

Moving back as she runs a hand over her face, content with what she’s found as she moves down and wipes at her knees before attempting to stand, she stares me down once she’s up. Where I expect her eyes to be filled with anger at basically being driven into the ground, she grins.

I made it the entire way to school without falling off. That’s a new record!

Getting to my feet, I see her hand in the air and without even thinking, slap mine into it, high fiving her and matching her grin with one of my own.

I’m pretty sure that I’m dreaming this right now, but until I wake up, I’m gonna run with it.

I’m also going to take a second and admire the view now that she’s undoing the clasp to her helmet and I’m getting a bird’s eye view of the girl that’s actually hidden underneath.

Brown hair that under the helmet appeared short and now, as it falls down her back is proven to be anything but, along with a pair of doe like brown eyes that are glowing due to the smile that seems to light up her entire face.

And don’t even get me started on her body.

Thin, but not unhealthy. Slight curves in the right places, and despite wanting to look anywhere but, a chest that I can’t seem to turn away from.

Tongue back in your mouth, Cayne. I think, at which point it seems my brain answers back, it’s response at the ready. Sure, but only when you stop the mini explosion in your chest.

Okay, seriously. Are you okay? I shake off my inner turmoil and ask again.

Never better.

I don’t believe her, but considering I’m the reason she crashed and burned, I’m not about to argue it. As far as reactions go, I don’t think they make them better than this.

Looking down at her watch, she groans before focusing her attention back on me. As much fun as this is, I was supposed to meet up with the editor of the paper fifteen minutes ago and the bell’s about to go, so…

Yeah, go ahead. I’m sorry if I made you late.

You didn’t. You just made things a bit more interesting than they would have been. With a smile of finality, she turns and begins walking her bike over to the bike rack. When she begins to wrap the blue lock around, I take another chance and call out to her.

I didn’t catch your name!

That was sort of the point! She calls back laughing. Takes a lot more than getting knocked on my ass to get my name!

This girl. First the high five and now keeping her name under lock and key. Is there anything about her that’s remotely normal?

And why is it that despite the strangeness since I’ve met her, I can’t seem to give up?

Well, girl who shall not be named, I’m Christian. I say after moving in close enough for her to hear.

Middle name?

Why?

Because there’s nothing remotely Christian-y about you, that’s why. So…middle name?

Michael.

Nice to meet you, Mikey. She laughs, grinning at the exact moment I scowl, hating myself for liking the way my Mom’s nickname for me falls from her lips. And for the embarrassment of admitting that, I’m Emery. And I’m also the girl that’s gonna be extremely late thanks to this jerk not listening when I called out for him to move, so I’ll see ya later.

With a skip to her step, she turns and flees up the front steps of the school and despite what she said earlier about the bell about to go, for the second time in as many minutes, I’m frozen in place.

Emery. Huh. I say to myself, enjoying the way her name sounds as I say it.

A lot more than I expected to.

Maybe the move here won’t be so bad after all.

I mean, I couldn’t dream up better entertainment than a random girl who high fives strangers when she falls off her bike.

Greenville High, here I come.

Emery

When I wanted the first day of school to mean something, falling off my bike wasn’t what I had in mind.

Damn, it stings and when he high fived back, it only made it worse.

I’ve probably earned the award for stupidest idea ever after that display. Despite it though, I can’t help the elation I’m feeling now that it’s over and I’m away from him.

Christian.

Obvious new kid, considering by now everyone that’s lived here is used to the hazard I am, both on and off my bike, knowing to steer clear. Hell, half of them move out of the way minutes in advance these days. Maybe those smoke signals I’ve been dying to give off to announce my arrival are finally kicking in.

Who am I kidding? Nothing that cool ever happens to me.

When I hit the ground there was a pop, and I swore it came from my leg, but by the time he helped me into a sitting position, whatever pain I expected to feel was gone and was replaced with the mortification that comes with doing the stupidest thing possible in front of someone a little too cute for his own good.

I’d seen him before I swerved and despite myself, I wasted too much time focusing on the form moving away from the police cruiser and ate pavement for it.

Shaggy dark brown hair that fell just below his ears, which when I swerved made it impossible to see the blue penetrating eyes that locked on me when he knelt down to help me up. About my height, with an added couple of inches here or there, which was a nice change from the behemoths I usually see in the hall and on the field.

He’s what most would consider average, but for this girl judging by my reaction to him, is anything but.

Which with the electrical like current that spread from my fingers up my arm the second he made contact with my hand, was well worth the residual pain I’m feeling.

