Sam: At the PartyMature

It was ten at night when I knocked on the room marked 27.  Emma opened the door, first looked a little surprised, then smiled.

"Ooh, a late-night visitor! How exciting! What's up?"

"Well, I was thinking...it isn't really that late. Do you want to go check out the party...with me?"

"Um,  sure, why not? Just wait a second, I'll change and come out." 300 seconds later, she came out her door.

"Well?" She asked. She was dressed in a strapless yellow number.

"Perfect," I said. "Although it's not really about the dress."

She smiled, and we walked together to where the party was, chatting comfortably along the way. The party was a bit of a mess: too crowded with people who were bored with themselves. That was kind of what I expected, but I was glad to be there with Emma.

"Who are they?" I asked, motioning towards the band that was playing. They were loud, unmelodic and fast. Their lead guitarist was just moving his fingers as quickly as he could without caring what they hit.

"Oh, they are Brian and The Kooks. The lead guitarist is Brian. Like 'em?"

"No. You?"

"Nope."

"The Kooks, huh? Kinda appropriate, don't you think?"

She laughed.

At the end of the performance, Brian smashed his guitar on the floor, drawing huge cheers from the crowd.

"Why'd he do that?" I asked, shocked. I wouldn't let a scratch get on my guitar.

"Because he can afford it." Emma said. "His father runs a big petroleum company. He's got a few dozen guitars at least."

I sighed.

"It seems like such a waste of good guitars."

"True, but there's nothing you can do about it. They are his to break."

The party started getting so loud that we could barely hear each other, so I whispered in Emma's ear, asking if she wanted to get out with me. She nodded enthusiasticly.

"So what are we going to do?" She asked.

"Want to hear me play?" I asked.

"I'd love to, but won't the practice room be closed?"

I took out a wire that I kept in my pocket for emergency situations.

"I've got my ways." I said mysteriously.

"You mean you can pick locks? Wow!"

"Yep."

"Where'd you learn that?"

"Er, um, workshop at my old school." I lied. I wasn't going to let her know the truth.

After I had gotten the guitar from my room and picked the lock on the practice room door, we entered the dark practice room.

"Really dark in here." She held on to my hand, probably so that she didn't get lost, but I'd like to think otherwise. "Can you find the light switch?"

I reluctantly hit the light switch and she let go of my hand. I hoped my disappointment didn't show. I attached the guitar to the amplifier and said:

"What would you like to here?"

"Ooh, I get to pick?"

"Consider me your slave. Your wish is my command." I said lamely. Her laughter was a little forced.

"Well, play whatever you can play best."

"All right."

I played Stairway to Heaven for her. It was a song that I had played many times. After I was done, she clapped and said, "That was amazing!"

"You think so?"

"Yeah! Wish I could play the guitar."

"You want to learn?"

"Right now?"

"Why not?"

I handed her the guitar and stood behind her, showing her the basic chords. It gave me a chance to get really close to her. I hoped she didn't notice my heavy breathing.

After a time period that my watch showed was an hour, but in my mind, felt like only five minutes, she said: "It's getting pretty late. I guess we'd better go."

"Yeah." I said, disappointed. I could've spent the whole night there with her.

As we headed toward our rooms and parted ways, she said, "This time, it's really goodnight, right? You won't come knocking on my door at 2 in the morning, right?"

"You never know..." I said. She laughed and said good-bye. I went to bed, but couldn't fall asleep from the excitement of my first day at Spotlight.

The End

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