Also worth my second scowl of the day as I fly through the door that houses the school paper just in time to see everyone else leaving.

Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Emery.

Jordan Meyers.

Editor of the paper, yearbook coordinator and general pain in my ass. I could have been fifteen minutes early and still earned the same scowl. If I wasn’t so passionate about taking pictures, I’d have no qualms telling him right where to shove his attitude.

This is good practice for the real world. I remind myself as I plaster the world’s fakest smile on my face.

Sorry. Minor accident on the way in.

Flicking his hand, as if my reason for being late is too pedestrian for his ears, he motions to the board in front of us, which as I turn and take it in, I see has our assignments for the week listed in alphabetical order of our names.

Mine being the same as last year.

Comprising shots of all the new students.

It’s beyond me why he insists on doing this, the last two years it driving me absolutely nuts having to track everyone down, but I can’t ignore the jolt of jubilation I get realizing I’ve got another collision with the new guy—Christian—in my future.

Can’t go wrong with a do over.

End of the day again or are you letting me have the week?

The week, but I’d rather you get it to me before deadline this year.

Done. Is that it?

With a shake of his head, he turns his back to me and I take it as my moment of salvation. I’d rather not spend any more time with Jordan than I have to, and something tells me the feeling is mutual.

Sliding my bag over my shoulder, I head out, stopping once I’m completely free and turning toward the direction of the office, but not before focusing my attention on my bag and the combination lock waiting to get up close and personal with my locker.

Content once I’ve got it in my hands, swinging it around my finger a few times for good measure, I pick up where I left off and start off toward the office to grab my schedule—a second copy since I lost the one that was mailed—and not paying attention, walk straight into what feels like the hardest brick wall ever.

Really? Again? the voice chastises himself. Knocking a girl off her bike was supposed to be the end of this.

A sentiment said girl agrees with.

You’re kidding me. He says as the shock of our collision wears off and he realizes exactly who it is he smacked straight into.

Afraid not, buttercup. Looks like we’re gonna have to strap a bell and hazard sign on you.

No kidding.

Mesmerized as he begins to rock back and forth on his feet, obviously uncomfortable, I make my way around and focus my attention back on the task at hand. No sense making this more embarrassing than it has to be.

Uh, before you go, you think you can help me with something?

Turning back, I nod before moving in closer as the paper comes out in front of him.

This place is a maze. I need to find English with Mr. Baylor, but I’ve walked the entire floor already and can’t seem to find his room.

Laughing despite myself, remembering the way things were when I started here freshman year and didn’t realize that they numbered the portables outside with actual class numbers, I motion down the hall.

You can’t find it because it’s not inside.

Oh…

Yeah. It’s in the portables outside. I offer up, but before he can turn and walk in the direction of the side door that will take him where he needs to be, I remember one very important tidbit about my schedule. But if you hang back and wait while I grab another copy of my schedule, we can be late together, since I’m pretty sure I’ve nailed him first period too.

That’d be great. Thanks.

I’m so not used to this. I’ve been going to Greenville for four years and not once in that time have I met someone as polite as Christian. Adults, sure. I mean they do their best to be polite, but the kids, no way.

I should know. Half the time I’m one of them.

Two minutes tops.

Heading through the door and slipping around the three or four students that are just like me, I lean over once I’m at the counter and smile at the secretary.

Ms. Carmichael. A pleasure as always. Mrs. Dawes drawls sarcastically. In trouble already?

Nope, but if I don’t get a print out of my schedule so I can make it to all my classes, you might be seeing me again real soon.

Here’s the thing. I’m not a troublemaker. I’m kind of a loner. Sticking to myself, content to have it be just me and my camera or my best friend Johnny, but I forget a lot. I space out, lose things, walk into people—which with the way I’ve done it twice already today with the new guy—really isn’t a surprise, and a lot of the time that lands me here.

Being that way, though, it also makes you late, which is what her trouble question is about. I spend a lot of time in the principal’s office explaining myself so they don’t get my mom involved.

She’s got enough on her plate, having to work long hours to keep us afloat. The last thing I want her doing is coming here and dealing with her scatterbrain daughter. She might be aware of my head always being someplace else, but I don’t need to shove it down her throat.

Here you go. Now hurry up. Class is starting.

Grabbing the paper from the cranky woman’s hands, I slip my way past everyone again and make my way out into the hall, half expecting when I do for Christian to have hitched his cart to someone else’s wagon and headed off to class.

Definitely not standing right where I left him and having his eyes soften and his lips raise in a smile the second he sees me.

He really needs to stop doing that.

Ready? I ask and he nods, keeping pace with me as I start power walking down the hall toward the exit closest to the portables.

As we step through the door, out of the corner of my eye I see him stop and sliding his hand into his jacket, pulling the same folded up piece of paper from his pocket before catching up to me.

What are your other classes?

Geography after English. Phys. Ed and Music after lunch.

Looking down at my own schedule, I see that other than Gym class, our schedules are identical. Fantastic. With the way we keep meeting up today, I don’t know whether to curse or thank whatever gods put this in motion.

Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. I admit, forcing what feels like the most uncomfortable laugh ever to escape.

There are worse things. He says, his utterance quieter than before, his lips tightening once he’s said it, giving away the fact that the words weren’t meant for me to hear.

In an attempt to change the subject, and maybe chip away at the heat that seems to be rising in my cheeks, I inquire about my second favorite part of school.

Lunch.

Bag or buy?

Huh?

Are you bag lunching it today or did the dude in the cruiser give you money?

Uh, bagging it I guess. Why?

Just wondered.

Silence surrounding the rest of the short walk to the portable, I open the door, ready to head in, hoping to end up with a good seat, when he reaches forward and stops me with a brush of his hand against mine.

Why’d you really ask?

Faking an exasperated sigh, even though part of me had been hoping he’d ask, I give him the real reason.

I just figured since we’re already going to be shacking up most of the day, we might as well make it official for lunch too.

Now I could stick around and wait for his response, but with the door open and the teacher giving the eye to both of us, I do things differently. Stepping away and making my way to the far side of the room, making sure to shrug as I pass Mr. Baylor, I point back to Christian as I do.

Showing the new kid around has got to be a good excuse for being late.

I really don’t want to make my words in the office true and have to go back.

Slipping into my seat and bending over to my bag, putting what looks like all of my attention into bringing out my binder and pencil case, I lift my gaze up just long enough to catch Christian walking to an empty seat in the back, but not before his eyes meet mine and catching the smirk he gives me before his lips part and he mouths his answer.

It’s a date.

Chapter Two

Christian

When I was a kid and my parents would do the rounds of taking me to see both sets of grandparents, I used to make a point of sitting outside with my dad’s dad, and he’d give me lessons on life while we sipped Grandma’s ice cold lemonade.

Every few months there was a new lesson, but no one as important as the last one he gave me before we picked up and moved to the city.

Pay attention to the signs, boy. He’d said. They might not make a lick of sense in the moment, but they’re sure to mean everything when the time’s right.

I never gave it a whole lot of thought before, but with the way things have been happening since I got here today, I’m pretty sure I’m seeing the point now.

Not paying attention and almost getting run over by a bike could have easily been chalked up to a random occurrence, maybe even the hallway incident too, but sitting here in music class, watching Emery with an acoustic guitar in her hands as her fingers move delicately over the strings as she plays, it’s completely out of the realm of random.

This has got to be a sign.

Emery is a sign for something, and while I’ve got no idea what it could possibly be, with the amount of time I’ve spent with her today, it’s hard to see it any other way.

Sign of new friendship maybe? Or maybe it’s a sign that living here won’t be as bad as I thought when my dad dropped it on me?

Whatever it is, watching her play, taking in the way her eyes seem to dance as she focuses on her finger movements before they close and seem to get lost in the sound from various instruments playing around her, I wish it would make itself apparent already.

Hey new kid.

Turning in the direction of the voice, I’m looking up into the face of a giant, or at least one that appears that way with the way he towers over me.

Great. I can’t imagine this is going to be good.

Yeah?

Yorke wants to know what instrument you play. Looking past me until his eyes land on Emery, he smirks before focusing his attention back. But I see why you didn’t hear him.

It’s not like that. I try and deflect, my voice steady despite the embarrassment I feel at being caught staring.

Sure it’s not. Look, if you wanna make it through this class with a passing grade, you might wanna answer Yorke back when he’s talking to you. Also, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to be more subtle about that other stuff too.

Other stuff.

Yep. He definitely caught me starting at Emery.

Yeah, you’re probably right. Thanks.

No problem. I was the new kid once. Figure you could do with some wisdom.

Definitely.

Name’s Jonah.

Christian. I give up easily, and looking at Emery with a smile, he turns and slaps me on the back as he starts walking away, motioning to the teacher as he goes.

Better tell him what you play or he’ll put you on the piccolo.

Chancing a final look over to where Emery is playing, hoping that with as loud as Jonah had been talking, she hadn’t heard, I’m met with the coolness of her brown eyes as they stare back at me. The ‘I caught you’ smirk on her face all the answer I need.

Turning away quickly and keeping my head down to hide what I’m sure is the blood red shade of utter embarrassment now plastered all over my face, I make my way over to the teacher and force myself to smile as I make eye contact.

Christian Cayne. Transfer from Port Hope. Played the bass guitar in his own band, the trombone in music class, and has chosen his senior year to move here and grace us with his musical presence.

How the guy knows that much about me, I’ve got no clue, but smiling weakly, I play along.

That’s me, except for the last part.

So will you be playing the trombone for us here or would you rather take a chance on another instrument?

What else is there?

I’m sure you can see by looking that this isn’t your average music class. In here, as long as we have the instruments, anything goes. So pick your poison as they say, Mr. Cayne, but do it quickly. Music waits for no man.

Eyeing the room as he walks away, I see exactly what I’m looking for in the far right corner of the room. It looks a little worn, the strings definitely in need of replacement, but standing out all the same.

Bass Guitar.

A few months after my mom died, my dad went out and bought me a bass for my birthday. Despite my loathing of it at first, anything that required more than the bare minimum of effort not really being my speed, I eventually picked it up and began teaching myself. It had taken another year after that for me to sound any good, but by that time, I’d been so in love, I didn’t even care. Covering songs, screwing around and coming up with songs of my own, it became my brand of therapy.

A therapy I thought I would have to give up when dad said we were moving, but one that’s now standing only a few feet away from me, waiting for me to pick it up and begin where I left off.

Making my way across the room toward it, reaching out slowly and running my fingers over it before pulling it down and bringing the strap down and over my body, I feel it again.

The words from my grandpa.

This guitar. It’s a sign.

Sensing movement behind me just as the warm gush of heat finds its way across my ear and down over my neck, making the fine hairs stand at attention, I smile. See, I knew having lunch together would pay off.

You told Yorke I played bass?

Well, yeah. If I didn’t, I’m pretty sure he’d have stuck you in the back corner and forced you to play triangle.

I heard it was the piccolo.

Nah. He only does that when he really wants to torture someone.

And the triangle isn’t torture? I ask. Seems pretty torturous to me.

Depends on how you look at it I guess. Playing the triangle freshman year, I happen to think it’s the less torturous of the two.

You’re kidding. He made you play it?

Nodding, she smiles as she turns and points across to the girl now in possession of the very instrument we’re talking about.

I wasn’t good with anything else, and at the time it was all brass instruments, so triangle saved my life. But when I came back a year later, everything was different. Yorke may come across like a tool, but he’s a pretty awesome one once you get to know him.

Her depiction of our teacher, I want to argue it since he came across a little staunch before, but the ease at which she held and played the guitar, almost as though she had a deep respect for it, overrides it all. How she got from not being able to play anything to sounding that good while just strumming a few bars of a song, I need to know more.

I was watching you. I admit and despite trying not to, my cheeks begin to overheat with the admission. You play really well.

I know you were. Jonah isn’t exactly the quietest guy, but even if he was, I can feel when people are watching. I didn’t always play well, though. Yorke saw something in me a couple of years ago and well, here we are.

Here we are. I repeat, unsure of what to say now that again I seem to have stuck my foot in my mouth where this girl is concerned.

Can I ask you something, Mikey?

Sure.

You play music, obviously. You talked about it at lunch, but do you write it as well?

No. I’m good at reading it, but not so great at composing. Why?

Before she has the chance to answer back, Mr. Yorke makes his way to the front of the room and claps three times in succession, at which point all of the chatter and music tuning that had been going on comes to a halt and all eyes are directly on him.

Following suit, I watch as he steps forward and announces what the first assignment of the week will be. Making Emery’s question make all the sense in the world.

Take a look around you. For the next five months, the people in this room will become as close to you as family. You will work with them, get to know them and create with them. And to begin that journey, I ask you to look to your left, or for those of you with no one to your left, the right. For the next week this will be your musical partner in crime. Between the two of you and your chosen instruments, you will compose a piece to present to the rest of the class. I don’t care what your relationship to this person is outside of the classroom, but when you are here, you will put the music first. Now, enough with the time wasting. Let’s get started.

You knew he was going to do that, didn’t you?

"Sometimes it pays to be a teacher’s